Dear Body

Dear Body

I’m sorry that I hurt you by breaking our neck all those years ago.  I was young, with an arrogant attitude to life that I was invincible.  I didn’t appreciate your youthful beauty at the time, I know, but I’ve since learned many valuable lessons.  I know, now, that I have a duty to keep you healthy because you are the only one I can and will ever live in.

Believe it or not, I eventually grew to love you, despite being useless paralysed.

By the grace of God, with the love, care and support of my son, family, friends and community I managed to successfully rebuild a new, meaningful life with you.  And for that, I am grateful.

I know that you’re far smarter than I am and that is why I have tried to learn from you.  You have a wisdom which I lack.  I’ve tried my best to listen to you and, more importantly, understand you.  But, you gotta help me here a little bit more.  I’m at a loss.

I’ve been really worried about you.  I’ve felt you crying out for help with every fibre of your being. I know that I can’t feel the pain anymore.  But, I do understand that you still feel it and that it hurts like hell.  I knew with all our heart that you were in severe pain by the way you were suddenly acting.  You’ve taught me well.  I’ve learned to listen to you and I can recognize the signs of pain when you spasm or contract awkwardly.  I also know how dangerous autonomic dysreflexia can be.

So, I did the right thing.  Don’t you remember?  I took you off to the doctor – the smartest guy I know. 

Secretly, we rolled our eyes at his concerns of a possible bladder infection or bowel impaction.  But, we can forgive him, because he doesn’t know how intimately I know you and I trust that he always has our best interests at heart because of his thoroughness.  So, for the sake of peace of mind, we cooperated.

He immediately sent us for an abdominal x-ray, a sonar, urine tests and blood tests.  Yes, I know that we hate needles but, sometimes it’s necessary.  Our arm didn’t pull away too violently so it couldn’t have been that bad.  At least the nurse was friendly and I thought it was really nice of her to visit us at home.

He told us that there was some faecal loading in our bowel.  Well, we certainly didn’t need an x-ray to tell us that.  Besides, we are all-woman and it’s our prerogative to be full of shit sometimes.  Is it not?

So, I punished our poor tummy by drinking the most disgusting stuff in order to get rid of all the shit.  I think our taste buds are still recovering from the shock.  After excessive groaning, burping and farting, our bowels eventually emptied themselves much to the disgust of our oversensitive nasal passages.  I have to admit that I felt really sorry for my care assistant as it was rather foul.

While we are on that topic, I have to tell you that you often make me feel humiliated.  You burp and fart at the most inappropriate times.  Have you forgotten that we are a lady?

Anyway, the emptied bowels didn’t help.  Your right-hand side was still writhing around in pain, especially our right leg.  I was convinced that there was something wrong with our knee or hip.

Our physiotherapists couldn’t find anything unusual.  A friend sent her chiropractor over to check us out, and she couldn’t really find anything strange.  We even had photographs taken of our entire body to establish if there were any hotspots as a result of a buildup of heat energy due to the pain.  They didn’t even come up with a teeny-weeny, little hot spot.  Nevermind.  As far as we are concerned, we are hot, hot, HOT.  Yes, and oh-so-sexy.

Hey, I even took you off to that drop-dead-gorgeous ear doctor to relieve the pressure in our ear in the hopes of making you feel better.  I know our eyes enjoyed the visit.  The candy gave them a much-needed spin.  And as for our ears, well I think that they thought they had momentarily died and gone to heaven every time he touched them.  Oooh… it was good.

Flesh is so contradictory, isn’t it?  It goes on pleasuring and humiliating until the day we die.  It would be nice if we could focus more on the pleasurable side of things, if only you would do your bit and play along.

The spasms got so bad that we were now struggling to sit in the wheelchair without falling over.  You kept me awake night after night with your contortions.

You had me so worried.  I feared the worst.  I thought we’d gone and developed a syrinx in the spinal cord or something equally as terrifying.  We went back to the doctor and neurosurgeon.  We had a CT scan, a bone density scan as well as a cervical MRI.  I know that it was a little cold and uncomfortable for you but it was bloody scary for me.  After a nerve-racking wait for the results, they came up with nothing.  I was relieved.  But so, so, so frustrated.

We put you onto some special drugs to prevent spasms, which I hate, but anything to get you back to normal.  They didn’t help.  And I was getting desperate.

I took you halfway across the country, at great expense, to specialist doctors at a spinal unit where they told me, after many more tests and an isotopes bone scan that our trochanter (upper femur) had a stress fracture.  The doctor wanted to know what I had been doing to you to break our bones.  I can’t share all our secrets now, can I?

I know that I was extremely joyous at the news.  It wasn’t that I was celebrating your pain and injury.  It was just that I was relieved to finally have an answer so that we could treat you and get you all better.  So, after a week in hospital, we went home.  Doctor’ s orders were to take it easy and I was to make sure we take all the medication.  No more swinging from the chandeliers either.  You sure know how to spoil a girl’s fun, don’t you?

I was very good about taking the medication and I treated you really well.  Our poor tummy ended up with an ulcer because of all the anti-inflammatories and pain medication.  I had to do something as it was becoming unbearable and your behaviour was getting out of hand.

You must still have some sort of charm about you because you managed to get my doctor, the orthopedic surgeon and his lovely wife, who happens to be my friend, to do an after-hours housecall.

So, back we went for another full MRI scan and CT scan.  Now they are not even sure if your leg was ever broken in the first place.  That’s nice.  How do you think I feel?  Well, let me tell you.  Like a complete idiot.

As a last-ditch attempt, the physiotherapists have agreed to see me everyday for the next two weeks to see if their intensive treatments and acupuncture will make a difference.  At this stage, I think my physio’s are the only ones who still want anything to do with us.  But, don’t push your luck.

The doctors are at a complete loss.  My medical aid is depleted.  I have stopped all the medication which seemed to be doing us more harm than good.  I have done everything within my power to try and help you. 

Three months on and you are still behaving just as badly, preventing me from having any sort of life at all, keeping me housebound.  Is this really necessary?  Don’t you remember that we are social beings and need to see other people?  Do you care that I’m feeling lonely?

I feel as if I am constantly at war with you.  I don’t want to be mean but, you’re holding me back, confining me and, quite honestly, irritating the hell out of me.

You’re humiliating me and making me feel awkward and insecure.  I worked so hard to rebuild my self-esteem, self-worth and self confidence and you are compromising that at the moment with your bad behaviour.

I know that you don’t agree with me, but, walking is really overrated.  Seriously.  All I want is to be able to sit in my wheelchair without making a complete freak show of myself.  Is this too much to ask?

I take full responsibility for turning you into a quadriplegic and for that I have apologised over and over again.  Who knew you would be so unforgiving.  And relentless.  Is this your revenge?  I probably deserve it but will I ever get a break?

I feel like screaming at the top of our lungs: Hey, Universe, when is it my turn? 

So, Body what exactly do you want me to do now?