When I break things in I really break them!

I am learning about my limitations this week. Tomorrow the repair man comes for my chair again. Before you panic I will relay what I was told on the phone by the company. This is normal! The chair comes to the company prebuilt, and this means any fiddly bits that are loose won’t get found out until I get it. They do check the chairs but heavy use vs a test drive means that this is normal.

My poor chair… it has scraped up paint from my barely fitting in my door way, the seat belt fell off, the headrest lost it’s ability stay up, and the chair keeps getting stuck randomly and spins it’s wheels without moving. All of this is the result of my going out and down the road. I would go on side walk but the side walks here don’t all have curb cuts! My next project. I am relieved though, that this is normal. I wondered if I was somehow being too hard on this chair when I am doing my best to treat her like she’s a spun glass ornament. Fragile, in need of preservation.

I mentioned my care routine for the chair to the guy on the phone (I forgot his name) and he was impressed. Apparently most people don’t check their chair for any oddities every day, they don’t try to avoid walls (I disbelieve this one) and not everyone charges their chair nightly. I do. This chair is my ticket out of here. Here being right at my computer desk praying that I don’t have to access the HDD where it will skip. I’ve found I cannot watch movies with Media player but I can with Divx for example.

When my chair refuses to go, I get scared. I start imagining horrible things, and to be honest I have yet to shake off the feeling that the front door is too much to pass. I hear Gandalf the Grey in my head. “YOU SHALL NOT PASS.” Each glance at the door, there is the whisper. I may never leave if this chair breaks. I consider this a side effect of disability and likely this is linked to my PTSD and the recent abuses.

I will pass the door, I am going outside at least once a day. Plus I need an excuse to wear a fantastic hat! If anything I am rebelling against my own fears each time I go out. This isn’t a bad thing but it can be a bigger challenge than I am prepared for. I almost went out yesterday for a walk but I was too afraid. So I sat in my yard and stared up at the sky, and I wished for a butterfly to take my wish to the stars.

No butterflies but the moon rose in the afternoon and I felt peace again. I haven’t seen the moon in a long time, and I have missed her. I know as the sun grows hotter I will spend less time outside in the day and will sit in my yard at night with a cup of tea studying the stars. The divinity of the sky has always felt peaceful to me.

I worry that tomorrow the repair man will somehow deem me unworthy of my chair. Logically, this is not how this will go but I have a lot of unfounded fear. The recent experience of no pain meds has also left me with a shaky sensation in my emotional heart. My physical heart feels fine but my emotional heart is tempted by fear.

I know a life time of fear and I have either overcome or accepted the things that scared me as a child, some I am working on still but this new fear has the potential to cripple me where other things have not. If I let the fear of pain that has seeded itself in me win I won’t move, I won’t breathe deep and I won’t sing. A part of me feels broken, but I know that part of me is merely bruised and that bruise overlays old wounds.

I am breaking in my freedom, and Freedom won’t break on me. I keep telling myself this. Yet when I prepare to go out I have to check over a list of what feels like a thousand things just in case my body breaks down. Epipen, inhaler, cellphone, sunscreen, hat, sunshade, kitty cat, cat food, water for her, drink for me… the list goes on and on and on..

So in the end I am left to see that despite parts being loose or breaking under the strain of normal use I am not broken. I must remind myself that if my chair cannot handle going to places I have to go, then something needs to be fixed and it isn’t my life. I have waited patiently for over five years for freedom. I have fought tooth and nail for freedom. I have split myself into parts to survive being penned up. Now I can fly free, and it is time to take the kid gloves off. I will still care for my chair but my chair must care for me.

I am Kateryna Fury and I have the capacity to overcome great fear. (Green Lantern reference for the non nerdy among you.) It is through my will, my hope, and my dreams that I will over come this fear. Why fear pain? I know pain intimately. The pain that destroys me can only win if I let it. I did not let it, so why let the fear of this pain grasp me? Why fear being stuck inside? I have spent years stuck inside. Is it truly being inside I fear or is it now a fear of what I have forgotten, what I have missed and being lost in the big world? Why fear the risk of the sun or my body failing? Won’t the risk come to me if I try and avoid it?

