Among the Wild

2/14/16

Hubby and I are standing side-by-side at the kitchen counter preparing our morning nutrition drinks when the realization hits me.

~*~
Into the blender I pour.
Frozen, wild, organic blueberries, enough to cover the bottom of the blender.
Two tablespoons soaked chia seeds.
A big splash of organic, tart cherry juice concentrate.
A big splash of Bragg's, With-the-Mother, organic, apple cider vinegar.
About 1/4-cup chilled Spring Dragon Longevity tea.
A few large handfuls of fresh, organic greens.
Seven different powder-blends of dried herbs and foods and proteins.

Every morning I whir my concoction, a key component of my daily medicine.

This morning Hubby decides to not make himself a blender-smoothie.
Instead he combines his ingredients with water in a large, hard plastic cup...
and swishes it with a fork.
He uses four different powder-blends and flaxseed.

He reaches his left arm across the counter in front of me and grabs the large bag of ground flaxseed.
As he lifts the bag back across me and to his spot on the counter, the bottom corner of the large bag inadvertently brushes across my right cheek.
It doesn't hurt, but I'm not able to move quickly enough to avoid the swipe.

That's when the realization hits me.
And I blurt out loud.

"I feel like an object.
That describes how I feel!
When I'm out, among people.
During my bad weeks."

A flood of memories sweeps into my consciousness.
Incident after incident.
And how I feel when maneuvering in public spaces during my bad weeks.
Those weeks when I am most disabled between my every-12-week, routine epidurals.

All these incidents happen in places of commerce.
Where people move down aisles selecting their wares.
Where people, often impatient, wait in lines.

Where people use their arms to reach for things.
From shelves.
From the deli.
From the check-out.
From the fast-food counter or drive-up window.

I too am expected to use my arms and hands in the same manner as people whose arms and hands work right.

But my arms and hands don't work right.
My arms can reach, but they are slow and weak.
My hands can grasp, but not at a normal speed nor with normal strength.

I am abnormal.

More than once, I've been brought to tears during a lone grocery trip.
Because of the slow motion of my body and legs and arms and hands, I become an object that disrupts the flow of traffic.
I am keenly aware of my space and surroundings, and calculate my maneuvers so as to avoid collisions.
By the time I make it back to my car, I feel like I've just traversed a mine field.
It is exhausting.

Most folks are polite when they inadvertently bump me due to my slowness.
Or when having to accommodate my turtle-pace.
I've never had one person sigh or make a complaint, at least that I could hear.

Though I feel sure the clerk at the Whole Foods deli was perplexed at my tears when...
I wasn't quick enough to grab the little cup from him with the sample salad that I wanted to taste before buying.
So he placed the tiny cup on the tall, glass deli-counter for me and walked away to wait on other customers.
I stared at the looming, little cup with the tiny spoon, *way up high, contemplating and calculating how I'm going to reach up and retrieve it.
After a couple minutes, I am successful.
But I am exhausted, exasperated, and tearful.
It feels humiliating.

When I feel more like an object than like a person, I know that is my perception.
In those spaces, which seem like hours instead of minutes.
It is how the experience feels to me.
In reality, I know I am a person.
But at those times, I feel less than a person.

And, in a sense, I am.

I am not physically whole.
I am less-than.
I am handicapped.
There is a cap on my handiness.
A limit to my usefulness.

Such a cold, objective viewpoint.
No wonder I feel like an object.

I'm sure I'm not alone in this feeling.

But I only feel like an object among humans,
accomplishing their tasks.

I do not feel like an object in the woods,
among the wild,
where I am whole.

~*~
*A few weeks later, during my better-weeks between epidurals, I stood beside that same "tall ," "way up high" counter top. In reality, the counter top is just a tad over shoulder-height. I was stunned. It seemed 7-feet tall when I had my previous encounter.

~*~