The Hand That Feeds

Lindsay bites. We all have defense mechanisms and Linds has worked her way through a few. There were times when if you got physically too close, you got kicked—understandable. Or times when a headbutt that would normally bring a visit to an ice hockey penalty box would abruptly end your encroachment as you grabbed your forehead and suppressed your commentary—“#$@#*&#  ... Oh, my goodness, that hurt!!!”

I took Lindsay on a child-sized roller coaster one summer evening at a beachside amusement pier. She loves this sort of thing, ups and downs, twists and sharp turns, her tongue sticking out to catch the wind whipping at her face. She gasps and giggles the whole time, at least until she gets tired of you holding her from behind. Considering all that she can’t do, during this period Lindsay had perfect hand-eye coordination and with her left hand she could perfectly catch the corner of my eyeglasses. This night she somehow reached behind herself mid-ride, swatted at me, clipped the corner of my glasses, and sent them sailing off into the night, over the fence, and out into the sandy beyond. “Noooo … Linds!”

Do you know how hard it is to find your glasses without wearing your glasses on your face? In the dark, in the sand, pushing her wheelchair, furious and frustrated but pretending all would be okay?

Mostly now, though, to defend her personal space she’ll just bite you. And I say “just” because usually it’s justified.

There was the time when at a family reunion, my eldest maternal cousin leaned in to give Lindsay a hug as she was getting ready to leave. Linds clamped down on the fleshy underbelly of her upper arm and bit so hard she drew blood. Since the human mouth truly is dirtier than a toilet seat, a quick trip to the ER for an antiseptic consult and a tetanus booster ended the day’s festivities.

Or the time when a dentist-with-a-death-wish insisted on prying open Lindsay’s mouth to inspect her teeth. Go figure, right? The long-handled metal tool with the round inspection mirror at the end should do the job. Linds bit down once that sucker was in her mouth and by the time he was able to wrench it free, the mirror was smashed. “Huh … never had that happen before,” he announced with a shrug as he looked at his broken Lindsay-ized dental tool. I was checking to make sure no glass shards were left behind in her gums.

And her adult visit to the neurosurgeon who had the audacity to want to reach behind her head to check on the ventricular shunt she’s had tucked under her skin since Day 3. Linds whipped her head to the right like a snapping turtle, jaws ready to fix this newest invasion. If not for the swift withdrawal of his hand, we would have been responsible for disabling the left hand of the chief of neurosurgery at one of the world’s premier hospitals! “Sorry,” I apologized, “I warned your med student but I forget to tell you.” “It’s okay,” he said but I think he was counting his fingers as he said it.

Lydia, Lindsay’s stepmother, with a bit of a smile brought to my attention what might have caused a proverbial “international incident.” During Pope Francis’ visit to Philadelphia, we parked ourselves outside the seminary where he was staying. We were convinced he would stop the car and hop out to meet Lindsay when he saw her wheelchair. Leaning in to pray for her, he would want to reach out and lay hands on her. But it could have had disastrous consequences! The headlines: “Il Papa Hospitalized and Critically Ill from Prayer Bite Infection.”

Ave Maria! Maybe it’s a good thing his motorcade kept going.

Lindsay stands about 4’3” which on me is about chest high. I can tell you in all honesty that a smack to the back of the head is the primal response to having an unwanted clamp of teeth on one’s nipple—a shocked look of regret and apology crosses both faces, one a look of “I can’t believe I just did that!” and the other “I can’t believe you just did that!” You can decide who had which look.

A few hickey-like bruises on my chest and arms over the years is really nothing to complain about. After all we each do have our defense mechanisms whether we realize it or not. I’m just really glad not everyone chooses biting otherwise we’d all be a bit bruised with teeth mark scars as we stumble through our days.

All-in-all, I can deal with the biting. I’ve just learned to avoid leaning in too close and know that if I do and get chomped, it’s my own fault. And I’ve developed a split-second reflexive move that works until it doesn’t and then I get bit anyway.

Life is short, as they say, so smile while you still have teeth.

© Copyright 2019

James F. McIntire

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