Every morning I wake up my black lab greets me with great enthusiasm bordering on a giant celebration. Tail waging, excitement coursing through every fiber of her body she lets me pet her head for a while. She then looks at me, directs her attention to my wheelchair and looks back at me. No doubt she is thinking "let's go have fun"--get up and we can play ball. Sadly, I disappoint her and me every morning. This little ritual I play out with my lab makes me miss my wheelchair--it is a visceral pain. I am in some ways in mourning. I miss my wheelchair, I miss the power it gives me to be independent. I miss the feel of upholstery against my back. I miss pushing against the tires and the intimate knowledge I have as to how I can direct it's forward thrust. Why I even miss the dirt I collect during the day on the wheelchair frame-an absence my lab misses as my tires clearly pick up smells that are utterly fascinating. I miss watching a scary movie and the way I slightly rock back and forth. I could go on but I miss my wheelchair more than anyone can imagine. Sure some other wheelchair users will get my sense of loss, people like Simi Linton who in my Body Politic wrote about her "cherry red" power wheelchair she named Rufus.
As I grimly greeted another day bed bound, I thought how many people are there in the world that I could share my views with. Not many, precious few in fact. Certainly not the average American. Nope, for most people without any knowledge of a wheelchair they see it as a mechanical device--at best. A wheelchair is a thing, a product, an inanimate object. Worse yet, many see and associate a wheelchair with inability, physical incapacity. Here, think Grandma, Grandpa and all the elderly cannot do. The symbolic association with with a wheelchair is not positive--it is the ultimate symbol of weakness and disability. This makes me crazy--how I wonder can the average American be so stupid. I love my wheelchair--every piece of it. It is a part of me, akin to my leg or arm. I cannot envision life without it. It is a vibrant positive part of who I am. When it breaks, I am devastated--how could such an integral part of me fail. Such mechanical failures are very rare, most easily fixed. But such thoughts remind me of how I feel when my body becomes sick--yikes, I wonder, why did my bodily systems fail.
So here I lay tapping out my words on a key board loving looking at my wheelchair. I wonder what my son would make of such thoughts? Surely the old man has lost his wits. He may be right in his thoughts but I think not. I think my obvious and intense feelings for my wheelchair reveal the great divide between those who use a wheelchair and those that do not. We are talking about a cultural gulf the size of the Grand Canyon. I firmly believe there is a disability culture as unique and fascinating as any other subcultural group. Not all crippled people are members--some are not happy nor do they embrace disability culture. The reasons for this are many and varied starting with the overwhelming stigma associated with disability and wheelchair use. But some of see through this cultural bias--we understand it for what it really is--bigotry plain and simple. Frankly I am letting my emotions fly or as some in the body art community would say "letting my freak fly". I am acknowledging my love for a fire engine red wheelchair with its plain black upholstery, one brake, four wheels and superb ride. It is a part of me I cannot envision life without. Hence I mourn its temporary loss and look forward to the day we are reunited. And I know that day grows closer every day. My wounds are heal well and I am making steady progress. In fact, the wound care nurses characterize them as "beautiful". Of course, I look forward to the day they do not exist and know that day will come in the next few months. Then and only then can I be reunited with the most lovely wheelchair on the face of the earth.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Monday, October 11, 2010
Things I Miss Large and Small
It has been a month or so since I found my wound and am stuck in bed. Frankly, I shudder at how quickly the time has past. And no I am not having fun. Over the weekend it dawned me how much I miss doing things I took for granted. I am nor referring to work but rather the small things that make a life. So what do I miss? In no special order:
1. Kayaking: This is the best time of year to be on the water. Power boaters are few and far between, the heat of the summer is no longer a variable, and the changing color of the trees spectacular.
2. Driving: I miss my car. I love driving and once a week I would drive to new location for no reason.
3. Food: I miss cooking my own food and putting it on my own plate. I miss making my own sandwich, making coffee in the morning, getting my own beer and picking out the beer mug.
4. Tub: I miss soaking in a warm bath.
5. Cleaning: Hard to imagine but I miss cleaning my own house. Such mundane activities help me unwind and think.
6. My desk: I miss my desk where I always get my best writing done.
7. Grocery shopping:Another activity hard to believe missing. Ordinarily shopping is a chore but I miss picking out my own food.
