Huddled by the gas fireplace in the corner of my kitchen, I worried the winter storm had broken me.

For most of the previous week I’d been eating, sleeping and living within a 5-foot radius of the fireplace. Forecasters had warned an “arctic blast” would bring snow, ice and record low temperatures, but having weathered many previous “blasts” — including many that never blasted off — I thought I knew what I was in for. I was wrong.

Mother Nature’s initial onslaught felt like she had devised an exhaustive plan to trap me in my home. I live at the bottom of a steep hill and there is only one road in and out. Within hours of knocking out the power and internet, multiple 40-plus-foot trees had fallen and blocked that road. The areas that weren’t covered in foliage and broken limbs glistened with a thick sheet of ice.

Any thoughts of escaping in my adapted van vanished when a neighbor reported a tow truck with chains and 4-wheel-drive had failed to rescue another vehicle on the hill and ended up just as stuck. With 60-70 MPH wind gusts and blowing snow, the 11-degree temperature seemed like the most manageable of the out-door obstacles.

Indoors, the opposite was true. The frigid cold had invaded my house when the power went out, and now the only thing keeping me warm was a heavy blanket my attendant nailed around the doorway into the kitchen. Every time he pushed aside the blanket to check on me a gust of cold blasted into the room.

The first night, before the blanket went up, the fireplace struggled to keep the room above 60 as temperatures outside fell. I could feel my aging quad muscles tightening up and my neck throbbing. Thankfully, the blanket provided enough insulation to keep the room close to 75 degrees and maintain a 30+ degree difference with the next room.

On day two, we relinquished my bedroom to the cold and rolled two exercise tables into the kitchen’s other corner. With cabinets replacing the guard rail, a stool serving as a headboard and an old foam mattress topper, I enjoyed a surprisingly restful sleep while the howling wind bombarded my roof with falling ice and branches.

The last remaining floor space between my prime fireplace spot and the bed went to the surprise MVP of the storm: my $20,000 Permobil USB charger. For over 15 months I’ve been struggling to get my new Permobil F3 power chair ready for daily use, but seemingly every-thing that could go wrong has gone wrong.

After months of doing little but collecting dust and generating frustration, I finally found something it truly shines at: recharging all the electronics my attendant and I relied on. Reading for 7-8 hours day on an iPad has a way of draining your batteries, not to mention your passion for reading.

With a battery-powered lantern, a gas stove top and an intermittent mobile hotspot, this setup carried me through the emotional highs and lows of one of the most stressful non-medical events I’ve endured as a quad. Still, even with an emergency escape plan (thanks to a generous neighbor with a Sprinter van and chainsaws) I felt trapped. My home — my sanctuary — felt more like a refuge, and a vulnerable one at that.

As much as my setup protected me from the harsh elements, the storm ripped through any illusions I had about how independent I truly am. It reinforced my deep appreciation for my attendants and support system and reminded me how critical it is that we strive to enhance similar systems and make sure that disabled people aren’t left in the cold.