Can you imagine the texture of an Apple, Orange or Peach? Just sit there, quite still and close your eyes and imagine.
The smooth firmness of an apple from the supermarket have a slippery feel whilst the ones bought from the 'field' have a more tactile feel to them.
An orange, firm yet with a hint of squishiness, has a surface texture like miniature hills and dales as your fingers glide over the surface.
A peach, soft with a velvety skin almost making the hairs on the back of your neck rise.

A strange thing to ask of you? Well maybe but that is all I have, memories.

I sit here in my chair, made rigid by the nurses inserting cushions to support my sides and a head brace to stop my head from falling on my chest, my tactile senses are all but gone.
What I do have remaining are my senses of smell, hearing and sight, all of which seem now to combine as one for me to savour things to an extent I never thought imaginable before.

The most active and important thing I have though is my mind, occasionally frustrated by my inability to communicate with you.

My eyes can move, slowly, but nevertheless move, so I can get a small variance in what I can see, you face me to the window so I can see out, I can understand that and it is nice to see the outside world.
But I can still hear you as you walk and chat, I can smell the perfumes you wear, usually I can now even identify the nurse before I can see her. How I would love to just have a conversation with you.

Yes I know you do talk to me as you work on me, you tell me what you are doing and where you are putting me. But it’s not the same.
A few of the nurses seem to understand as they sit down in front of me so my eyes can focus with theirs. It may surprise you to know how much can be said with your eyes, it shows emotions that no other part of the body seems to be able to. When they sit they say 'hello', and wait a second or two; this almost lets me acknowledge them. They tell me what it’s like outside, where they’ve been and what they've done, almost as if I am a part of their family. On the outside I don’t acknowledge them but on the inside it’s like a Christmas and Birthday all wrapped up in one. They involve my mind by getting me to use my memory and imagine myself doing some of those things they do, and what I used to be able to do. It brings back details that I used to overlook, ordinary things like the depth of colours and textures, the pitch of the sounds of nature and of peoples voices.

Occasionally frustration does get the better of me and my mind cries out, but my body remains motionless and unable to request an interlude.
Can you consider, just for a moment two people talking on either side of you, to you, and in raised voices? You hear both but nothing what is said is comprehensible, its just noise.
You, would ask them to be quiet and start again, one at a time. Well this is what it is like when my mind goes into a kind of overload because I am asking questions of the person talking to me but can’t get answers before they move onto something else.

I try and meditate to calm my mind, to focus on one thing clearly. But the sounds and smells still surround me and I am still inquisitive to want to know what it is.

My life revolves around set times, for cleaning, toileting, feeding, dressing, visitors (if I’m lucky) and the myriad of other things that happen whilst being a resident. The staff are very busy and a lot of their time is taken up by the other more verbal residents, but they do acknowledge me as they pass by.
During any particular day you will get an urge to do something, read something or talk to someone, so you get up and do it.
Me, well I get frustrated, I can be at a window for a few hours watching the birds feeding, seeing their own individual characteristics so much so that I can even identify each one, and then I get moved.
I can be listening to the radio, an in depth interview or discussion and then its switched off!
I can be listening to the rants of other residents as they argue with the nurses and smiling inside, and then I am wheeled off.

If I was a machine I would be very well looked after and maintained, but I’m not a machine, well my mind isn’t although my body can now only be classed as a machine keeping my brain alive.
Things are changing all the time and I want to be a part of that change, my mind still works as it always has done it’s just that I can’t communicate it. I know that there are facilities that can incorporate parts of me that have limited function to give me a better quality of life, an electronic chair for mobility, a speech synthesiser and computer equipment so I can read independently. All these cost a great deal of money and still in not much more than an experimental stage as they need to know that they can get feedback on the instruments strapped to me. If they could only see how much my mind was working.

A large bib is tied around my neck so that must mean it’s either drink time or it’s something to eat time. There are no clocks so I have no idea of the time, well that is what they think but I can track the movement of the sun and the shadows that it throws so I can gauge the period of the day we are in.
I am it would seem to outsiders force fed, its because I have minimal movement of my jaw, but I am always impressed with the patience and care shown to me during these times. Little touches like not letting dribbles go down my face, looking into my eyes to see if I am in any distress, offering a drink regularly.

A pair of headphones is placed over my ears and a piece of classical music is set playing, my eyelids close to aid concentration to let my mind mingle into the sounds created. My memory brings the pieces story to the fore and I can imagine myself as a part of that story, this is the most energetic part of my day for me as my mind is allowed to focus and go into overdrive.
All good things come to an end and the piece finishes, my eyelids reopen and I sit there, usually near a wall with nothing visually stimulating until someone remembers me, occasionally this happens too early and my frustration rages once more.

Each day I am wheeled into a room with a pool, I am undressed and a swimwear is put on. Wheeled to a large crane, straps are lowered and with a bit of huffing and puffing and a lot of straining thrown in, they are wrapped around me. The whirring of an electric motor and I rise from the chair. My head is held as I am guided down and into the water, water wings are put on and around me and I am left alone to float – unimaginable, my senses go into overdrive again as I lie there weightless but supported.
A brief few moments of this before I am pulled and pushed in an attempt to prevent my joints from seizing and to ensure circulation is kept as good as possible, before I am strapped into the machine and hoisted out. Getting dry is not a pleasant experience, the ladies do it with an almost mechanical way, this, believe it or not is the best as it stops me from thinking of how things used to be and getting embarrassed.

They say amongst themselves that I am in good condition and reacting well to treatment, why don’t they sit down, look into my eyes, and tell me that?

Visitors are thankfully rare, I do love seeing them but I don’t like how awkward they are in front of me. They really don’t know what to do or what to say, if anything at all! If only I could communicate with them they would be far more at ease.

So that is a little insight into me, and the world I live in. A world that you as well as I used to, take so much for granted.
Hindsight is a wonderful thing in that I now see that I really ought to have spent more time just actually looking, seeing, hearing and smelling using all those senses we are gifted with to store into our memory banks.
Maybe next time you see someone with a disability don’t take it for granted that there mind is also disabled, they may be just like me and crave for a little bit of interaction with your eyes and listening to your voice.