I think I’ll go for a walk now. I must see the sky and the sun. The fear has been broken.

Stranded (Also International Women’s Day)

Today I was stranded. I knew it would happen eventually, when the expensive repairs I still had to pay for did nothing with my chair’s working. I absolutely knew someday I would be stranded in my chair. I had plans in place in case this happened and every single one fell through. It was frightening. I was alone in this swirling mass of people. I knew I shouldn’t go out too but I felt pulled and it was WONDERFUL, up until my wheelchair stopped moving permanently… in a street with cars moving zip zip zip. I grabbed a man’s arm, and asked him to help me, explaining the chair was dead. He asked if I had a way home after we worked as a team to get me out of the street. His daughter called him Superman. He really was to me. I am still having images of pancakes shaped like me dancing in my head.

I was left with no recourse but to call my Mother. Mom maybe, today she was a mom. I saw that she is changing. Just as I am returning to who I am at my best. This day was full of sparks of potential. It all started when I woke up with energy for the first time in what feels like my entire life. I wanted to go out but it was too cold, so I fiddled online. I almost wrote something about that tug to go do, then checked the temperature. Twenty degrees warmer and I was out the door. There were no hesitancies in the chair like usually come before a death, it was smooth. It was beautiful. I went to the fleamarket, which is close enough that I only have to cross the street a few times, at least a major street where cars actually are an issue. This street is big, and I always scream my way across “I am going to die I am going to die I am going to die oh gods oh gods I am going to die please don’t let me get smushed” on repeat until I hit the other side of the street and merge into the slower traffic that leads into the flea market. pedestrians and cars comingle there. This is not the fleamarket that is at our fair grounds but is a smaller one, which means it is less diverse but still fun.

I just met with a new friend, who has an interesting past and felt connected to me because I looked him in the chin (fake eye contact is a go) and treated him like a person, being that he is one. He is from Jordan, and we met when he was struggling with acceptance in this country. He sells jewelry and I have been saving for this pair of earrings he made. I can wear them with my headset on even, they are the most comfortable pair of earrings I have ever had. They are solid silver with a silver cat’s eye. He charged me the cost of making them, and held them for me for a month. All I had to do was treat him like a person consistently. I promised him I would come to the fleamarket whenever I could and would say hello. It was there at his booth that I heard two people talking about a convention in a small building not far from where we were. The entire building was full of women celebrating International Women’s Day. I couldn’t believe it. I could go! Enroute to the proper exit that would spit me out right across another street to this event I even found another booth. There I bought $500 worth of Star Trek Geek Paraphenelia for $4. That’s right. The deal of the century.

I always get good deals at the fleamarket. I look for quality, I bring a limited amount of money, and I only haggle on items that I know are worth it. I also tend to know what I am looking at. There is an antique set of glasses that I want to get but thirty dollars is a lot despite their actual value. I am saving and hoping no one else sees them for what they are. Then, I ran into a friend who moved away years ago. Her son is actually double his size, and the DVD I never returned to her? I still have it. It was amazing. I felt almost high from the warm sun (not on my skin but the AIR was warm enough I didn’t need my coat for most of my day)

I made it to the celebration. I actually attended and performed at the first celebration Albuquerque had on this day. I stood up and read a poem. I remember trying to focus on not fainting, I remember though how good it felt to be a woman. To celebrate that. The celebration has grown. The building was actually a warehouse that is the size of an entire city block, and once inside I had to pay an entry fee (the exact amount of money I had left). The women at the door asked if i was allergic to the stamp AND the ink. The stamp was a silicon base and the ink is natural dyes which for me is a better shot than chemical. I wasn’t required to get stamped but I went for it. I will wear this turtley shape for about a week. It may be a sea monster? I am not sure. I started to explore. I talked, I advocated, there was plenty of advocating to do.

