What’s so special about lunchtime?

At first glance, you may think my chosen topic a little odd… after all what does lunch have to do with a fifteen minute type-for-all, on disability? Given the effort this simple meal takes someone like me to make, and the resulting spasms, muscle contractions and exhaustion, the side effects of filling my tummy with food are severe. Take one day this week …

Shattered, and in pain, I trundled home from a five-minute journey to the village hall, picking my way over the bumps in the pavement so as not to jar my back, all the while scouting for various landmarks, crossing islands and sloping pavements that help me keep my bearings. Collapsing in my chair as I kicked the front door shut as hard as I could with my foot, I scanned various options in my mind while painfully tearing off scarf and coat.

First prize for effort?

Trying and failing to open a ring pull can of garlic mushrooms I had slapped on the counter, I grabbed the can and flipped it over, needing several goes before I could get the tin open and the side of the can to connect. Twisting it open, and scooping out the contents into a pan with help of trusty bendy spatula, I twisted on the heat. Unfortunately I had clapped eyes on that morning’s dishes, remembering the carer had run out of time. I eventually managed them in my own unique way rinsing off copious amounts of bubbles as I went, legs contracting with the effort of using my arms. Finally done (or so I thought) I grabbed and tipped the side of the basin with my good hand, pouring a third of it over my lap as I did so. Grabbing a tea towel, I mopped my lap, the sink and the sides of the units as best I could, throwing the tea towel in the wash basket, and turning my chair in the direction of the bread. Throwing two slices on my lap, I drove to the toaster and used a lot of effort reaching to place the bread and push the slider down the toaster. Bread only half in the toaster, I flipped it round as best I could to cook the other half, stirring the almost overcooked mixture as I went.

The end is nigh…

Grabbing a big plate from the draining rack, grateful not to have to try to stand and reach for one from the big cupboard above the over, I pushed myself up with all my might, clinging on to the unit at the side of me. Wobbling away, I grasped the toast and flipped it on the plate, near-falling as I did so. Shoving the plate on my knee and slapping it on the unit next to the butter, I liberally scooped and spread butter on my toast, the plate, and the unit, tipping the mushroom mixture on my plate with the spatula.

Ignoring the pan for now, I grabbed my beanbag tray, with handy dycem, slapped the plate on it, and balanced in precariously on my knee tipping it towards the floor as I did so. Tearing at chunks of toast with an adapted fork while steadying it with a sharp knife I eventually managed to eat my lunch, smearing it over the tray, my face, and my lap in the process.  Eating done, I repeated the dish doing, lap soaking process and drove straight for the lukewarm coffee I made at the beginning of the process, slugging it down gratefully.

Now? NAP TIME!!