The Joy of Function

Jonathan Swift said, “Everybody wants to live forever, but nobody wants to grow old.” I think of that when I visit my mother in the nursing home and especially when I complain to the staff about the inadequacy of her care.  Sometimes they’re not prompt about answering her bell when she needs to be helped to the bathroom in the middle of the night. I picture a gaggle of underpaid aides sitting around chatting with buzzers going off all over the floor and reflect that, if you don’t die in a timely fashion, you’re doomed to lie in cold piss. I come from long-lived stock.  I want to enjoy the benefits before I pay the price.

Sometime around 3:00 a.m., I awake from a dream in which I’m looking for a rest room and have somehow gotten lost in endless corridors.  I fling my legs over the side of the bed and remember not to hop up, which would make me dizzy.  I shuffle my feet lest I trip over a shoe in the path to my destination.  Somehow the house gets darker than it used to, but I know the way. 

Is it sacrilegious to pray in the bathroom?  I remember reading that some Jews think so.  Sinfully or not, I offer my thanksgiving that I am vertical and functioning.  I wait for it to be over.  The shut-off doesn’t work as it once did, but the dribble ends.  I wet my hands, pump the soap bottle, rinse, rub, and use the towel.  Smelling of lavendar, I shuffle back to bed. 

I compose my mind, trying not to think of what needs to be done or what I should have said to that cop twenty years ago.  I have received a blessing. It’s one I didn’t appreciate for most of my life, but I do now.  I breathe slowly in and out.  Breath is good too.