Articles
The View from Remo's Wheelchair
[Remo was 29 when he and his girlfriend, Antonella, went for a motorcycle ride through the Italian countryside. It was May of 2000, and this ride would change Remo’s life forever. A collision with an elderly driver left Remo in a paraplegic state. The Mandalas know Remo personally and see him when they travel to Italy. We’ll let Remo narrate his story further.]
“Probably the worst moment was waking up after the surgery and the moment that the anesthesia wore off because I no longer knew where I was and I couldn’t breathe. I did not understand that there was a machine that was pumping air into my lungs … I was surrounded by machinery, lights and sounds; I didn’t understand why I couldn’t move anything ...
“The twenty-four hour neon lights shone into my eyes and I no longer had any idea of the time. I couldn’t receive visitors; I couldn’t tell a minute from a day; I couldn’t eat or drink; I couldn’t speak; I had tubes [and] probes … coming out of every part of my body. I was constantly blacking out and coming back, or so it seemed to me, since time was now a relative dimension to which I was at the mercy of …
“Why did I not feel? Where was my body? And yet it was there; I could see it, everything was there, nothing was missing! It was as if I was suspended in the air; I was on a bed but I didn’t feel anything below me. When they moved me, I was insubstantial, like a beached jellyfish … I looked at myself; I tried to understand: it was me, but it wasn’t me; I was present, conscious, but as if I were watching a movie. Maybe it was just a bad dream, a nightmare. I said to myself, ‘Wake up Remo, wake up.’ But I was already awake … It was all true, but I couldn’t believe it. It was too much to face, so suddenly.
“I will never be able to forget those terrible moments, which were only the beginning of a long period of tribulations and rehabilitation: ten months spent between the intensive care units of Mestre and Udine, spinal units, emergency medicine and rehabilitation clinic. All I could do was wait and try to figure out what and who I had become.
“After a month the time came to remove the tracheostomy. I still had a plug in my neck that could be opened or closed, but at least I could start talking again, to ask and make myself understood. Little by little a new way of feeling, perceiving and recognizing my body became the new normal. Like a child discovering the world, I, too, needed new stimuli so that I could learn and recognize the new language of my body and decipher the stimuli that reached my brain.
“Over time I made my first friendships. I met boys and men who had ended up in wheelchairs for the most varied reasons; we tried to cheer each other up … We were all confused; we discussed with each other … what was happening to us, but in the end nobody had an answer. Our days, our young lives passed … locked inside four walls of pain and unanswered questions in what had become our little world of remorse, regrets and missed opportunities that would never come back again.
“I still remember the sad day when a former neighbor of mine – who had [recently] lost her son in a car accident – said to my mother: ‘I’d rather have my son dead than continue to have him alive in Remo’s condition!’ [Her thoughts were] in my opinion, chilling and certainly unexpected, especially when coming from a mother.
“People in the normality of life do an infinity of daily gestures without thinking about them because they come spontaneously … according to what we feel or desire. But when you can’t be autonomous anymore, you realize the immense value that even the smallest action or the most insignificant and natural gesture can have. We think of everything that we have lost when we can’t greet someone with a firm and vigorous handshake, or when we can no longer give someone a hug. Have you ever noticed how many muscles we activate when we laugh? … Well, I haven’t been able to laugh for twenty-two years because you need too many muscles to do it … My laugh is reduced to a simple smile ...
“My lung capacity … is a thing of the past too. Now I’m able to talk without major problems but singing is impossible; after two words I remain literally without air … Think about what you are eating. Automatically you do it according to your preferences. Take a fork full of pasta … or cut a piece of meat. Sometimes you accompany it with a piece of bread or other times not. Think about those wonderful filled sandwiches dripping with sauces from all sides. I can’t even think about those. Think about eating them with somebody else holding them. It is a feat in essence impossible, but above all you lose all the pleasure of it. Thus, in the same way you lose much of the pleasure of eating any other dish.
“Everything changes … I have had to put aside my hyperactivity, my job, the motorcycle, the sport, the speed, the adrenaline, the women, going out with friends, pride, dignity, intimacy and being independent of everyone and everything” (Vergani and Favret, I Still Feel the Shivers on My Skin).
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Remo also relates the struggles of his girlfriend, Antonella, breaking up with him as well as a couple of other romances that fell through due to his condition. His parents divorced as well. But on the brightest note, Remo became a Christian in 2008. Some brief reflections on Remo’s experience:
1. Learn to notice and appreciate the smallest of blessings. When we come to value breathing, free movement, scratching an itch, eating, practicing hygiene, combing your hair, brushing your teeth, etc., we will realize how many blessings we have in a given day. Thank God for each one.
2. The true measure of a person lies not in their outward beauty, physique or athleticism but their thoughts, humor, smile, intelligence, feelings – their spiritual self. What remains when the body gives way is the true person.
3. Remo documents the ups and downs of his journey from health to complete paralysis. This didn’t happen overnight, and there were many dark times along the way. What does this say for Western cultures that increasingly promote assisted suicide for the depressed or debilitated? Such short-sighted policies deny true human value and forever end the opportunity to come to know the Lord – as Remo did. What a travesty.
