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Ode to A Spit Cup

Below is a short excerpt of an essay I wrote that is part of an anthology edited by Kelly Jensen available now by Workman Publishing, Body Talk: 37 Voices Explore Our Radical AnatomyFor more, check out the latest episode from the Disability Visibility podcast featuring an interview with Kelly.

Book with a blue cover with a background showing illustrations of different types of bodies. The title reads, “BODY TALK: 37 Voices Explore Our Radical Anatomy” edited by Kelly Jensen, editor of (DON’T) CALL ME CRAZY. On the right side is a list of the 37 contributors.
Book with a blue cover with a background showing illustrations of different types of bodies. The title reads, “BODY TALK: 37 Voices Explore Our Radical Anatomy” edited by Kelly Jensen, editor of (DON’T) CALL ME CRAZY. On the right side is a list of the 37 contributors.

Ode to A Spit Cup

Alice Wong

 

Spit. Drool. Saliva. Our bodies secrete this clear liquid everyday up to 1-2 liters a day. Depending on your hydration, diet, medication, and other factors, saliva can be watery, sticky, bubbly, and infused with whatever is in your mouth at the moment. Bodily fluids can be endlessly fascinating and I developed a brand new respect for saliva due to my increased difficulty with swallowing.

I consider my power chair an extension of my body. It is part of my personal space and sense of self. In the last few years, I gained another bodily extension: my spit cup. 

A clear plastic cup filled with tissues soaked with saliva with streaks of brown from something chocolatey.
A clear plastic cup filled with tissues soaked with saliva with streaks of brown from something chocolatey.

What is a spit cup? Very simply, it’s a paper cup I keep nearby so I can spit my saliva rather than swallowing it. I was born with a neuromuscular disability meaning all of my muscles progressively weaken. Over time, the direction of my body’s trajectory always headed downward, its pace unknown. I stopped walking around the age of 7 and developed scoliosis that required a spinal fusion surgery at 14. Complications after this surgery added new concerns on top of lack of mobility. As my diaphragm muscles weakened, being able to sleep and breathe became a major issue. I had breathing treatments with a nebulizer and intermittent positive pressure breathing machine, used oxygen at night, and other interventions that kept me going until I developed respiratory failure at 18. With severe sleep apnea, I needed to sleep at night with a BiPap machine or else I could die from respiratory failure. 

I can still swallow but it’s actually quite tiring over a single day. The spit cup provides a short cut and a way to preempt possible aspiration in case things go down the wrong pipe. My spit cup has become my new friend, a brilliant adaptation, and a source of wonderment.

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