The Baking Competition
The six a.m wakeup call was definitely not amusing. The only thing that perked me up were the facial expressions of my 2 fave nurses, Eki and Beatrice. Their pleasant grins were like a soothing salve. Chuckling at their identical “call, don’t fall” badges, that’s pretty much where the similarities ended. Eki was a tall, lithe, mixed-race lady with hazel eyes and olive skin whilst Beatrice was a short, pale redhead with cute little freckles on her nose. Eki was extremely fond of false lashes but they were inserted so seamlessly that one couldn’t really tell the difference. “How did you sleep, luv? I hope you dozed off quickly for today, you are going to conquer another milestone.”
Whilst opening up the new sheet to be fitted onto the bed, Beatrice chimed in, “Girl, have you seen the new O.T? He is a total hottie with a body.” Her Nigerian accent was a sweet reminder of home. She was a diplomat’s daughter so she grew up in Lagos for many years. A smile spread across my facial features; literally from ear to ear. I slid my hand along the retractable railing of the hospital bed and maneuvered ever so swiftly so my legs were dangling off the bed as I sat up. My PJs were riding up my butt giving me a little wedgie. But I didn’t care because I knew without a shadow of a doubt that today would be great.
Shay and I had agreed to meet in the basement of the Millie. The kitchen was going to empty out at 2pm; which happened to be our time slot.
The chrome elevator doors binged open. The basement was a short ride down and time happened to be on my side. Getting a thirty-minute head start was not a walk in the park because my shower time was now a complicated series of events that I had to be seated for a thorough cleansing. Unfortunately, I couldn’t spend less than 45 minutes, soaping up my body and rinsing off with water. This was just one of the many things that had changed post-accident. The tip of the iceberg really. No longer was I able to exercise my independence in many a situation. The alarm was set well before bath-time.
A green tank top, black yoga pants and a pair of trainers was the look for the day. Jet black liquid eyeliner, carefully drawn into a cat eye, black kajal liner along the undereye as well as a perfectly placed faux beauty spot a lá Marilyn Monroe.
The faint smell of chlorine wafted in the air as I “drove” past the hydrotherapy pool. The tick tock of my watch’s second hand grew louder and louder. I felt ridiculous as I frantically searched for the best way to position the wheelchair. Whilst searching for the picture-perfect position, thoughts were swirling around in my head. The thing I loved about the first interaction with Shay was he made me feel “normal”. He pretty much made me feel like girl sitting in front of a boy asking him to like her as a person.
Shay strolled in with five minutes left on the clock. He made the horrid hospital green and white combo look nice. He oozed coolness from the top of his man bun to the sole of his trainers. We high fived and grinned at each other. We walked into the kitchen and I noticed that he had laid out the ingredients in order, to provide structure to our baking session.
“So, what recipe are we using? Barefoot Contessa? Jaime Oliver? I am so ready,” I said, with barely contained excitement for this was the first time I was stepping into a kitchen since the car accident that caused the spinal cord injury. I cannot relay to you the indescribable sorrow and incredulity when the doctor first told me the news.
“Jaime is always the way to go”, he said, sending shivers down my spine. “Great! looking forward to how our brownies turn out,” I replied.
“You put in the ingredients and I’ll be in charge of the mixer.” Shay took charge but in a subtle way that made me feel like we were partners and I was the one leading the ship. The Aunt Jenny brownie mix was definitely going to make a tasty treat.
Wheelchair Girl 
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