ACT ONE: THE TEXT
Early this morning I was texting an old acquaintance. It had been almost a year since we had been in touch and I had to tell her about my diagnosis. Our texting went something like this:
Me: Hi! It's been a long time! How are you?!
Old Acquaintance: Wow! How have you been? What's going on?
Me: It's been a tough year. In June I had my colon removed and in Oct I was diagnosed with ASL.
OA: Are you telling me you are deaf?
Me: No, I have ASL. I don't think it causes one to become deaf.
OA: I'm confused...
Me: I have ASL - Lou Gehrigs Disease.
OA: Oh!!!!!!!!!!!! LOLOL!!!!!!!!
Me: I am not sure why we are laughing... :\
OA: No, I am not laughing at you...I think you mean ALS NOT ASL. ASL IS AMERICAN SIGN LANGUAGE!
(At that point I went back and reread the texts and had a really good laugh)
ACT TWO: THE BANANA
I wanted a banana for breakfast. I don't eat a lot of them because they tend to...well, you know...but this morning I looked over at them on our kitchen counter and they were the perfect ripeness and looked so good. So, today, I thought, I will eat a banana.
There were three bananas left in the bunch and just a tad bit out of my reach. I stretched as far as I could, got a hold of one of the three bananas, and pulled. The one banana ripped itself away from the others. The two that I didn't have a hold on went ricocheting across the kitchen, landing next to the garbage can.
I placed my desired one banana on the counter, and turned my wheelchair around to retrieve the other two. I leaned all the way over, reaching for the ground and the two bananas. Again, I got a hold of one of them, and as before, it pulled away from its partner. So now I have two bananas on the counter, and one more to pick up. By this time the banana fiasco had gotten the attention of my dogs, who came over to sniff and lick the remaining banana on the floor. I discussed with them how it would be REALLY convenient right now for them to have opposable thumbs and/or the ability to understand the command "fetch the banana". They kind of just looked at me like I was crazy, and went back to sleep.
After much shifting of the chair and reaching for the ground, I was finally able to get the third banana on the counter. I chose the best of the three, and went to open it. Well, my own thumbs (and fingers) are not strong enough to break open a banana. By this time my mouth is watering. I really want this banana. I crave this banana. I will eat this banana if it is the last thing I do! I take out a butter knife and attempt to cut into the top of the banana. Not strong enough. I look around the kitchen for a tool to help me break the banana. All the steak knives are in the sink or dishwasher, the bread knife is too risky. Scissors? Keys? A fork? I went for the scissors, and cut open the banana.
And for a moment I sat back and just looked at my open, perfectly ripe, yellow banana. It was worth all the effort.
ACT THREE: ELIJAH
I had a doctor appointment this morning. And as with most appointments these days, my parents took me. In my bright pink wheelchair, my Mom and I ventured up the elevator, down the long hall, and into the waiting room where we were greeted by the cutest little boy. I later learned his name is Elijah. He had sparkly brown eyes, a big, beautiful smile, and dark curly hair. He came up to us as soon as we rolled through the door. We stopped and said "hi", and he smiled. You could tell he had a keen interest in the wheelchair, and the person sitting in it who was basically eye level with him. I locked the chair and he reached for the wheels. He giggled. "Pretty cool" I said and he looked at me with such joy and happiness. He was checking it all out - me, the chair, the wheels, the color. Our interaction was only a few minutes before he and his parents were called in to see the doctor. Yet, Elijah's smile and joy, his interest and exploring, were a perfect way to end my morning. Thanks Elijah.