39. Last Walks

[Numbers in square brackets refer to posts listed on the right and on the Home Page/Archives page.]

It has been 14 years and 8 months since that fateful hot summer day in 2004, when my life was turned upside down as a result of a biopsy operation of a spinal cord tumour  unexpectedly detected by MRI. [01]
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     Walked in, Wheeled Out
     (First posted on January 4, 2015 [02])

I walked into a hospital
in a hot summer afternoon in February 2004,
for a biopsy operation on a spinal cord tumour.

The eager Neurosurgeon said,
“This is going to be a simple operation for you
because you are healthy and well.
You will be able to get out of bed tomorrow,
                            but I couldn’t
leave the hospital three days later,
                            but I didn’t and couldn’t
and return to work a month from now.”
                            but I never did.                               

Three months later,
I wheeled myself out of
the rehabilitation ward of another hospital.
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The biopsy operation resulted in ‘incomplete paraplegia’ – I couldn’t move my once good right leg [09] and I had spasm in my left leg [04]. The right leg became hypersensitive to the softest feather, but the left leg was completely numb to the roughest brush [03]. And I never stand upright or walk freely again.

When was the last time I stood upright? When was the last time I walked upright? Where was I? What was I doing? Who was with me? How did I feel? When and where were my last upright walks leading to that fateful day? 

Summer, 2004.  Intensely hot and dry.  Midday. Wondered how much UV light my broad brimmed straw hat and reflective umbrella managed to filter out. My face seemed to have become a block of burning wood, dying for a big splash of chilled water. My loose, long-sleeved, thin, cotton blouse was flowing gently towards the back, and my below-knee, cotton skirt was like a heated, thin metal sheet wrapping around my body. My feet were also on fire. Walking along the long, exposed, above-ground walkway was like walking on a track of burning charcoals in a fire festival, or bathing in a big, hot fan-force oven with heat waves bombarding from all directions. Even the occasional breeze was like a stream of hot wave from a suddenly flung open big oven nearby. I was like a lone traveller staggering along in a hot desert, eager to reach an oasis or a shelter.

I had just finished two weeks of teaching the intensive course in the summer school, for the fifth time. Once again, I managed to cover 13 weeks of one semester’s work in ten 3-hour mornings of seminars and workshops. Relieved. Exhausted. Cranky. Feeling even more difficult to cope with the nagging pain along my spine and lower back.

I would never have imagined that this would be my last summer school teaching — in fact, my last teaching day! And my last walk along this long, exposed, above-ground walkway from the classroom to my office, with one hand holding an opened, heat-reflective umbrella against the hot sun and another hand dragging a heavy trolley full of teaching materials, handouts, a recorder, and a big bottle of precious drinking water.

About a month later, when the new academic year started, I didn’t go into the classroom. I was going on an expected one-month medical leave. I handed over my usual teaching to another lecturer. On Friday, February 20, 2004, late afternoon, I switched off the computer, tidied up the desk and locked up my office. I expected myself to resume my duties after the medical leave. I then walked out of the building to the car park. My last walk at work. Never would I have imagined this would be the last time I drove my car off campus. The end of my sadly missed academic life.  

On Tuesday, February 24, the day before the biopsy operation, accompanied by my sister (KC) from overseas and my friend (M) from Sydney, I dragged myself to the supermarket and did our grocery shopping for the week for them. We bought plenty of fresh vegetables (broccoli, beans, zucchini, eggplant) for cooking and for salad (lettuce, tomato, cucumber, capsicum, fennel, celery, carrot, rocket, basil), fresh fruits, brown rice, breads, seeds and nuts, cereals, butter, jam, eggs, fresh pasta and sauce, yoghurt and ice cream, snacks, etc. The last time I ever walked upright in a supermarket.

On Wednesday, February 25, morning, just like going to work every morning, I walked out of my bedroom, through the dinning room, kitchen, sitting room, and up to the front doors and locked them up. I walked out of the house into the garage and locked up the garage doors and set the house alarm. I then got into the car, but I didn’t drive down the steep driveway to go to work. I got myself driven down the steep driveway to the hospital for the biopsy operation. Those were my last upright walks at home and from home.

On this very sunny, hot summer day, with apprehension, I walked into a private hospital, accompanied by my sister (KC) and two friends (M and Sh), for a ‘simple biopsy operation’.

The operation was scheduled at 1.30 p.m. I was warded in the morning in a room with other patients waiting to go into the theatre too. We were partitioned by curtains penetrated by whispering and quiet speaking — calming fears and giving blessings? While lying on my back, waiting, I did my usual morning exercises in bed: I raised my knees up, grabbed them with my hands, and pressed them towards my chest. I raised my legs up to a 90-degree position to my body and then grabbed my feet with my hands and stretched them down to the left and the right. I sat up, bent forward, and touched my toes with my hands. I bent my body down until my head rested on my legs. Then, I bent my legs inwards, so that the soles of my feet could touch each other; then I grabbed them with my hands and pressed my knees down repeatedly. This would be the last time I could do all these exercises without assistance.

