Accident
Sometimes the only way to gauge your psychic state is to march right into the jaws of death or, to tone this metaphor down slightly, the jaws of inconvenience. Public conveniences a.k.a., toilets, are a fact of British life. Inconvenience would otherwise prevail. And the source of British inconvenience is one I share. Tea. It is a national addiction and one easily acquired by the frequent visitor and past resident. And the consequences of tea could not be clearer and more civic, to wit, the UK's public conveniences. If you drink tea, you have to pee. There is no way around it, and if you drink tea and are the possessor of a quadriplegic bladder, capacity scant, you will be inconvenienced all the more frequently...and one can pound the point into the ground, or just leave it at that. There are no obscure principles here. Archimedes' grasp of liquids suffices to this day. The latter cannot be compressed. And they displace in a predictable, utterly formulaic way.
Of course, no one wants to walk into the jaws of inconvenience. But for the typical quadriplegic, misadventure is always just around the corner. Including the urinary corner. Try being sensible. Drink your cup of tea at 7:30 AM, then cease liquid intake. By all means have breakfast, a solid and dry breakfast. By 11:30 AM your bladder will feel like the Gobi Desert. A good sign, actually. It's time to get on the exercycle.
Of course, it has been time for a long time. That time stretched and redefined itself during the two-week trip to Britain, according to a complicated formula that factors the logarithmic impact of massive fry-up breakfasts, with the usual panorama of eggs and sausages stretching to the horizon. Nevermind. It's 11:30 AM, Lorna has gotten you hooked into the exercycle, and you're off. Thing is, you were a little more off than you had realized. Getting back in shape takes a little longer with each advancing year, doesn't it? And you can pedal your butt off all you want, but general stamina, the solar-plexus draining effects of jetlag and the persistent symptoms of wife loss...well, it doesn't make things go faster.
You can listen to news podcasts on the health care crisis just to get your anger up and adrenaline pumping, but it's not enough. Only enough is enough. And you used to do five virtual miles on the exercycle, dropping your right foot in its plastic brace proudly to the ground when the 5.00 digital readout appeared. And dammit, there's no stopping you. There probably should be someone. Such as a cardiologist. But you're tired of being stopped by your own nervous system, so you pedal on, cardiovascular conditions be damned.
It's around 4.00 that a quick probe of the bladder reveals negative conditions. Still, there's the sense that it has taken a long, long time to get this far, and the rate of urinary production is just slow enough to get you off this exercise machine in reasonably dry condition. You've only got 1.00 to go. So, of course, you go for it. And what you're going for is truly broke. Because with feeling diminished, the true state of the bladder is a matter of some vagueness. And it's only when the 5.00 appears and you knock the foot free of its pedal, that the reality dawns.
A friend has asked why I don't just keep a little bottle beside the exercycle. Because, I explained, I'm sitting down. But this doesn't really make sense because I stand up to get off the thing. I really wish I had a pot to piss in right now. But I don't. So I do what I did just a few days earlier, unzipping and aiming at the carport floor. It's disgusting. But peeing on myself is even more so. The problem is that my iPod, hanging from the exercycle handlebars, is somehow in the line of fire. One of the earpieces gets wet. I stare at this in disbelief. How is such a thing possible? And what do I do now? I can't even recall which earpiece I've gotten wet. Should I rinse off both?
Strangely absent in all this is the usual self-recrimination. I've had a small accident and avoided a larger one. And this, believe me, it's a definite sign that four months after watching my wife die...things are getting better.
Of course, no one wants to walk into the jaws of inconvenience. But for the typical quadriplegic, misadventure is always just around the corner. Including the urinary corner. Try being sensible. Drink your cup of tea at 7:30 AM, then cease liquid intake. By all means have breakfast, a solid and dry breakfast. By 11:30 AM your bladder will feel like the Gobi Desert. A good sign, actually. It's time to get on the exercycle.
Of course, it has been time for a long time. That time stretched and redefined itself during the two-week trip to Britain, according to a complicated formula that factors the logarithmic impact of massive fry-up breakfasts, with the usual panorama of eggs and sausages stretching to the horizon. Nevermind. It's 11:30 AM, Lorna has gotten you hooked into the exercycle, and you're off. Thing is, you were a little more off than you had realized. Getting back in shape takes a little longer with each advancing year, doesn't it? And you can pedal your butt off all you want, but general stamina, the solar-plexus draining effects of jetlag and the persistent symptoms of wife loss...well, it doesn't make things go faster.
You can listen to news podcasts on the health care crisis just to get your anger up and adrenaline pumping, but it's not enough. Only enough is enough. And you used to do five virtual miles on the exercycle, dropping your right foot in its plastic brace proudly to the ground when the 5.00 digital readout appeared. And dammit, there's no stopping you. There probably should be someone. Such as a cardiologist. But you're tired of being stopped by your own nervous system, so you pedal on, cardiovascular conditions be damned.
It's around 4.00 that a quick probe of the bladder reveals negative conditions. Still, there's the sense that it has taken a long, long time to get this far, and the rate of urinary production is just slow enough to get you off this exercise machine in reasonably dry condition. You've only got 1.00 to go. So, of course, you go for it. And what you're going for is truly broke. Because with feeling diminished, the true state of the bladder is a matter of some vagueness. And it's only when the 5.00 appears and you knock the foot free of its pedal, that the reality dawns.
A friend has asked why I don't just keep a little bottle beside the exercycle. Because, I explained, I'm sitting down. But this doesn't really make sense because I stand up to get off the thing. I really wish I had a pot to piss in right now. But I don't. So I do what I did just a few days earlier, unzipping and aiming at the carport floor. It's disgusting. But peeing on myself is even more so. The problem is that my iPod, hanging from the exercycle handlebars, is somehow in the line of fire. One of the earpieces gets wet. I stare at this in disbelief. How is such a thing possible? And what do I do now? I can't even recall which earpiece I've gotten wet. Should I rinse off both?
Strangely absent in all this is the usual self-recrimination. I've had a small accident and avoided a larger one. And this, believe me, it's a definite sign that four months after watching my wife die...things are getting better.
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