J.W.
23 February 2014
Sunday 5:00 AM
There is a wrinkle
that remains folded over, a ruck that bothers like a stone in one's
shoe. The disturbance keeps demanding attention, the intensity
mounts. On one hand I want to overlook it, chalk it up to good
natured ribbing. But the pain continues, bringing me back to the
anguish of a wound not expected.
I realize that
humor is a form of tension release, the building of energy that may
be counter to prevailing expectations as a punch line is explicated
stands our following the development of a joke on its ear. Laughter
ensues as we reconcile the two endings, the punch line and the
internal understanding as we anticipated the unfolding story. Many
people laugh for similar reasons but the story is not some
hypothetical, third party story, it is the uncomfortableness felt as
someone is set apart from the group and publicly pilloried. The stage
act of Don Rickles or a person being roasted at a dinner act as
examples here. These examples may be tension inducing and the release
needs to be effected, but they are more like watching a bully asail a
victim than something humorous.
Yes I realize that
some people have no compunction about bullying tactics, perhaps they
weren't raised with sufficient input from patient and loving adults.
Or maybe they momentarily lapsed their own ability to understand the
impact their behaviors could have on others. Either way the recipient
of such unfortunate attention may wish the humor impaired perpetrator
Godspeed in a swift release of their own internal tension. And since
one of the best relievers of tension the body knows is to experience
sexual release, the familiar epitaph to go fornicate with one's self
quickly rises to the occasion. There are more succinct and rude ways
to state this helpful bit of information, many of which are well know
to the public. No need to repeat them here.
There are many
related and yet not easy aspects to this disease that many people
fail to consider. From the CENA helping with my two (count 'em only
two) showers a week who after putting my socks on my feet, she lets
go of the foot when she has finished to let it drop to the floor –
that hurts! To the CENA changing my urine soaked sheets of my bed
while I am still in it (a standard hospital technique) who asks me to
lift my leg to help her out.
People fail to
understand or realize that this disease has progressed to the point
where from my sternum down to my toes I have no voluntary control of
my muscles. I have reflex responses, but there is no control to
those. I cannot stand or walk, I can't roll my ankles in bed, lift my
leg or bend my knee. In addition the sphincter muscles (which at rest
tighten and close – much like any perching bird or an owl's feet),
I cannot control to open and void my bladder or bowel. For over a
year now I have had to wear what is basically an adult diaper to
catch my bodily effluents. This runs exactly counter to our earliest
successes, the graduation from diapers to pull up underwear. The
effect runs deep.
There are so many
little losses of physical abilities which I had grown up wielding
without a second thought, now they are gone, sometimes overnight. Its
frightening, how soon will I become entirely dependent on others for
everything? I feel partially locked into a noncompliant body now, how
long before I cannot speak, put on my iPod headphones, work my
computer? I see it in this facility all the time, residents who are
washed in bed then put in front of a television for entertainment all
day. How long before I join their ranks? I am still getting used to
having my briefs (diapers) changed five or six times a day, many of
these have gone too long and the sheets are soiled and have to be
changed as well. The CENA staff tell me not to worry, but it still
feels like a failure on my part, I'm at the same level as a toddler.
I used to do better than this. There is no easy way to ease into
this.
If I make some
self-deprecating double entendre that is my choice. When someone else
refers to my loss of bodily function directly trying to make humor -
that is crossing the line. Like when a waitress in a restaurant asked
me what my blind friend wanted to order (assuming she couldn't order
for herself), fire works ensued. Or the coarse ruffians entertaining
themselves pickpocketing the carry bag one of my quadriplegic
classmates had slung over his wheelchair. Its easy to take advantage
of the disabled, nearly anyone can do it, many do, even if the
attempt is a feeble play for humor. There are just some things that
shouldn't be attempted. One would hope that we as a culture had
progressed further than that. Perhaps someday. With any luck this
progression might occur at the same time as I become totally
dependent on others. One can hope ...
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