I was then given a bar of special soap to have a good scrub of my body under the shower. That was my last standing shower.

After the shower, donned with a one-size-fits-all, over-sized hospital outfit, I walked back to the bed to wait for my turn. That was my very last upright walk on this planet, 14 years and 8 months ago!
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Standing and Walking In my Dreams     

In my dreams in the first few years,
I still saw myself
standing ‘tall and slim’,
walking ‘like a swimmer or dancer’;

doing things I did every day;
doing things I had never done before —
in familiar places, in strange new places,
in bright places, in dark and unfamiliar places.

In my dreams in recent years,
I often see myself in my wheelchair,
doing similar things differently, slowly, cautiously —
sometimes perfectly, sometimes clumsily, 
messily;

having the additional freedom of
doing things I had never done before;
doing things I had always wanted to do —
all successfully, happily!

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Saying good-bye to things I had always wanted to do.

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© 2018 KKLokePhD

Zahara de los Atunes, Provincia de Cádiz, Andalucía, España.
Photo by M Peinado, Spain. CCA 2.0 Generic License, via – 
 http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:006351_-_Zahara_de_los_Atunes_%287426899582%29.jpg

A Desert Wanderer in the Winnemucca dunes, by John Fowler from Plascitas, NM, USA, 2017. This file is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic license.
at https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Desert_Wanderer_(27426340729).jpg

A Woman Walking, by Daniel Case, 2016. This file is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license. at https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Woman_walking_in_exercise_clothing_on_Como_lakefront.jpg

A Woman Cooking at Home.  Cuinar_a_casa_3.jpg. 2015. Sourced from: https://www.flickr.com/photos/128390842@N06/16322582654/ 
This file is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 2.0 Generic license. at https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Cuinar_a_casa_3.jpg

Australian wheelchair basketballer Liesl Tesch looks stoked during 2000 Sydney Paralympic Games match, by Sport the Library, sourced from Australian Paralympic Committee/Australian Sports Commission, 2000. This file is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license. at https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:141100_-_Wheelchair_basketball_Liesl_Tesch_stoked_3_-_3b_-_2000_Sydney_match_photo.jpg

A Wheelchair Dance. Ukrainian dance duo Vladimir and Snezhana Kernichnye. World champions 2013. On sports dances on wheelchairs. Masters of Sports of International class. Rec invasport, Donetsk, Ukraine. By Ar4en, 2014. This file is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license. at https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Kernichnye.jpg

Skating in cardinal during the 2006/07 season. By Jeremy vandervalk at English Wikipedia, Transferred from en.wikipedia to Commons by Magog the Ogre using CommonsHelper. This work has been released into the public domain by its author, Jeremy vandervalk at English Wikipedia. This applies worldwide. At https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Skating_2.jpg 

Baile flamenco en el museo de Baile Flamenco de Sevilla. (Flamenco dance at the Flamenco Dance Museum in Seville.) by Schnobby, 2014, Sourced from File:Flamenco in Sevilla 03.jpg, This file is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International license.  at https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Flamenca_001.jpg

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23. Neuropathic Pain in My Body: Landscape and Temperature Variations

Sitting in the wheelchair,
my body becomesCSIRO_ScienceImage_392_Naturally_Occurring_Fire
a landscape of sharp variations
with contrasting temperatures.

The foot bushlands are alight
with an inextinguishable, furious fire
day and night.

The calf volcanoes, rumbling
with restless sparklers inside,
ascend sharply to
snow-capped knee tops.800px-Mt.Fuji_from_Mt.Tohnodake

The icy thigh plateaus give way
to a torso wall weighing heavily
on the buttock mounds
sitting on warm, sharp rocks.

The upper back torso wall is cut
by razor-sharp frozen slates,
driven deep into the scapula caves
by movements.800px-India_-_Matheran_-_18_-_Monsoon_rains_(2799493740)

The chest wall is bombarded
with torrential monsoon rains
of sharp needles,
changing its temperature
from icy cold to warm.

The shoulder plateaus
are rigid, stiff and cold,
giving rise to a stiff neck column.

The whole torso is divided into two regions
by a ring of fire
just below the rib cage–
sensitive above, numb below
with neuropathic pain.

