Question

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“I haven't been brave,” said his disembodied
computer-voice, the next afternoon: "I've had no choice.”
Surely, I wanted to say, living creatively with the
reality of his disintegrating body was a choice? But I
kept quiet, because I felt guilty every time I spoke to
him, forcing him to respond. There
he was, tapping at
the little switch in his hand, trying to find the words on
his computer
with the only bit of movement, left to him,
his long, pale fingers. Every so often, his eyes would
shut in frustrated exhaustion. And sitting opposite him
I could feel his anguish, the mind buoyant with thoughts
that came out in frozen phrases and sentences stiff as
corpsest
“A lot of people seem to think that disabled people
are chronically unhappy,” I said. “I know that's not true
myself. Are you often laughing inside?"
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A Vis​

Answer 1

Answer:

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