Who’d think a broken finger could lead to so many changes and reframing of viewpoints (mostly mine)?
No using crutches or manual wheelchair for one then two then 6 weeks.
Two months can cultivate a firm reliance upon a motorised wheelchair, that I continually reframe in my head as such when people refer to it as my ‘electric chair’. It uses electricity to power it, yes, but I am not being frizzled to death folks.
Kerbs are simple to mount and hills easier to climb. Remembering to clip my safety belt in the MPT was tricky at first. One taxi ride and feeling unsafe quickly reminded me that footrests and belts are there for a reason. Strapped in by the van’s belt I may have been, but safe I did not feel. Yoda says, “belt put on shall you, always in van.’ Yes sir. I no longer feel concerned backing out of the multi purpose taxi wobbling side to side at a snail or hare pace fearing I will fall off the edge onto the pavement. Weekly visits to physiotherapy and doctor have cultivated a sedate, but steady, pace entering and later backing out onto the hoist. Vertigo is a thing of the past. Fears can be conquered.
An extendable stick aides in the picking up of so many bits and pieces dropped here and there. The redecorating of walls and doors is less of a concern now that the backwards operated joystick is under control. Missing paint. Wood. Ah what’s wrong with adding the odd new hue to the decor. 🙂 Why must I move the joystick left if I want to go right when moving backwards? My brain is confused. Cars work differently.
This chair not only saves me from being stuck in one place for months. It is supporting Lucy to lose the odd extra kilo from unexpected but ever so gratefully received treats that find their way to her when kitchen benches are further away than expected. The ever hungry bichon is starting to enjoy more jogs than walks since the wheelchair moves at a grand pace along the Booragoon Lake, now the pavement refurbishment has concluded. As long as the pavement looks relatively smooth and uncracked. She doesn’t necessarily feel the so pleased when we slow down quickly at unexpected cracks or rises in other footpaths that give me the jitters, not to mention when a driveway is uneven to the adjoining pathway on a trip to the local shopping centre or someone has parked over the walkway and I am uneven on grass and path. Nor do I feel so much joy when shops insist on placing their wares in displays in the midst of access pathways between the main carpeted displays. Seriously, why do so many aisles end up in dead ends, blocked by hangers of more wares. How is a person meant to turn around in a tight spot even using the most fantastic of tiny circumference motorised wheelchair. Don’t you want my business Mr/Ms Shop Owner? What about my husband’s.
Once was enough for me to offer to play ‘trains’ with my husband going up a steep hill. When his manual wheelchair stopped abruptly on our first and only trip to/from to local shopping centre neither of us expected my wheelchair had a rather huge hiccup motoring him along intent on saving his shoulders. It’s a somewhat unique feeling when a heavy chair tries to do a mono/wheely on its back tiny wheels while a lighter chair wants to throw it’s occupant out front ways, having stopped abruptly at a most unexpected uneven rise in concrete. Heart palpitations. Lesson #657. I go on ahead, or hang back, while he travels at his own pace.
But all in all the past months have been fine. The first option of trying to work a manual wheelchair and not go around in a circle whilst pushing with one arm on two rims, one designed to steer me left and the other right, could have driven me barmy. So would have staying seated before the tv, appealing as it sounds for a tiny time. And yes I’ve read some excellent novels.
Mobility is much underrated. And can be achieved in so many different ways. Society has certainly advanced a long way from the days when I was two years old and relied on a piece of wood with castors fashioned by my dad so I could scoop myself around the house and garden. But that’s a story for another day.
Well, in getting myself ready to resume wheelchair basketball after many a decade of inactivity, I decided to do a few drills at the local primary school’s basketball court.
Any dreams of doing the Rotto swim one day were quelled when I saw the reality of the distance from mainland to island from the sky. 12kms doesn’t sound impossible to someone who once did 3.8 training sessions (back in the dark ages), and all those sharks (Colin…) that explore merrily up and down the coast- doesn’t worry me. They’d likely taste other swimmers before me…and if not- it is their territory anyway. So what decided it? The idea of salt water in goggles for such a long, long time. Horrid.
Kerrie Duff Consulting 