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Bush Fire, Australia. Photo by CSIRO, Australia.  CCA 3.0 Unported Licnse.
http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:CSIRO_ScienceImage_392_Naturally_Occurring_Fire.jpg

Snow Capped Mt Fuji. Photo by Σ64.  CC A-S A 3.0 Unported License.
http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Mt.Fuji_from_Mt.Tohnodake.JPG

Monsoon Rains, India. Photo by McKay Savage from London, UK.
CCA 2.0 Generic License.
http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:India_-_Matheran_-_18_-_Monsoon_rains_(2799493740).jpg
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14. Spasm: The Invisible Puppeteer’s Tricks (1): While I am Sitting in my Wheelchair — Drumming, Bending, Swinging, Undulating

120px-Ssantanandorra_(6), Phot by Rivernavigatoro .

14.1  Snare Drum Rhythm

While I am sitting in my wheelchair,
The Invisible Puppeteer turns my feet into sticks, drums them alternately on my footplate,
like the slow snare drum rhythm of Ravel’s Bolero.

Sometimes, he turns my feet into mallets,
to beat heavily on the footplate.
Or even violently:
an avant-garde leg thrown up and
dropped off the footplate.

Sometimes, bending my knees,
he jerks the whole leg up
to nearly throw me forward
off the wheelchair.

The Invisible Puppeteer’s usual tricks .


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14.2  Vertical Pendulum

Pendulum_animation

In my shower commode I sit for a morning shower.
He bends my left leg forward and backward,
turning it into a vertical pendulum.
The big toe bob hits the tiled wall in front, repeatedly, uncontrollably.
Its nail becomes black and wrinkled,
gradually, unsuspectingly.

At the edge of the soft latex mattress I sit
with legs down against the side.
Suddenly, he straightens my right leg up,
then drops it back,
rapidly, repeatedly,
to perform a sitting cancan dance.
It only stops with my intervention;
and then to start all over again.

The Invisible Puppeteer’s playful tricks .


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14.3  Rope Suspension Bridge

Very slowly and gently,
but irritatingly persistently,
the whole day long:

he lifts the right buttock up and drops it;
then flaps the thigh up and down,
turning it into a rope bridge
suspended over a river:
swinging, undulating,
trying to settle, slowly,
like an over-stretched rope
taking its time to unwind.

The Invisible Puppeteer’s new tricks .

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800px-The_rope_bridge_at_Carrick-a-Rede

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© 2015 K-KLokePhD



Snare Drum and Sticks. Photo by Rivernavigator.
CC AS-A 3.0 Unported License, via – http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Category:Rod-tensioned_snare_drums#mediaviewer/File:Ssantanandorra_(6).jpg

Pendulum Animation   Author: hubert.christiaen at telenet dot be.
CC AS-A 1.0 Generic License, via – http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Pendulum_animation.gif

The Carrick-a-Rede Rope Bridge, a rope suspension bridge near Ballintoy, County Antrim, Northern, Ireland. Photo by Shiraz Chakara.
CC AS-A 2.0 Generic License, via – http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:The_rope_bridge_at_Carrick-a-Rede.jpg



12. Neuropathic Pain and Spasm in My Legs: Electric Shock

My wheelchair has become an electric chair.640px-Lightning_hits_tree, http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Lightning_hits_tree.jpg
Wires crisscross my body,
charged with a low current,
slowly extend and expand,
like waves surging,
from the feet upwards
to the calves, the thighs,
and finally the buttocks.

Suddenly,
my toes are hit
with a short, sharp electric shock.
My legs jerk violently outward,
then tap on the footplates
at regular executions.
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© 2015 K-KLokePhD


Lightning Hits Tree. Photo by Johnny Autery. Image in Public Domain, 
http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Lightning_hits_tree.jpg


10. My Wheelchair

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Now an indispensable object besides my bed,
an inseparable part of my life:

We call it The Vehicle.
I am the driver, indoors, capable of
narrow hallway manoeuvres and
razor-sharp turns
in a house not built for a wheelchair user.

My originally spotless, well-maintained home
now bears scars of frequent accidents.
All doors and plasterboard walls
are defenceless against the metal parts of
     the back canes, the armrests, the footplates.
Two big holes on the walls from front-on collisions.
Two parallel rows of dents and scratches look like
     underground rail tracks with stations.
Even the hardwood sideboard top has deep scars.
The legs of the hardwood dining table and chairs
now wear permanent straps.
Every square pillar has chiselled-off corners.
All un-repairable.

It has become my legs, giving me
freedom of movement and mobility
in an otherwise restrictive life.
Oh! Since when have I got used to using a wheelchair,
permanently?
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© 2015 K-KLokePhD

Lightweightwheelchair

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A Lightweight Manual Wheelchair. Photo by en:User:Kesafloyd. Work in Public Domain.  http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Lightweightwheelchair.jpg