Movement

I had never had an MRI before yesterday morning, so I didn't really know what to expect. Shortly after I was stripped of all metal and laid down onto the board, my legs were strapped into an oddly contorted position. I was told the scan would take about 45 minutes and that it was imperative for me to remain as still as possible.

I had no idea how much I move around in the normal course of a 45 minute period until I couldn't. Not only was I completely antsy, I kept feeling phantom itches that I wanted to scratch, my lower back hurt from remaining totally still, and toward the end I even started getting muscle twitches in my legs. I have never wanted to shake all over like a dog so badly as I did when the scan was finally, finally over.

I had never considered how it must have felt for J.J. during the four days he was in the ICU, when he was left to lie on his back, not able to move his lower body much on his own. I remember him grimacing in pain and indicating that his back hurt. I think it must have been a magnification of what I felt after just 45 minutes. I can't imagine how terrible that was for him. I can't imagine how awful it is for all the stroke survivors out there who are still unable to move their lower bodies months or years after their strokes.

But I'm determined not to take movement for granted anymore. How wonderful are our bodies that all of our bones, tendons, ligaments and muscles can cooperate to allow us to perform such a wide array of tasks with such precision! Just the movements I am engaging in right now (typing, pausing to scratch my arm, frowning as I search for the right word, twisting slightly in my desk chair) are incredibly complex and a total gift.

As I consciously move my body, I'll give thanks for the ability and will move for all those who cannot.