I spoke with women at a Domestic Violence Awareness Booth, and helped a young woman decide to get some counceling and potentially leave her abusive boyfriend. It was accidental. It was unplanned. She felt safer talking to me than the actual people at the counter. They supported this, and I let her talk. I am possibly going to give a speech at some of the local high schools now. The key that lead to this was my obvious first hand experience and the fact that I am recovering. I admitted to her it takes a long time.

From there I went around to another booth, I was given some pretty roses, which I have one of on display. The other I sent with my mom, she loves flowers and she did rescue me. Besides, the roses were planted a year ago in honor of Women, and she IS a woman! There were a lot of booths. I am going to work with a breast cancer group and we are going to create a FREE seminar for women with disabilities, the seminar topic? How to adapt to the self exam. I also was given a great history lesson by the Census worker. She thought it was interesting I wanted to know the history as no one seems to ask that. Women did not used to be counted in the census, and in my state this is the first year SINGLE women (divorced, single moms etc) will be tallied. Last year the census estimates we were shorted by over 1 million people because of this “oversight”. I wish I could work with them more, but, no matter where you live get counted in the census. If you are low income, this will effect funding for local programs like foodstamps or even your transport system. This is a big deal.

Most of what went on swirled around me. I had brought my MP3 player, as sometimes crossing the street panics me and I need the music to calm down. So I used it as needed. I left Sprite at home, as I was only going for a few hours right? Right? (I was so wrong) I wanted to bring her but she wasn’t feeling as good as I was this morning. She’s fine now, and is clinging to me.

Advocacy I had abandoned was revived today. I did not abandon it because my passion was gone but because I could not advocate. The orphan goal did mature on it’s own. Accessible Mammography. When I needed a mammogram a year ago (I am due for another one this year oh “joy”.) I had to first fight for one based on age, then I had to find one where I would not be forced to stand, as you must stay still. It was unpleasant and at that point there was only ONE accessible mammogram machine. Now one of the hospitals I called has several mammography machines and… they went further. My concern was small as I had to start small to be heard. They have an MRI machine now, that is larger for the larger bodied person, and is a sitting/standing MRI! If you cannot lie flat, you can NOW get an MRI in my state without being in the very long list at the VA.

There’s more. There is a van, with a portable ACCESSIBLE mammography set up that will go to the low income neighborhoods and give FREE mammograms. That’s right. Free mammograms to the poor who cannot go to a doctor. I am sure that this was a long term goal to a degree for them but, this was what I was advocating for when things went badly and my life was ground to dust. Access for all. My heart is singing. Even the BMI and weight loss booths couldn’t bring me down.

I did something a bit horrible to the BMI guys. They were men, first of all. Second of all they were telling people they are fat with the BMI, which is not scientifically proven. It ignores things like breasts, bone density, hip and buttock size. It ignores genetics. It ignores a lot. they also were trying to get people to stand and walk in this really awkward way then telling them they needed the gym. I found out about this because they made someone cry. She’s very thin, and they called her fat. I went over and started laying out scientific facts, I blocked their booth with fact. People could come and go but I spread the word and listed my sources. Some still went but, before I left people were talking. Big impact there? Teenagers were excited by the idea that they don’t need to lose weight. I heard someone say “So, I am really okay the way I am. No one ever said anything like that to me before.”

Today I played pebble in the pond. it was beautiful. There were more moments. Every single moment was something impactful. I admit I avoided the rape crisis center booth. They were exuding sorrow. The women running the booth looked depressed, and sad. This was something I couldn’t face. I don’t feel the same stabbing pain in my chest when I say rape most of the time, but, they were breathing it. No one stopped there. I did a drive by snatch and grab of a business card but I couldn’t talk to them. Penetrating sorrow is just not my thing.

