Grateful

I have never appreciated my own body. Kinesiology class trained me to analyze my movements by muscle and bone. Neuroscience taught me appreciation for the profound complexity of the synapses involved in each movement. Nothing comes close to what I feel now that I understand how fragile those synapses are and how easily muscle and bone can atrophy and deform.

As I hike back and forth to my appointments each day (1/3 of a mile adds up after a few trips), I marvel at the way I move. My legs, both the same length, swing effortlessly forward from straight hips. My feet strike the ground, mold to the concrete, and propel me forward without a conscious thought.

I look down at my hands. Strong and smooth, I am struck by their beauty.  I flex and extend my wrists. Skin stretches over smoothly gliding tendons. Straight fingers open and close with clean fluidity. In response to my slightest thought my arm extends, palm opens, and my fingers wrap around a door handle. I am strong enough to pull the door open, automatically shifting my weight to balance out the new force.

Most of the time I’m not aware of each tiny movement, let alone the muscles and synapses which must all work correctly for these subconscious actions to flow together into a simple task.

I watch my residents focusing all their energy to isolate a single finger to press a switch. Some days the pathway is there, other days, it just won’t come. Day after day, I stretch wrists tightly contracted past normal flexion or extension. A resident turns her head and her body throws one arm out straight while the other hand drifts slowly but surely up toward her ear. Sometimes, 15 degrees of flexion is all the movement a person has available. My residents work hard, and sometimes it looks so painful to be in their bodies. I respect their perseverance. And I am grateful for the brain that forms these words and signals these fingers to type.