8. Students: I miss the enthusiasm of college students. Even when they screw up, and they do, it is somehow endearing.
9. Puttering: Screwing around the house and letting my mind wonder. I do my best thinking organizing my files and book.
10. Splitting wood: I have a wood burning stove as my principal source of heat. I collect and split all my wood in the Fall.
11. Fire: I love to burn wood inside and out. I often collect wood and cook food over an open fire. I enjoy the unique wood fire provides.
12. My son: I miss doing stuff--anything together. Thankfully I knew long absence was coming so I was prepared. I have learned he does not like to talk on the phone or email so we text message. He sounds like a man now. Wow has he matured.
13. Routine social interaction: The hardest for me to imagine missing. I actually miss people. I miss the ordinary social interactions we do not think about.
14. Dog: I have an active lab I miss playing ball with. I love to see her run. Now I toss the ball from my bed across the living room floor. This is a very distant second to being outside.
15. Privacy: I don't get to be alone often. I value solitude more than anything else.
The above list is silly and is not intended to be sentimental. It is random at best and indicates to me how small and large factors impact our lives. The reality is each day I am in bed gets easier: I am resigned to my fate as it is for now. I know my wounds are healing, my skin care and wound care ideal. am doing everything in my power to heal and am making slow albeit daily progress. I sure as hell have my ups and downs--I remain very emotional, a basic case when compared to my ordinary life. But I have even accepted this. I worry all the time--I look at the wound vacuum a million times a day and am terrified of power outages. No power no wound vacuum or clinitron bed. So my mantra has become my dependency is temporary, a very short period of my life given the numbers of years I have been alive. This helps but not as much as would like. Instead of dwelling on this I occupy my mind, write, read, and put up a post such as this one.
1. Kayaking: This is the best time of year to be on the water. Power boaters are few and far between, the heat of the summer is no longer a variable, and the changing color of the trees spectacular.
2. Driving: I miss my car. I love driving and once a week I would drive to new location for no reason.
3. Food: I miss cooking my own food and putting it on my own plate. I miss making my own sandwich, making coffee in the morning, getting my own beer and picking out the beer mug.
4. Tub: I miss soaking in a warm bath.
5. Cleaning: Hard to imagine but I miss cleaning my own house. Such mundane activities help me unwind and think.
6. My desk: I miss my desk where I always get my best writing done.
7. Grocery shopping:Another activity hard to believe missing. Ordinarily shopping is a chore but I miss picking out my own food.
8. Students: I miss the enthusiasm of college students. Even when they screw up, and they do, it is somehow endearing.
9. Puttering: Screwing around the house and letting my mind wonder. I do my best thinking organizing my files and book.
10. Splitting wood: I have a wood burning stove as my principal source of heat. I collect and split all my wood in the Fall.
11. Fire: I love to burn wood inside and out. I often collect wood and cook food over an open fire. I enjoy the unique wood fire provides.
12. My son: I miss doing stuff--anything together. Thankfully I knew long absence was coming so I was prepared. I have learned he does not like to talk on the phone or email so we text message. He sounds like a man now. Wow has he matured.
13. Routine social interaction: The hardest for me to imagine missing. I actually miss people. I miss the ordinary social interactions we do not think about.
14. Dog: I have an active lab I miss playing ball with. I love to see her run. Now I toss the ball from my bed across the living room floor. This is a very distant second to being outside.
15. Privacy: I don't get to be alone often. I value solitude more than anything else.
The above list is silly and is not intended to be sentimental. It is random at best and indicates to me how small and large factors impact our lives. The reality is each day I am in bed gets easier: I am resigned to my fate as it is for now. I know my wounds are healing, my skin care and wound care ideal. am doing everything in my power to heal and am making slow albeit daily progress. I sure as hell have my ups and downs--I remain very emotional, a basic case when compared to my ordinary life. But I have even accepted this. I worry all the time--I look at the wound vacuum a million times a day and am terrified of power outages. No power no wound vacuum or clinitron bed. So my mantra has become my dependency is temporary, a very short period of my life given the numbers of years I have been alive. This helps but not as much as would like. Instead of dwelling on this I occupy my mind, write, read, and put up a post such as this one.
