Victory vs, Retreat

"Start by doing what is necessary, then do what is possible, and suddenly you are doing the impossible." - Saint Francis of Assissi

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Life as an adult with the bodily control, or lack thereof, of a toddler can be a little complicated. I was glad to have been invited to have dinner with two of my friends. It was a spontaneous invitation and my body was being cooperative, so I accepted and began immediately making preparations for going out. Spontenaity is one of the things I miss most since my injury.

I arrived at the restaurant, one of my favorites, near the apartment that I lived in when I was first discharged from rehab. It was close enough that I could wheel there in my powerchair to pick up carryout or stay there and listen to music while I watched hurried people order, eat, and rush on with their lives. I remember wondering on more than one occasion if they heard a note of one of the songs or even tasted what they had ordered. Patience and an attention to everyday blessings have been one positive spinoff of living with paralysis.

Interestingly enough, as I reflect back about this restaurant, it was also the one that I was unable to step foot into years ago because of an association that I formed following a tragic multiple murder and attempted murders committed by a teenager from my neighborhood. No, it didn't happen at this establishment, but my family and I were eating dinner here when I started getting messages on my pager from my staff in the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit about the children who were going to be admitted to our area for care. I remember becoming physically ill every time thought about having a meal at this restaurant for several years. It reminded me of the stressful aftermath of that horrible crime.

Times certainly change. This particular evening, I ordered one of my favorites with grilled vegetables. While we were talking and waiting for our food, we were nibbling on our home made, warm yeast rolls. After taking one bite of my roll, I realized that I was going to have to make a quick exit to leave or make an attempt at tackling using a public restroom for the first time since my accident or have an embarrassing bowel accident for the first time in public. While my friends talked, I excused myself and decided to give the restroom a try.

I was relieved to find that the restroom had a large handicapped stall and rolled in to begin the challenge. I ran through a mental safety checklist in a matter of seconds. I positioned my wheelchair at an angle with the toilet, placed my reacher so it was available, evaluated the toilet seat height (would I be able to get up if I sat on it), made sure my cell phone was reacheable, and placed my yoga-thonged feet directly beneath me while I positioned my suprapubic catheter to the side, out of the way.

I stood carefully, holding onto the grabrail with my best functioning right hand and used my left hand to slip my bottoms down, then, transferred to the toilet. It was just in time! This would have been an unbelievable mega-embarrassing mess! Toilet paper is hard to hold and use even with my stronger hand, but I did it this time. Note to myself - add wet wipes to youe purse contents!

One of my friends came into the restroom to check on me. The process, necessarily, took time to figure out how to accomplish the task at hand and stay safe. I told her I was ok and began re-dressing, careful to keep my balance. I returned to my wheelchair and headed to the sink to wash my hands. When I returned to he table, I was celebrating a small, invisible victory. I took a few bites of my salad and began trying to jump into the conversation.

We were at the restaurant talking for nearly three hours! I wondered if they had any idea about what happened to me during the half hour I disappeared into the restroom. I am certain that they had no idea about the physical and logistical choices I was involved in making that would either keep me there, hopefully, or force me to leave abruptly, at the mercy of unpredictability. I had not prepared an exit dialog - evidence, perhaps that I chose to make a potentially impossible situation possible.