So the story starts with a scheduled signature that I have to give in person for the proceedings of an essential thing in our lives. I was scheduled to sign an official document at a place about an hour away from our home. For most people, it’s a task that might feel unimportant. But for someone like me, who cannot walk independently and depends on a wheelchair, even the smallest outing needs planning, coordination, and patience not just from me, but also from the people who are involved.
That morning, my brother, who was driving me to the appointment, decided not to bring my wheelchair. A decision which was seconded by my mother. He assumed the process would be quick and wouldn't require me to step out of the car at all. His intention wasn’t to inconvenience me, I know that. He just thought he was making things easier for both of us. This is understandable too because despite being smaller in size compared to other wheelchairs, mine is still a bit bigger to fit into the car trunk. So it has to be disassembled first, which is quite a tedious task. However, good intentions, when paired with poor judgment, can turn into painful memories.
We left around noon, my mother and brother, and the sun was already beating down relentlessly. April in our part of the world isn’t gentle. The heat feels heavy, like it’s sitting on your chest, and the air offers no relief, only more suffocation with its aridness. I was wearing a light rayon outfit, thinking we’d be back in no time. But as soon as we reached the destination, it became clear that this “quick visit” would be anything but quick.
Since I couldn’t walk in without the wheelchair, I stayed in the car while my brother and mother went inside to get the formalities started. The air conditioner was turned off to save fuel. This was something I have insisted on despite my brother's advocacy against it. Even by that time, I was of the notion that it would be quicker than I thought. So with the car shut down, they left. The windows were kept closed because of the gold pendant I had on my neck. Given the rising price of gold, no one wants to take a chance, especially with someone defenseless. However, I was handed over the car key in case I felt the need to have some fresh air. The sun, high in the sky, turned the parked car into a metal oven.
Ten minutes turned into thirty. Thirty into an hour. I kept checking my phone, wiping sweat from my forehead, trying not to panic. But in all fairness, I was panicking. My water bottle was nearly empty by then, and the heat was becoming unbearable. My clothes clung to my skin. I could feel the heat penetrating through my rayon tunic to my body. But what hurt more was the sense of helplessness. I couldn’t get out, couldn’t roll the windows down easily, couldn’t even lie back and rest properly. I was trapped, and every passing minute made that feeling stronger. To make matters worse, there was this sudden feeling of weakness in my left side, to the point where I was unable to push the car door after unlocking it through the car key.
Two hours passed. Then three. I tried distracting myself with social media, uploading stories on Instagram and WhatsApp, then music on Spotify, then panic-calling some friends, my sister-in-law, and finally silence. None of it worked. The heat was inescapable, and it was beginning to make me dizzy. I thought about calling my brother but he too was wandering around in the hot afternoon of April with an empty stomach.
My brother kept texting updates, to give him some documents, the delays, complications, and more waiting. I didn’t blame him. He, too, was stuck in a mess neither of us saw coming. But sitting there, drenched in sweat, my skin burning against the leather seat, I couldn’t help but feel miserable. The heat frustrated me the most, and all I wanted was to get the hell out of that car.
I’ve lived with my condition for years. I’ve made peace with the routines, the limitations, the fact that a wheelchair is an extension of me now. But when they decide that I can just “wait it out” or “manage” because it’s more convenient for them, it makes me feel miserable because no one could understand how it feels to be inside a car being immobile. The limited space makes the movement even more clumsy, and there comes a time when I just give up on helping myself and just sit there with the only thing moving being my chest because of the breathing.
Anyway, by the fourth hour, I was no longer just overheated. I was emotionally exhausted. My throat was dry, my head was pounding, and my body screamed for fresh air. This is where I called my brother asking him to give the phone to my mother. I have explained my situation to her quite complainingly, and then my brother finally returned, apologetic and visibly drained. I didn’t have much to say. Honestly, I couldn’t. The energy to be angry had left me somewhere between the second and third hour. Instead, I nodded quietly as he helped me resuscitate by turning the car AC on and left. As soon as he was gone, I dozed off, which very much felt like passing out. How did the next hour go? I had no idea.
We rode home in silence, the cool air finally blowing against my face as the AC roared back to life. I leaned back, eyes closed, letting the wind numb the heat on my skin.
April 5th taught me a lesson that sometimes, the smallest oversights can become the longest days. But every experience, no matter how harsh, leaves us with something to hold onto.
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