A Minute Ticks By
(Sequel to Just a Few Seconds)
By Leesa Perrie and Jayne
Time is relative. That is just so true. So very, very true. I remember when a minute seemed to whiz past, and there were never enough minutes to an hour, or hours to a day. I was always rushing from one thing to the next. Juggling work, Jim and a social life - ah, and what a social life! So, yeah, there were a few places where time slowed down, hospital waiting rooms for example, but on the whole, time moved quickly for me.
But that was then, and this is now. So very, very now. And that's the problem. That now seems to last longer. Each minute extended into two, or three, or more.
I am just so bored. Bored and cranky and fed up and bored. Did I mention, bored? There is just so much TV a person can watch, or books read, or computing compute, or puzzles complete, orů. Only so much of these things before becoming one hundred percent, completely and utterly, unequivocally, no doubt about it, bored!
And as for the physio! How could a minute become like ten? The pain, the effort, the unending encouragement to do just one more push, one more stretch. A thirty minute session seems like forever - never ending.
I know it's all relative. That's the nature of time. But why? I'm slowly going stir crazy - a mental case in the making. And Jim, he doesn't help much. Don't get me wrong, he makes a wonderful, if far too helpful, servant. But he can't make time go quicker when he's not here. No one can. And even when he's here, it still goes slow.
I never realised just how much it means to be able to get up and go out whenever you want to - and not wait for someone to help you into a wheelchair, and then limit the time you spend in it. Never realised how difficult it is to give up my independence.
I even tried going out by myself in the wheelchair. Wanted to try and prove to myself that I could go out, do something normal like going down the street (or even getting a sandwich from the deli). Getting out of the loft wasn't too bad, though the feeling of leaving somewhere safe and secure without Jim gave me the jitters. I had to manoeuvre into the lift backwards, so that I could push the buttons. I was doing okay until I got to the front door to the street. I had to reach to get the handle, but it was hard to pull and I nearly pulled myself out of the wheelchair instead. Defeated by a door.... So what choice did I have, but to return to the loft, to boredom, the slow ticking of time, the memories of what and who I once was, the frustration of being dependent on Jim and other people to lead a life?
They say it's only temporary, that when I get stronger I will be able to get out more. Do more. Be more. But that's not now, and now really sucks.
So, what time it is? Oh, about a minute since I last looked. A long, long minute.
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