When I was a play therapist

I worked with several kids who had sensory integration issues

Some liked to sit under the table with their back or head against the wood

some liked to wear a backpack full of bean bags

some carried a weighted blanket or stuffed animal to make themselves feel grounded

When my brain goes haywire

I think I must have developed late-onset sensory integration disorder

The sun burns my eyes

the birds chirp their Spring songs much too loudly for me

My co-workers’ coffee, which I usually covet, overwhelms me with its roasted aromas wafting across the conference table

I admire the way that liberated warm weather dresses swing down Locust walk

rayon, silk, satin, linen drape beautifully

make their wearers walk with confidence

I like the feel of these exotic fabrics against my fingertips

but only seem able to tolerate utilitarian cotton knits

against my back

my stomach

thighs

My skin a raw exposed nerve

perceives these other fabrics like sandpaper

The acupuncturist palpates my numb right leg

looking for the best place to insert the hair thin needle

in hopes of returning sensation

to my errant limb

Her fingertip finds a meridian point

that is so excruciatingly painful

on the inside of my knee

I practically levitate off the table

She smiles broadly at me and announces, “We have a winner!”

Indeed

 

© 2017 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All rights Reserved