There was one other thing, I found something for me. There is a program for the disabled in my city, to socialize us. To get us out there. They provide transport, safe food if you want, activities, and the thing that they do is… they offer this to people with mental health issues, physical disabilities, developmental delays, and more. This company, as they do take insurance but do not discriminate on the cost of poorness itself (IE it’s free if you can’t pay) they saw the need for more than just children to have access to programs. There is a special program for Autism AND one for the depressed. The woman said often these groups overlap, and the company does not see Autism as a disability, but a different type of mind where at times things may be disabling. I am calling on Monday to find out what services I can get. this includes therapy. Therapy. At long last, the help I need for my depression GEARED for the person who has physical challenge and pain. Therapy… amazing, like fresh water from the earth, the idea flows over me, it refreshes me.

Normally this much would exhaust me, I was a bit sore but had enough energy. I checked my battery. It read a full charge. Actually it still reads a mostly full charge right now, so we know it’s not the battery that left me stranded… I heard it, as I was about to leave. This music from my past. The dancing twitch hit me, and I followed it. I got to stand (well sit) with the dancers, as this was the access area. I was far from the only person in a chair as well. It was beautiful. There were Irish Step Dancers. I left before the belly dancers went on. It was a bittersweet expierience. These women, 3 years old to 53 were dancing. I could feel the music. I rememebered every step. They were flawless. Even the one who fell (the stage moved, it wasn’t her fault) got up and fell right back into step. She was far from adult but had the perfection of skill of the adults. Even the three year old was moving as if born to it. Likely she was. The pain was from my memories so I tried my best to shut them out. I got to thank the dancers, and that was when I left.

After things like suggesting planned parenthood give out latex free condoms (just an idea, and they did ask) on through finding out my victories, I was satiated in ways I have not felt in what has been a year, but a year that encompassed a life time. I left, the music swirling in me. I went back through the fleamarket and just as it was safe to enter the street I zipped out then… WHAM… a hard stop. My chair was completely dead. The light was changing color, as I would have been across. A man was about to cross and I grabbed his arm. I hate that, but I was desperate. “I need your help.” He looked startled. This man wasn’t exactly approachable. Given the type of people who frequent this market, I would call social cast offs, non typical, and sometimes scary (but only in cliche ways, not actually dangerous). I think as he looked at me he was just stunned. No one asks for help here. It was help or die.

I told him how to put my chair into freewheelmode, an idea that he said was the best invention ever. He offered to push me home. It was too dangerous, and too far. I considered it. He made sure I was safe and I put into action my plans. Plural plans. No one was home, no one answered, and one is highly contagious. I called my Mom. I explained what was going on and we brain stormed. We found a way and she drove the two hours to get me home, then raced back to get my stepdad to one of his mandatory do this or go to jail things.

The man I stopped for help was so wonderful and kind. I love my neighborhood because I feel safe here. On the outside it looks like a horrid place with violence and gangs but, appearances lie. It is like a small town in the big city. The man’s wife and kids were going to wait for the next light, he was showing his daughter how to cross the street. I did not know this as my chant had begun. His daughter said the most amazing thing. “Daddy, that was just like superman!” It was too. He saved my life. Cars were coming, it took a moment of choice, and he chose what i would say is the right thing without batting an eye.

I rested and ate, and Sprite yelled at me for a while for being out so long. She was really loud, so it was definately yelling. She then forgave me and won’t leave my side. I cannot go out until I get my new chair, but, man waas it worth it.

Changes and Medicaid

I should be asleep, I was up at Six AM unable to sleep, my mind entrenched in researching what it will take to get Medicaid to cover a new wheelchair. I just got my scooter but my needs have already changed. This might actually be enough, despite being told by my Wheelchair Provider, “Suck it up, you have to wait five years before they will even consider another chair.” I left feeling anger at the young man, first he failed to repair my chair, then the manufacturer also failed and they gave it back to me running but barely manageable. It doesn’t turn.

How can I function with a chair that won’t go around a corner without a circus routine being thrown in to the mix? I gave up on driving indoors with the one I have a while ago. It is too bulky to fit inside. I didn’t know they should have let me drive it before I was left with the chair, or that I should have known with in a month, by some strange magical process that the chair was wrong for me.

