Dreaming in Neutral

I do a lot of thinking about all kinds of things all of the time, even when I’m sleeping. I always have.  My mind never seems to relax, and my imagination only needs the slightest nudge to become teeming with grandiosity, thinking of big possibilities, always keeping my eyes on the big prize of a good life.  Then reality sets in and I bring my feet back down to earth, and I realize that again I have succumbed to the “eyes bigger than my stomach” syndrome that my dad used to laugh at me for when I was choosing my dinner at Picadilly Cafeteria in Crabtree Mall back in the day (my dad is not a McDonald’s man), after an exhaustive, all day trip of back to school shopping with my family.  I always wanted the whole grand combination, including a salad, roll, and dessert, which someone invariably had to help me finish.  I guess I just dream big, think in the deepest measure, and like to go all out in everything I do.  By setting big goals and working hard to achieve them, I have accomplished many of the things that I have set out to do. However, I do have some dreams that seem so elusive, even after getting so close to achieving them.  And now that my physical capabilities are so limited, I feel that I may never achieve some of them at this late point in my life.  My pros and cons list seems so lopsided to the cons side.  It is only the faith that I have in better days and my willingness to always look at the silver linings in my dark cloud that give my heart joy and keep my restless mind sane.

What do I dream about these days?  In my dreams I have conversations with my mother; those nights my dreams seem so real that I can touch her.  Also in my dreams, many times I am walking or dancing or moving in some incredible way only to awaken to the cramps and dead weight feeling in my stiffened limbs.  Those dreams I count as my sweet reveries, those wonderful, intimate moments that are real and will be real only to me.  But what of the more practical dreams, those dreams that are the impetus for creating one’s happiness in life?  I began to muse and the first thing I see is a house, all on one level, with a porch and a ramp for my easy access as I go to and fro with my volunteer work and small scale jobs.  We are paying a mortgage instead of rent like we are doing in the house where we currently live, rent which is too expensive for the limited space and the inability to renovate to accommodate my new handicapped status.  Oh, you don’t know how I long to take a shower or bath (a big wish I haven’t enjoyed in years for fear of not being able to get out of the tub, so low to the ground—a bubble bath!).  Instead, it is a current struggle and terror of getting in and out of the shower, and then standing, no, leaning towards the wall by holding myself up with one arm while washing half of my body with the other hand.  Then it’s a quick switch to the other side, and I am starting to feel the burn in my atrophying leg muscles, already weak from standing, even with my arm prop.  Now I am hurrying to finish, rinse away the suds, and make it out of the tub without collapsing.  By now I can barely get my slides on. I get my cane and move to the bedroom like Lurch answering the door… “You rang?”  LOL!  As I flop down on the bed to begin drying myself off in earnest, start to catch my breath and rebuild my strength from my fight to get clean, I desperately dream of a shower with a side bar that I could hold on to, a seat to sit on with a hand held shower wand—oh, the joy that would flood my soul!  Ah man, when I see Pat Boone in the safety tub advertized on TV, I just wish and wish and wish…

Along with that dream, I have visions of being able to get out of the house, put my electric wheelchair on the hitch, and tool around town to take care of my business without depending on someone else to drive me around or push me in my chair.  My Endeavor, which I have not driven since 2011, would be outfitted with hand controls, and I would be down at my dad’s house, on the back country roads learning how to drive it safely.  What would I then do?  I would take myself to the YMCA some mornings, to begin using my Silver Slippers benefit, a part of now having health insurance through Medicare (hooray!), and start exercising my limited muscles to stretch and limber up whatever mobility I still have left.  Physical therapy was so good for me back when I had a job and health insurance, and I am hoping that even with the two year stretch of no health care, I can regain some of that quality of life in my present life.  I have a manual wheelchair that I currently use—functional and cheap, ordered from Walgreens—but I need help getting it in and out of the house when I go somewhere.  There are a few steps to climb to get in and out of the house.  I also have a sporty blue walker, and a raggedy cane that I pretty much rely on to get around. 

A quick aside: I have an electric wheelchair, which needs servicing (probably new batteries mainly), currently packed away in storage.  I love my chair!  It’s red and was given to me by the middle school student body and through the great endeavor of a dear, dear friend and colleague.  MS had not defeated me yet, but the struggle was real, and it was getting harder for me to get around.  One of my colleagues and my principal at the time had worked out this wonderful surprise and life saver for me—my own beautiful, shiny red roadster, my electric wheelchair!  My teaching life was given a two year extension from that magnanimous gift, and the tears of gratitude still flow even today as I think about sitting down in that chair for the first time, turning it on with the engaging sound of an “Err, err”, which my students always laughed at (here comes Mrs. Bunting), and taking it for a spin down the hall.  When I turned around, the entire middle school was hanging out of the classroom doors, yelling and cheering for me as I took my inaugural run back down the hall.  “Do a doughnut in the rotunda, Mrs. Bunting!”  “Burn some rubber!”  “When are you going to race Ms. Harvey?”  “I can get you some 22s, some boost, and really trick your whip out for you!”…  Blessings of goodness and beautiful miracles in my life such as this also keep me dreaming and believing in the impossible, or perhaps, highly improbable chance of getting back in the game one more time, this time bowing out, when the time comes, on my own terms, with grace and a chance to say goodbye to my teacher friends and students.

Back to my current dreams, the other part of my newly found freedom and mobility would be me either working somewhere part-time, maybe 5-10 hours a week, or volunteering my time in a setting where I can use my skills, interests, and talents to help others.  I can see myself reading to little children, being a tutor or content area vocabulary coach in a middle school, manning a homework help hub, leading a poetry camp or book club discussion for teens, playing piano for residents in a nursing home who don’t get out much…  I could also see myself driving out to the community college so that I can take a painting, drawing, pottery, photography, cake decorating, calligraphy, jewelry or candle making class… Any one of these classes, among others, I would like to learn more about or brush up on, like photography, which I used to be quite good at doing.  I could find someone to teach me how to play my guitar.  I really could use some direction in getting started.  I think that I can learn more from a live person than a computer video.

Although I am a dreamer, I have a need to interact with other people; my interpersonal skills have been dulled and numbed from inactivity.  But the moment I get the chance to engage with someone else, especially if that person is in need of assistance, I immediately spring back into my live, vibrant self.  I need more outlets to be my vibrant self, to get out in the world, to be more than just matter, sucking up air and taking up space.  I want to MATTER!  As I continue to plan, plod, wish, and work towards making my dreams more tangible, the roadblock of reality looms, a lion tamer of dreams, a beast itself that must be tamed.  Taming that beast is what I must figure out a way to do while standing at this crossroad.  How do I kick my dreams out of neutral so that I can truly live again, and not just be remembered as “Donita Quixote”, dreaming my life away and chasing windmills?