Friday, October 8, 2010
It's Back to Day One Again
I sat up for the first time in nearly two weeks yesterday. Wow, what a pleasure! My sitting time was of course severely limited. I got out of bed, into wheelchair and then in the back of my car. Why was I in the back of my car and sitting up? Simple: insurance refused to pay for an ambulance to transport me to and back from wound care. If I paid for such a luxury it would have been about $1,200. This does not include th cost of the appointment at wound care--also not covered. Hence I was transported laying down in the back of my car. If we got in an accident screwed does not even begin to describe the consequences.
To say I was stressed out yesterday is an understatement. I did not sleep the night before nor could I eat the morning of the appointment. Accompanied my brother and brother-in-law, all went well. The bottom line is that both wounds are healing nicely. The surgeon is a funny lady--she described the wounds as "beautiful". Flowers I are beautiful wounds are not. Regardless, my "beautiful" wounds needed little debridement hence I lost little blood--my my major concern as the last debridement was a gruesome bloody affair. The time table for healing is vague as we humans, especially those paralyzed, do not heal on a set schedule. I gently pushed for a time frame and was told before the end of 2011. Shock spread across my face and I said I needed something more precise. The surgeon replied with a somewhat less vague 2-6 months. This is fair--vague but I can at least wrap my mind around this. Aside from medical issues, I am still struggling with the great cost of my care. I have made zero progress in this regard. This is alarming though a short term problem. My only success came yesterday when I expressed concern about the cost of bandages for the wound vacuum--I was thrilled to see the wound care specialist used one bandage bundle for both wounds thus saving me 50% of supplies. As I was leaving this persona gave me a big box of supplies--sample she said. Score one for the home team.
I must be getting better physically as my choice of reading is improving by leaps and bounds. I am back to reading typical academic discourse, stories about disability rights abuse, and most importantly getting pissed off. I am thus starting to look beyond my own tale of woe and thinking--a healthy sign. Given this, I will start to write along two lines--posts about my progress and compromised life and a return to disability rights as civil rights. In essence, I am back mentally and resigned to my life as it is for the next few months--yes, the next 2-6 months. I have also not given up on ski season or teaching in the Spring--maybe I can handle one class and some ski runs in February. I need to have reasonable hopes and start writing about disability rights as civil rights. I know this viewpoint will not be found in the mainstream media and have read a few articles from the NY Times in recent days that have annoyed me to no end. On such story had to do with paraolympians competing with so called able bodied athletes. Apparently this is becoming more common though at times controversial. What the NY Times failed to mention is the only time controversy arises is when an athlete with a disability soundly defeats his or her non disabled competitors. When this happens all of a sudden any adaptive device represents an unfair advantage. In a word, bull. Ah, it is good to be getting back to my feisty self.
To say I was stressed out yesterday is an understatement. I did not sleep the night before nor could I eat the morning of the appointment. Accompanied my brother and brother-in-law, all went well. The bottom line is that both wounds are healing nicely. The surgeon is a funny lady--she described the wounds as "beautiful". Flowers I are beautiful wounds are not. Regardless, my "beautiful" wounds needed little debridement hence I lost little blood--my my major concern as the last debridement was a gruesome bloody affair. The time table for healing is vague as we humans, especially those paralyzed, do not heal on a set schedule. I gently pushed for a time frame and was told before the end of 2011. Shock spread across my face and I said I needed something more precise. The surgeon replied with a somewhat less vague 2-6 months. This is fair--vague but I can at least wrap my mind around this. Aside from medical issues, I am still struggling with the great cost of my care. I have made zero progress in this regard. This is alarming though a short term problem. My only success came yesterday when I expressed concern about the cost of bandages for the wound vacuum--I was thrilled to see the wound care specialist used one bandage bundle for both wounds thus saving me 50% of supplies. As I was leaving this persona gave me a big box of supplies--sample she said. Score one for the home team.