I had an accident, before I started this blog, as well. I sat in a chair, in my own home and due to age and exposure to extreme weight for twenty or more years, it collapsed. It felt like I sat on air, even as the wood cracked like a shot gun. For me, when something frightening happens the world slows down to a snail’s pace. I could see the terror in my friend’s faces, and was glad instantly that the abusive roommate wasn’t out of her room yet.

I felt too, the pain as my body tipped into a position that it no longer could sustain. I knew I was going down. I felt this same slowness when my back broke initially, it took forever. I was actually bored by the time the car finished it’s impact and by the time the chair hit the floor, wanting the pain to come, so that it could be over.

The result of my strange slowdown is two fold. The problem is the anticipation of pain might be either smaller or larger than the actual pain. Anticipating it I may tense up, making the imapct worse. On the flip side I can also work through strategies on how to land, shift position, and protect myself. I also can go through panic by the time I hit the floor. I just hate feeling like I am in a Zack Snyder Film. My least favorite director, his trademark is Super Slow Motion Story Time.

I was lucky, I did not hit my head on the chair. I should have but when I just let myself go, my body relaxing until impact, this changed how I flowed through the air. I was impaled on a wooden stake, and immediately made a Buffy Joke, unaware that the joke was too close to reality. I barely bled. My instinct too is to slow my heart rate, to stop all unnecessary functions. this is fine enough but, also is dangerous. I am not sure where I learned it either, but it might be my Mother. She does it too.

My service cat kicked into action, running first to try and fetch any human left in the house, then, checking to see if I was still breathing, before she called for help via telephone. My Person and my PCA (Personal Care Attendant) were both called. Then I went via ambulance with the nicest and most well informed paramedics. I do not know what these emergency personnel are called in other countries but they are our first responders, along side Firemen, and the police.

They were worried, and told me so, because I was far too calm. I reminded them that panic doesn’t do anything for you and hinders care, and that my friends had panicked enough. I had spent half an hour on the floor, trying to not move. I started shaking violently, having small seizures as my body protested. Finally, my seizing was documented. It is related to my level of pain. They gave me some morphine at the hospital, just before sending me home.

First they did Xrays, nothing appeared to be wrong. It’s been a month, maybe two. I am never really sure how much time passes, a side effect of my childhood mental health care and severe traumas. I am not sure which one caused this, PTSD or too many pills. The Xray tech was a student. He was cute too, though I barely registered that. He and his supervisor had a patient who could not move into their positions for the most part, my body refused and it was unsafe until after xrays due to the existing injury.

I found something new, they accommodated my body and still got the needed film. This is rare. Usually they twist you, ignoring your screams, telling you it will just be a second. Xray time is a form of abject torture. Why? Well, there is not usually much they can do to accommodate, or they forgot how. I had a smart tech and a brilliant student. I told him too, he should stick with it and that if he wanted I would write a personal recommendation. I gave him my email address and telephone number.

I have a trained reflex to try and fix people, and this evolved into making bad jokes and never crying in the ER. I cried that night, and there was blood. I still made bad jokes but, I finally had an ER doctor that knew it was the pain talking. I had to make jokes in order to seem okay. I couldn’t stop. That was when I started trying to make myself accept that I need a therapist. Self defeat is not an option when your body is already falling apart.

You know those toys with strings in them, that when you squish them they collapse? I feel like I am one of those and someone keeps hitting that button. I often look like that when I fall too. The analogy is too close for my Person. He doesn’t mind my jokes usually but sometimes when they are cruel and anti my existence he has to remind me to be gentle with myself.

The hospital I chose was full. It rarely is, and that meant anywhere else I would’ve been worse off. I live right next door too, the Women’s Hospital. A hospital dedicated soley to the health of women! They were the first place to accommodate a need, long ago. They woke me up to being treated like a human by doctors.

As we left my doctor shared a funny story, perhaps to illustrate how unfunny any trauma was, but, it was amusing in it’s tragedy. Here it is paraphrased, beyond this point, if you are squeamish, I would skip the blue text.

