My faithful friends
Today the sun is trying hard to burn off the clouds and the rain has stopped, for a while. I hear the little birds twittering and tweeting in the bush outside my window. My two little mongrel friends jump up on the bed to say good morning. Forgotten is the scolding they got daily from their grumpy old friend who was miserable and unfriendly for the past two or three days.
Happiness is shown by wagging tails and the occasional lick. Just for me to wake up and give them a tickle is bliss for them. For me, they are my companions when the rest of the family is away. If there was a hidden microphone in my house most people would think I’m nuts, with the one sided conversation, as I chat to my two little friends. They complicate my life by crawling under my wheelchair between the batteries and the footrests and bless me with their smelly, noiseless, gaseous presents. They lie behind my wheels all spread out like a pancake and refuse to move or just plain ignore me when I need to move. Hello! I have got news for you my friends. This is my house. You two are just visitors. Long term visitors, but still, just visitors. My bed, my bathroom, my blankets and my lounge chairs. All mine. Because I allow you to sleep on them, does not mean that you can lay claim. There are no squatters rights in this house.
After saying good morning I roll over with some assistance from my wife and think about my day ahead. Bed bath first, then hoist into my chair, and then breakfast. Once I’m in my power chair I can brush my teeth and have my hair combed. Then I can say good morning to all my cyber friends, read and answer all my emails. I can move around of my own free will, if the dogs don’t have other ideas. Phone friends, chat to my son, who is off today.
All I have to do is spread my energy so that I can last the whole day and evening, otherwise I may hit the wall, as runners call it, and have to take a short power nap. I have visions of suddenly stopping midstream with my porridge spoon half way to my mouth while I doze for a while. Then wake up and complete the movement like some comic book character. All things need to be planned and prepared like an army going into some great battle. Energy wastage is a definite no, no.
My friends can’t wait for lunchtime and keep coming to the side of my chair to whine, growl and try to communicate that they think its time to eat MY lunch. Over the past year since I’ve been in my power chair permanently, they have become wise and hang around to catch anything that I may drop due to my disease induced clumsiness. If anything edible falls out of my hand, it’s pounced upon and the ensuing power struggle between the dogs and I can be quite funny.
I was chewing the meat off a particularly juicy chop bone when it slipped out of my hands and landed on the floor. One grabbed it and made a beeline for the door with other one in hot pursuit. I was shouting unintelligible commands, because of my full mouth, while chasing them down in my power chair. The cavalcade of pursuing and pursued headed for the lounge with me still trying to swallow what was in my mouth and shout at the same time. This was a recipe for disaster for me, especially with my swallowing difficulty.
The thief shot through the doggy door and stood outside looking at me triumphantly while wagging his tail as if to say, catch me if you can. I just sat there mouthing threats and curses. Clearly this was a game for him because he stuck his head back through the doggy door, bone firmly clamped in his jaws, and glared at me in defiance. At this stage I would still have eaten the bone just to prove a point but he was too wiley for me. He waited for me to get close before bounding off again with his buddy barking encouragement and generally getting in the way.
Deciding that I would rather save a bit of my dignity, I told him that he could have the bone because I was finished with it anyway. I huffed and puffed, lifted my chin in disgust and wheeled back to finish my sandwich, making absolutely certain that I didn’t drop a crumb. The thief lay outside the doggy door, just out of reach while he polished off my juicy bone. Even his buddy never got a touch. He was allowed to sit and watch and drool, but that was it. I was drooling too but I wouldn’t give the little monster the satisfaction of seeing me do it.
My little friends get away with murder and think they own the place and drive me bonkers on occasion but warmer, more unselfish and faithful friends I could not find. They accept me moods, disease and all.
Even though they think I’m a soft target and take advantage of the situation I would be so lonely without them. They keep me sane and lift my spirits when I’m down.
Years of experience with Disability, it’s complexity and survival are tackled head on in these articles. Roly has been wheelchair bound with myositis for some 10 years now and he has numerous articles published in magazines in South Africa and on various sites on the internet. Article Source:http://www.articlesbase.com/disabilities-articles/my-faithful-friends-1518016.html
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