Passivity.

You liked my post about passivity, didn’t you ? Well, unlucky me… today it was so damn hard !

Beatrice, my physical therapist, arrived, punctual, at noon. I was ready and determined to do an « active » session, trying to move my limbs (or what’s left of them) under the guidance of her expert hands.

Computer put out of the way (and this part was already hard enough) to concentrate on what I had to do.

Shall we start with the legs ? Very well. The left first : it’s the weaker, having always used it to kick the ball. Totally left-handed. Two different exercises. Pushing down, I manage well. I’m happy as Easter, although a little late. When Beatrice tells me that the opposite exercise, pulling the knees up, will be more difficult because of gravity, I see it as a challenge.

And I lose it, big way. Zero reaction. The leg moves because SHE moves it. Never mind, the right will be better. I push like crazy (I know I don’t really push, Beatrice, but I felt like I was moving a mountain). When I’m supposed to raise my legs… nothing. She understands that I’m left-handed and, naïvely, she says : I’ve always been jealous of people writing with their left hand. Dear Beatrice, you are lucky the computer is too far. Otherwise I’d have replied that, on the other hand, I’m jealous of people still able to write.

And now, the arms. Better ! Let’s start with shoulder rotation. Up, out, in. You know, I’d be satisfied with an up, or out, or in, instead of this total immobility. You ask me if I can move the thumb. The first muscle to abandon me was precisely that one, between the thumb and the rest of the hand. Irony of fate. 

I start to realize the new possible scientific theory : the bitch strikes harder the organs closer to the brain, where the orders to command neurons (or motor neurons) are originated.

Atrophied tongue, tracheostomized throat, artificially ventilated lungs, hands like useless hooks, Biafran arms… Then I think about the crooked feet, the nonexistent calves… and I understand that I’m an incompetent scientist. It’s so hard to accept to live in a body that stopped belonging to you a long time ago, as if it belonged to someone else.
A Ferrari with the engine of a green Prinz owned by the nuns.

And the world crumbles upon you. And you feel like giving up. It would be so much easier…
Dad, you were right. I never finish anything.

But this time I’ll try.
For Aiste, who fights with me every day, without giving up, always inciting me.
For my mom because a son can’t leave a parent.
For all the diseased people who know me ; it would be like betraying them.
For my Friends, old and new, who support me and help me carry on…
And for myself, because I have no intention of being defeated. Normal people get discouraged too, from time to time…

Will I succeed ? I don’t know, maybe only Somebody up there knows. From my part, only a wish : for you to be proud of your Marchino when I join you.