It’s been five weeks now since the accident, and the days are starting to blend together in this wheelchair accessible, extended stay hotel. Having only one fully functioning limb (left arm) really does limit what you can do. Here is what an average day’s activities look like:
wake up
get out of bed
use the bathroom
eat breakfast
listen to a podcast/music
lie back down
read part a book
get up
eat lunch
lie down
nap
get up
have a visitor
lie down
stream a tv show
go to bed
This list is fairly comprehensive.... I’m basically living Peter Gibbons’ Office Space dream of doing nothing. So you might wonder how this list could take 16 hours to complete. To answer this question, let’s zoom in on the most important moment of the day: potty time. For anyone not interested in the details of how I poo with only one good arm and no working legs, please skip the following set of steps and pictures. It is a lengthy process, as this is no small task.
Let’s assume I’m already up in my wheelchair with my back brace on.
Get slide board, a 30 inch long plank of wood, and balance it on lap.
**Don’t drop the slide board during any point in process or add 6 more steps.
Notice some obstruction in the path to the bathroom.
Drop off slide board. Get reacher-grabber tool. Move the obstruction using reacher-grabber.
Put slide board back on lap. Wheel to bathroom. Line up wheelchair just right, so as to get over the evil lip on the floor between the kitchen and the bathroom. Use just the right amount of wheelchair force. Popping a wheelie is the advanced technique here.
Line the wheelchair up just perfectly next to the commode. A protractor may be helpful.
Wedge one end of the slide board under butt. Be careful not to get shorts or testicles caught.
Rest other end on the top of the commode in a stable orientation. Continue to be watchful for testicle snagging.
Wiggle way across the slide board, bridging the gap between wheelchair and the toilet.
Get pants down using some back-and-forth rocking and leaning while working the elastic ever so slowly downward (erotic novelists, feel free to use this incredibly sexy line).
Poo.
Reverse the slide board transfer back to wheelchair.
Wash hands.
And that’s how you poop!
Here’s my point. Doing anything takes a lot of time right now. Processes move slowly. But this is actually a good thing. I have nowhere to be. And every day, every hour, and every minute, I’m healing up a bit more. I have to constantly remind myself that if making and eating breakfast takes two hours, then… great!
More importantly, I constantly need to remind myself to stay in the moment. If my focus is on eventually eating dinner, then the long, slow process of actually making it can only frustrate me. Instead, I have to stay focused on each tiny task at hand: getting out a plate, turning on the stove-top, opening the elegant package of Top Ramen. If staying in the moment is achieved, then on a really good day I can appreciate each movement, each sound, each feeling as it comes.
But appreciating each moment is something that I’ve struggled with in normal life activities too.
Driving: I want to enjoy the scenery and the radio more. I want to focus less on the destination.
Climbing: I want to enjoy each movement and each attempt on a route more. I want to focus less on when I might send.
Social interactions, say at the crag: I want to enjoy the company of the friend that I’ve just run into more. I want to focus less on when I can start climbing.
Work: I want to focus on the current conversation more. I want to focus less on yesterday’s meeting.
I can’t say that I’m loving the fact that I’m broken. But eventually I’ll get out of this wheelchair, this cast, and these braces. And I think the slow lifestyle of the past several weeks is good training for the day that I can leave this hotel behind. Maybe when I rejoin the world, I can be a better human.
Because rather than practicing who I want to be, I’ve been practicing when I want to be. Not in the past, not in the future, but in the present.