I must be getting better physically as my choice of reading is improving by leaps and bounds. I am back to reading typical academic discourse, stories about disability rights abuse, and most importantly getting pissed off. I am thus starting to look beyond my own tale of woe and thinking--a healthy sign. Given this, I will start to write along two lines--posts about my progress and compromised life and a return to disability rights as civil rights. In essence, I am back mentally and resigned to my life as it is for the next few months--yes, the next 2-6 months. I have also not given up on ski season or teaching in the Spring--maybe I can handle one class and some ski runs in February. I need to have reasonable hopes and start writing about disability rights as civil rights. I know this viewpoint will not be found in the mainstream media and have read a few articles from the NY Times in recent days that have annoyed me to no end. On such story had to do with paraolympians competing with so called able bodied athletes. Apparently this is becoming more common though at times controversial. What the NY Times failed to mention is the only time controversy arises is when an athlete with a disability soundly defeats his or her non disabled competitors. When this happens all of a sudden any adaptive device represents an unfair advantage. In a word, bull. Ah, it is good to be getting back to my feisty self.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Reading, Reading and Reading
I must be healthier as I have mad a transition from reading crap to real books. Hence murder mysteries and action adventure novels have slowly been replaced by good books. I started with a biography of Moe Berg, a baseball player and OSS operative during World War II. I then read another wonderful biography about Sam Steward, an academic turned tattoo artist. This text was fascinating in that Steward was gay, kept detailed record of his sexual and personal life. This is a unique text and offers a glimpse into what it was like for gay men at a time when homosexuality was considered a mental illness. I also reread parts of the Body Silent as it related to issues of dependence. I have recently finished Beth Haller's wonderful book Representing Disability in an Ableist World. This book I consider a must read for all those interested in the skewed media representations of disability. And my God, how much more skewed could the representation of disability be in mainstream media. Haller insightfully delves this subject and provides a penchant analysis.
Representing Disability, shrewdly published by Advocado Press, should be used as a required text in mass media and disability studies classes. Haller' book consists of 10 chapters. Some chapters resonate more than others, for instance I particularly liked
Chapter 4, Not Worth Keeping Alive assisted suicide debate as debated in the New York Times. Frankly I disagree with Haller's conclusions but respect her scholarship and admire her obvious respect for Not Dead Yet, a group sadly ignored by the mainstream press. In my mind, what makes Haller's work so important is her ability to get across the deep impact ableism has had on the lives of all people with a disability. Also worth noting here is Haller's discussion of alternative media outlets and internet resources. Whenever I am at a loss to explain why the media screws up a disability related story I now have an invaluable resource to rely on as will all others wise enough to purchase her book.
Representing Disability, shrewdly published by Advocado Press, should be used as a required text in mass media and disability studies classes. Haller' book consists of 10 chapters. Some chapters resonate more than others, for instance I particularly liked
Chapter 4, Not Worth Keeping Alive assisted suicide debate as debated in the New York Times. Frankly I disagree with Haller's conclusions but respect her scholarship and admire her obvious respect for Not Dead Yet, a group sadly ignored by the mainstream press. In my mind, what makes Haller's work so important is her ability to get across the deep impact ableism has had on the lives of all people with a disability. Also worth noting here is Haller's discussion of alternative media outlets and internet resources. Whenever I am at a loss to explain why the media screws up a disability related story I now have an invaluable resource to rely on as will all others wise enough to purchase her book.
Monday, October 4, 2010
I am Not Depressed But...
I am certainly not happy. To me, this is a perfectly reasonable response to my current predicament. I have been completely independent since I was paralyzed. Like many other people, I highly value my independence. Indeed, I consider independence central to my identity. Thus I am like most Americans in placing great value on independence. Unlike most Americans however I realize how fleeting independence really is. I have given great thought to why we Americans value independence. For those of us who are paralyzed, temporarily or permanently have lost independence, and the terminally ill we realize what a crock independence is. No one is fully independent. Most people are dependent upon employment to put a roof over their head, some are dependent on family or a spouse, But no one, and i mean, no one can survive without human contact that at some level contains a measure of dependence. The dependence can be large or small, significant or seemingly insignificant but it is ever present. I know this is true as I have experienced being both independent and dependent.
