Laying It On the Table…

Some (I think especially some of my female readers) might relate to one of my small pleasures in life. Getting my hair washed when preparing to get my hair cut.

Always the highlight of a salon visit, especially when head massages began to be incorporated a few decades ago. I practically purr when someone is playing with my hair!

I’m not able to get to the salon anymore, yet my hair still annoyingly continues to grow. A friend connected me to a stylist who was willing to come to my apartment to cut my hair – and also make allowances for my difficulty in sitting up and needing oxygen. My friend also happens to be an aesthetician who takes care of my pedicures for me now (I can’t reach my feet anymore). Today I lucked out having both aesthetician friend and stylist friend come over at the same time.

To make things easier, I suggested that Suzanna could wash my hair before their arrival. Normally I’d have washed it seated in the shower, but my daily shower had already taken place hours before. Certainly my daughter and I could figure out a way to get the job done in the bathroom that wouldn’t be too uncomfortable for me.

Think back to your own visits to the salon, leaning back into those big comfy chairs with your head titled back over the sink. Imagine if you then found when you tried to get out of the chair that you couldn’t. Your muscles (or lack thereof) just wouldn’t put out the strength that was needed.

It wasn’t just hesitation, it was flat out lack of cooperation on my body’s part. The most frightening part was the lack of strength in my neck. Then it hit me that my stomach muscles weren’t up to the task of getting myself upright again. I’m already used to not being able to get out of chair by myself without a grab bar, but I couldn’t even reach out for anything to pull myself up on.

Suzanna of course was there to help me up, but I can’t ever remember feeling such helplessness in realizing how badly my body is failing me. The sobs poured out of me.

It’s not just the lack of strength. Over the last week I’ve had to go off my pain meds due to stomach bleeding and we have nothing to replace it with. I won’t even try to describe what going without has been like.

Swallowing has become a lot more difficult, it’ll soon be time to switch over to a liquid/soft food diet. For anyone who knows how much I love good food, you might understand how much this reality is kicking my behind.

Then there’s the ongoing discussion about when it’s an appropriate time to have a catheter put in. It’ll probably won’t be long and I’m dreading the arrival of that day.

Sleeping is another interesting proposition. No position is the least bit comfortable, the only way I can get three or four uninterrupted hours of sleep in a row is to knock myself out with a strong sleeping pill. Even then, more often than not these days pain prevents the pill from working for several hours (I’m almost always still up at 3 am), or pain wakes me up again far too early.

I’m done with sugar-coating how I’m really doing. If we’re to have open discussions about dying with dignity, I’m going to lay on the table what it’s like to be living in this body. The realities are harsh.

Even so, I’m still trying to greet each day with smile. When my daughter awakens beside me each morning, I tell her that I’m happy to see her beautiful face.

The measurement of quality of life? Ultimately, that should be mine to define.