You like jokes? Well, I have a sort of funny story for you. Lately we’ve been seeing a new type of meth.” So far not funny.”People are mixing laundry detergent and amonia and injecting this into their bodies. Supposedly the best high yet. We have seen a few who miss the vein.” I am busy imagining what the ammonia is doing to their brains, when my Person shudders and the doctor continues, “Each one had gangrene before coming in. I know this isn’t the funny part. Seeing their flesh cook from the inside out, but, they usually start seeing things. That’s where it gets funny. Blue bunnies, almost all of them see blue bunnies.

I took this attempt at illustrating just how funny it wasn’t to heart. When I was in the ER for my Anaphalactic Shock I did not tell a single joke. Not being able to breathe helped, but, that story echoed in my head. Most of them left before they were fully treated. It too raised the awareness of the scents behind this new Meth. I did not list all of the ingredients here either, but he did. Now, I know, if I smell really clean laundry and it smells like ammonia too, watch out!

Life is full of change. None¬† of it is easy, but, I follow some practices of Dharma with in Buddhism, this doesn’t make me a complete Buddhist, there are more components to my religion. It has helped me however, find some acceptance in being born into this body, in my family, and in the things I believe. Some protest Buddhims as a load of bull because there are aspects that could lead to self blame. I see it merely as another tool for coping with change. Buddhism is a life style, not, a religion.

I go back to the grindstone, trying to find resources to take to my doctor to explain my new needs. Likely I will see another wheelchair doctor, walk my few shaky steps, explain why they are fewer. I get tired of the explanations. Do they ever stop?

Pancakes in my Shirt

I walked out of the apartment into the rain and the car, despite being two feet from the front door seemed miles away. I burst into tears. My pain was worse than it had been in weeks. The sun was hiding and I did not want to function. After my shower earlier I realized since water makes me sick my pain might be a reaction to the chemicals in the shower. This is no comfort,but as I took another shaky step, my Person grasping me under my arms and half lifting me as I started to fall I wanted to run inside and hide in bed.

I had fought for this appointment tooth and nail, as had my doctor. I made myself move forward, clinging to the big strong arms that wrapped around me. It is cold enough that it will snow later, the sun napping as it finally acts like Winter. I curl up in the van and try to make myself eat something so that my pain pill will stay down. Two bites and I want to just die. I take the pill, I feel it slowly moving down my throat, Everything is slow today. Like molasses. I know it will be an hour before I feel any better, if the medication will work. It rarely does now.

Arriving at the hospital for my testing we find that the rain has brought out all the placard users. This hospital is very accessible, and yet we had to park in the boonies. I watch in the mirror, as I always do, for on coming traffic so that I can protect my Person. He is almost out of the van when from my blind spot, which is as big as the van anyway, a blue car speeds up nearly running him over. They would’ve hit me if I had been getting out. Pain that the rain saved me. I climb out and drag myself down the side of the van, the car blocked us in so that Person could not come to me, as was the plan. I barely fit between the cars. No apology from the rude driver, just a rude snear.

More tears. The van is six miles long, it has to be. Each tired step my legs want to give way. Why don’t they? I don’t know. I just will them to work. One more step. One more. Pull on, go forth. I barely make it to the chair, my legs giving out as I sink into the seat. Rain is pouring down, it burns like the shower. Chemicals might not be the why of the pain. It is cold, and my shelter is not up. I put the key in, nothing happens. Instead of bellowing like a Bean Sidh I take a breath, I whisper a prayer. I ask for help. We get the chair to run, it putters slowly, slowly enough that Person does not have to run. It stalls out in the door way. We aren’t there yet but the chair fails me. I sob a bit more, feeling guilt over my tears but unable to stop them.

Person hefts the chair up, five hundred pounds. Person is amazing. The chair makes it over the doorjam. A low door jam. I realize I had been being the Wicked Witch, glowering out at the world, I start humming. Dun dan duh dah dah dun dun dah dun dah dan duh… Person catches on and I let out a cackle. My pain is horrible but my mind is clearing. I must be prepared to fight. Sign in, sit down, and wait.