In terms of disability, what bothers me is he double standard that is applied to people with a disability as opposed to those without a disability. Frankly people do not care about the disabled. We are seen as inherently flawed, physically and socially. We are seen but not seen. It is only when disability strikes home that people suddenly get disability is a social malady. What does it matter if one cannot see, hear, or has lost a limb. We are inherently the same person. I am the same man before and since I was paralyzed. I am however not treated the same. This double standard has grave consequences when dealing with the health care system. Fot instance, when I became medically stable the hospital wanted me out the door ASAP. My choices were stark--a nursing home home or purchase a clinitron bed and rent a wound vacuum. This cost big bucks and I had the family to make this happen financially. The case worker and doctor agreed home was the best route. But neither the case worker or MD really cared where I went. The institution wanted me out, what happened afterwards was not their concern. At no point did any one ask or think what would happen to me in a nursing home. Sadly, this reality, moving a paralyzed patient with a sore to the nursing home is the norm. Worse yet, most paralyzed people never leave a nursing home. But it is not jut paralyzed people that face this dilemma. What about the elderly that are commonly disposed of this way. What about the terminally ill? How many can transition to a good hospice center? Not nearly enough that's for sure.
The double standard I am referring to is deadly. It affects millions of people and is a true sign our health care system is hopelessly flawed. When I was in the hospital this was a constant refrain. The system is broken, there is nothing that can be done. All acknowledged this no one did anything about it. So, if I ended up in a nursing home it was less than ideal but it was no one's fault aside from the hopelessly broken system. Well, we the people are all part of the system and someone needs to figure out how to fight back. I tried, and got nowhere. Frankly contacting another human being on the phone was a job by itself. I have never talked to a human being at my health insurance company--I am not sure it is possible. The wound vacuum company, KCI, would not lower their rates for me by a dollar. Thus I am paying exactly the same price as a huge corporation or hospital to use their equipment. All this makes me wonder why we accept a double standard. What happened to basic human decency. Why could a human at KCI not say let's cut this guy some slack. They are giant corporation but as we Americans have learned such entities have no heart or sense of ethics. Indeed, on gloomy days like today I wonder if compassion and ethics are a thing of the past. Worse yet the most vulnerable are most likely to be hurt.
In terms of disability, what bothers me is he double standard that is applied to people with a disability as opposed to those without a disability. Frankly people do not care about the disabled. We are seen as inherently flawed, physically and socially. We are seen but not seen. It is only when disability strikes home that people suddenly get disability is a social malady. What does it matter if one cannot see, hear, or has lost a limb. We are inherently the same person. I am the same man before and since I was paralyzed. I am however not treated the same. This double standard has grave consequences when dealing with the health care system. Fot instance, when I became medically stable the hospital wanted me out the door ASAP. My choices were stark--a nursing home home or purchase a clinitron bed and rent a wound vacuum. This cost big bucks and I had the family to make this happen financially. The case worker and doctor agreed home was the best route. But neither the case worker or MD really cared where I went. The institution wanted me out, what happened afterwards was not their concern. At no point did any one ask or think what would happen to me in a nursing home. Sadly, this reality, moving a paralyzed patient with a sore to the nursing home is the norm. Worse yet, most paralyzed people never leave a nursing home. But it is not jut paralyzed people that face this dilemma. What about the elderly that are commonly disposed of this way. What about the terminally ill? How many can transition to a good hospice center? Not nearly enough that's for sure.
The double standard I am referring to is deadly. It affects millions of people and is a true sign our health care system is hopelessly flawed. When I was in the hospital this was a constant refrain. The system is broken, there is nothing that can be done. All acknowledged this no one did anything about it. So, if I ended up in a nursing home it was less than ideal but it was no one's fault aside from the hopelessly broken system. Well, we the people are all part of the system and someone needs to figure out how to fight back. I tried, and got nowhere. Frankly contacting another human being on the phone was a job by itself. I have never talked to a human being at my health insurance company--I am not sure it is possible. The wound vacuum company, KCI, would not lower their rates for me by a dollar. Thus I am paying exactly the same price as a huge corporation or hospital to use their equipment. All this makes me wonder why we accept a double standard. What happened to basic human decency. Why could a human at KCI not say let's cut this guy some slack. They are giant corporation but as we Americans have learned such entities have no heart or sense of ethics. Indeed, on gloomy days like today I wonder if compassion and ethics are a thing of the past. Worse yet the most vulnerable are most likely to be hurt.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
My Small World Seems To Be Shrinking
I have been home for six days. I am amazingly lucky to be home. Unlike many others in similar circumstances I have escaped life in a nursing home. More than most people I realize just how fortunate I am. I tell myself this each and every day--it is my mantra "I am lucky to be home". This is a fact I cannot ever dismiss because if it were not for my familial support I would be rotting away in an institution. Yet at the same time I struggle with my dependence on others. I struggle knowing that I am stuck in my living room for months on end. I struggle to keep my mind active. I struggle to eat a high protein diet as ordered by the surgeon. And worst of all I struggle to be grateful for the fact I am home. Talk about being ungrateful! Here is the strange dichotomy between one's intellectual knowledge and personal feelings. I know I have no right to complain about the current state of my affairs. But my brain and heart seem to disagree.
