I need time. Time to sit quietly at my kitchen table and eat my food in silence. I need time, to eat my bowl of soup with a small spoon. I need the time it takes to put effort into keeping my focus on the moment so I can maintain an awareness of my jaw opening and closing, opening and closing, slowly, methodically. I do not count. I don’t want the stress of rigidity. I need time to notice that my food tastes good. Not just the first two bites. Every bite until my bowl is empty. I need the time it takes to notice that my food has a temperature that feels a certain level of pleasing in my mouth, that I have too much or too little or just enough in my mouth, that it is time to swallow. When I notice a feeling of gratitude for the nourishment my food is giving my body, I need time to express that, to open my mouth and hear myself say thank you to God.
I am a quadriplegic woman. I have been “in a chair” for 41 years come this July. I feel grateful to have been able to carry on for so long with relatively few problems. I feel proud of the effort I’ve made to treat my body well, as imperfect as that has been. For 40 years and 11 months of that time I have tried my best to keep pace in a world I can’t keep up with. When I was younger, it was easier. I had the energy then to deal with the chronic, low grade stress that comes from being chronically behind. I’m in a chapter farther along in the book now. This year I’ll be 66. I can’t do it now, because now it is making me sick. An upper respiratory infection and the flu back to back kind of sick. That’s too risky for me. Besides that, I want to be healthy. I have a niece who just became a doctor. Her sister has two small children and a talent for writing. I want to see what they all do and I’ve got plenty to do myself. I have an astonishingly strong and forgiving body and now it is asking me to do just one thing; slow down. And so I am taking the time to learn how to do that, and be in the world at my own pace.