Waiting takes an hour, then, I have the ultrasound. Insurance won’t cover a Mammo without it. No mammogram is in the cards, says the tech. She discovers my breasts are too thick to get a clear picture. Frustration is apparent but she tries. I react to the gel. Not badly but it burns. Everything burns. Life burns today. The air burns in my chest, pain making it worse. I clean myself up and wait. No sign of anything, too much tissue. I get the mammogram.

They ask if I can stand, I try and fall. I am in my chair for the mammogram, pinched and squeezed. Denial, in my head my breasts are slightly above average. I overflow the plate. My breasts are bigger than the machine allows. It takes three to hold them in proper place to position the machine. So many pictures. An abscess bursts, have to retake a picture and clean up again. Everyone is nice, my pain receeds slowly, as the storm passes overhead. My results are given right away, after more waiting.

No sign of cancer, just scars. So many scars. My scars are clear as day, little spots and suns, but they can tell they are scars. They can match them to the flesh, and they do not look the same. I trust them. I am free of worry for at least a year. Self advocated, self preserved. Heading out again, the wicked witch is gone, but I remain. I still burn. The pain is strong, it burns my soul. I burn until the hate comes, then, I hit a bump. More tears. I smile, remembering why I am here. I won. They helped me to get what was needed.

Health is good. Still, I have pancakes in my shirt.

The Wheels on the Butt Go Round and Round…

Today is a busy day, and I hurt enough to make me want to not just crawl under a rock, but to make the rock cry to share my pain. This tactic is not healthy but it is very human, so, I must chant the mantra today that makes me feel the best. “Centered, warmth, healing light, none other shall have to face my plight. I am strong, I am beautiful, I am capable, and my bed waits for me to finish my tasks.” A little long but it helps me get going with a smile. I am eating a delicious breakfast made by my Male Person of Awesomeness, while he showers. The cats are both coming on our adventures today.

This will be our first time taking William Shakespurr out with us. Today’s activities consist of Veterinarian, Bank and the oh so fun Wheelchair Repair Trade off.¬† The wheels under my butt don’t want to go round and round. Since the first day I got my scooter things have been falling off. Getting it out the door to the house the first time I clipped the wall and lost a chunk of the plastic frame. The second time it was better but I clipped a rock at an SCA event (pebble sized) and lost a bit more. A rattle started a bit later and here we are Six Months into ownership of my own Personal Freedom Mobile, and it is broken.

Man of Awesome loaded it into the van and bumped an empty cardboard box, and the box won. The lights died and now half the time it won’t move. The scooter seems to be defective! What a concept right? It has had power issues the entire time I have dealt with it, but, I had no way of knowing it wasn;’t normal to have it whine, vibrate, jerk about, and rattle. The death rattle grew worse after it stalled out in the new apartment. I hit the wall goooood, and broke the plastic frame, and the entire system died for eight hours. I used the wall as a pillow, since my bed wasn’t home yet and everything else wasn;t here yet. I was the first piece of decoration in our apartment, a wall fixture I might add.

All comedy aside, this experience gave me a new light on the scooter. While it sucks horrible in many ways, those ways are made up for by the fact that I can race someone to the car, and WIN. First time in my life. I don’t have to try and brace my bosom so that they don’t smack me in the face, I don’t have to worry about a dislocated knee, I can zip right out there and not even break a sweat. I also have the freedom of leaving the house by myself for the first time in years. I don’t have to hide in my room if I want privacy and solitude, I merely have to get rolling.

The Maiden of ButtWheel Repair has warned that I might not be able to get this particular chair back, and that I might want to look at other designs. What I truly want is just a wheelchair shaped item, no long nose, just a nice, cushy chair. I would need to add on a few particulars, like a basket for the cat to sit in, and my sunshade, but, after that? I could maybe make it around some of the walls in the apartment, or maybe squish into that store that is barely inaccessible. Scooters add to the inaccessibility issue facing stores and their handicapped customers, though they are great for some people.

I already miss my wheels…

  • Polls

  • Ye Olde Archives of Fury

  • Top Rated

  • Top Clicks

    • None