Wheelchair At The Top Of A Hill in Breathing Lessons

It's a Saturday morning somewhere around twenty minutes past eight, and I am already at the computer with a cup of coffee sitting on a nearby TV tray. I have to turn around in my desk chair, which swivels so I can do so, as I never put beverages or food too near the computer itself, especially the keyboard. I found out the hard way that computer keyboards and other electronic equipment do not like liquids or food very much. I've had to replace two computer keyboards before this valuable lesson got through to me. I am a little slow like that sometimes. I'm not stupid, it's just that my learning curve is rather warped. It's one of my dubious charms.

Saturdays are my days to sleep in, and in general, be lazy and not do much of anything unless I have something that really has to be done, like this morning I have to send out an email tot he church congregation (I am a Presbyterian.) about the fund we're putting together to buy a gift for our pastor, as a sign of our appreciation for his service with us. At the end of the month he's leaving. I get the job of sending out the email because I also edit our church's newsletter, which is sent out via both email and snail mail, and I'm the one with all the email addresses. Other than that, it's going to be a lazy day, because that's what Saturdays are for me.

Of course, "sleeping in" for me means that I get to sleep until about 7:30am, which is around the time the cat decides he wants his morning cat treats and thinks I've forgotten them, because he didn't get them at 4:30am as he almost always does. Three days a week I'm up a little after 4:00am to get ready to leave for dialysis by 5:45, when my ride usually arrives to pick me up, so I can be at the dialysis center, which is not in the small community where I live, by six-thirty. My transportation is provided by a medical transport service because I don't drive. The medical transport service sends someone with a van to pick me up. I'm the only passenger, and I travel in a wheelchair.

In fact, the wheelchair belongs to me...

No, I am not wheelchair bound. I can walk. I walk well, in fact. I walk better than I used to. The thing is, I have all sorts of ailments, from asthma to heart issues, and now kidney failure, all of which have contributed in making it difficult to walk very far without experiencing shortness of breath, which is not only uncomfortable, but downright nerve-wracking. Think of it this way; wouldn't it upset you if every time you walked anywhere you felt as if you were drowning? That's sort of how I feel. I usually only feel that way on the days I need to have dialysis. Fluid doesn't leave my body the way it should because the kidneys don't process it, and all that fluid (even though I stick pretty closely to guidelines as to how much I can safely have in a day.) causes breathing issues. Then there's the time after dialysis itself; for the first hour or two I'm not so steady on my feet. That's a different matter. That's all about getting my sense of balance back; it's akin to getting one's "sea legs," so to speak. Therefore, I need the wheelchair to get me from the dialysis area to the van awaiting me outside the entrance to the building. It's not a long distance to go, but when your legs feel like Jell-O, it's safer not to be walking. When I fall down, I tend to break things, like body parts, which is to say the least, somewhat inconvenient.

A few years ago I never would have imagined this would be my life. I never saw myself being transported in a wheelchair. I never saw myself needing to be hooked up to machines three times a week just to stay alive. I never thought my life would be turned so totally upside-down the way it has been.

And I never thought in a million years that much of my thinking as my life and my lifestyle have changed that my thoughts would often be consumed with end of life issues, and the fact that because of my current situation with dialysis, I could easily decide that enough is enough, and make my exit from this life, simply by stopping the dialysis regimen altogether. That's all it would take; just say no, don't go back, don't have it done anymore. This would be akin to signing my death warrant. I need dialysis to stay alive; without it, I won't.

I've looked at both sides, and have weighed the consequences of both the choice to keep going on with things as they are or deciding that I've had a good life but life just isn't living anymore and it's time to move on. Last year, around the time of the holidays, I came very close to making the decision to bring a halt to everything, and doing whatever I had to do to put my things in order, and properly say goodbye to everyone I loved. Emotionally, I was just hurting too damned much, and I couldn't stand the thought of going on. As I said to my doctor, "They tell me I could live another twenty years on dialysis. God forbid I should live that long."

But here I am, months later...still fighting...

You see, I've learned to live with where I am in my liferight now, and I've also learned that death is normal, and our mortality is an issue we perhaps should all be concerned with from time to time. Nothing lasts forever, not even earthly life. All things shall pass. It's natural, it's normal, and death is merely a part of life. Death reminds us that we are free, and have always been free.

I've also come to understand, through the medical professionals I've talked to that people with chronic life-threatening illnesses often think about death, and life, and whether life is worth continuing with or not. We are a special breed; we live in this life, aware of it and all that it is, and yet we see across the river into the next life, and we come to know it, in a manner of speaking. The beyond becomes part of our being here. We can't escape it; we can only face it, deal with it, and learn to live in its shadow, which in the long run is not such an imposing or ominous shadow at all. It represents peace, and naked honesty and equality, and reminds us of the freedom we will have then, and that we have even now. We can choose. Everyone can choose. Some of us just see the potential to choose better than others.

It's a gift, a very special gift.

All of this allows me to think nothing of my wheelchair or the fact that some days I absolutely need it to get around. I know I can get around on my own without it, for which I am most fortunate as not everyone who needs a wheelchair or walker can say that, and I have a life that while not as full as it once was, it's still a full life, and it's still good, and as long as it's still good and I can be reasonably independent, which I am, it's all good, and all worth keeping.

There's a long sentence for you, but hey, let it be; it is what it is.

And life is what it is, and this life is mine. For now, I'm hanging onto it, until the day comes when I can hang onto it no more, and I'll know when that time comes.

I suppose these are some pretty heavy thoughts for a Saturday morning when I'm doing my best to be lazy and not think very much about anything, but this is part of my life too; even the laziest of moments find me thinking. I've always been one to be like that. I ruminate about everything. Sometimes I think too much, while at other times, not enough.

None of this is a burden; rather, I strangely enjoy all of it. I enjoy the seriousness of the whole thing and welcome the challenge of dealing with the serious side of myself, because it gives me a chance to find humor where there might be none, and I do find it, believe me, in the strangest places.

Like for example, I'm thinking about that wheelchair right now. I figure it's good for transportation, but it might be fun for other things too, like taking it to the top of a hill some sunny day, getting in it, and letting myself roll down the hill of the chair's own free will, while waving an American flag and shouting, "The British are coming! The British are coming! Don't fire until you see the whites of their eyes!" just to see how anyone who witnesses the event will react. I like doing things like that.

Good thing for me the wheelchair has breaks.

I could mention other amusing things about the life I'm living right now, but this essay has gone on long enough and my brain has already met its quota for deep thoughts for the day, and besides which, my typing has started to go all to hell. I guess I can summarize all this by saying that even on those quiet, relaxing days, I think a lot because I find it necessary and enjoyable. It's not a problem to me. It's my life, and my life is good, albeit different from what it used to be. The past is gone, and while it's nice to be able to look back on it once in a while, the past is no place to life. We're all about today, and tomorrow, and the day after that. Time marches on, and so do we, if we know what's good for us, and sometimes that requires a little thought, because thought helps us retrieve our sense of imagination, and creativity, and those two things make life, even when life just isn't much of a life, a joy and a blessing. There is dignity and light in creatiity and imagination, and I'm fortunate to be gifted with both.

We all are, you know; it's in every one of us. We just have to know where that place is where they can be found, which is half the battle to getting there. Happy Saturday, y'all.