I miss my wheelchair. I miss my desk. I miss ordinary household chores. I miss working up an appetite kayaking in the Hudson River. I miss teaching. I miss going for a drive. I miss my very boring and ordinary life. I know this sounds pathetic. I also worry if I am thinking and feeling along these lines what will I be thinking in November. I suppose I am learning the adaptation process I am going through now is more difficult than I imagined. For goodness sake the weather appears to affect my moods. On gloomy days outside my mood reflects the climate. Wow, how life has changed. Weather never influenced me like this before. I cannot help but wonder how my experience will impact my future thoughts and experiences. For one thing I am sure, each and every time I get in and out of my wheelchair I will be nothing but grateful.
I miss my wheelchair. I miss my desk. I miss ordinary household chores. I miss working up an appetite kayaking in the Hudson River. I miss teaching. I miss going for a drive. I miss my very boring and ordinary life. I know this sounds pathetic. I also worry if I am thinking and feeling along these lines what will I be thinking in November. I suppose I am learning the adaptation process I am going through now is more difficult than I imagined. For goodness sake the weather appears to affect my moods. On gloomy days outside my mood reflects the climate. Wow, how life has changed. Weather never influenced me like this before. I cannot help but wonder how my experience will impact my future thoughts and experiences. For one thing I am sure, each and every time I get in and out of my wheelchair I will be nothing but grateful.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Its a Small World
I survived the weekend. I must be doing better because nonstop football games, college and pro, grew increasingly boring. I read more, watched TV less and seem more engaged. No doubt my overall health is getting better by the day. I feel stronger and friends say I look much better. I have not yet jumped back into work but I am getting close. Other signs of progress are that the wound care specialists are excellent. They are familiar with the wounf vacuum and I am relieved they know what they are doing.
The above is very real, finite and measurable progress. This progress is tempered by my new reality--my world is very small. I live in my living room, cannot get out of bed and look out the same windows daily. I have gone from an active lifestyle to one that leaves me virtually inert. I do not mean to whine--I am all too aware I am lucky. I could have ended up in a nursing home or still be stuck in the hospital. I also know I am lucky to live in my home as my living room boasts quite the view. Yet weeks ago my idea of observing wildlife includes paddling on the Hudson River. Now I look out my window at squirrels and chipmunks. This is a big let down. I have no doubt my spirits will rise as I adjust to my new life and temporarily limited environment. For now, I am still in a transitional phase. I am better but now 100% I am happy to be home but sad at the same time. These observations bring back long ago memories of when I was first paralyzed. To be blunt, the adjustment from walking to using a wheelchair was a real mind fuck. The transition however was filled with periodic excitement. For instance, I recall my first wheelchair. What a poerful sense of liberation! To go fro a hospital clunker to what was at the time a real wheelchair left me smiling for days. Thus I am content knowing in a few weeks or months I will have a similar experience when I sit up and leave my home for the first time. So this is what I am trying to keep at the forefront of my mind. I am not always successful but as each day passes the hospitalization drifts into the past and I am another day closer to a return to what passes for normal to me. Amazing that on such a deary day I can be so positive.
The above is very real, finite and measurable progress. This progress is tempered by my new reality--my world is very small. I live in my living room, cannot get out of bed and look out the same windows daily. I have gone from an active lifestyle to one that leaves me virtually inert. I do not mean to whine--I am all too aware I am lucky. I could have ended up in a nursing home or still be stuck in the hospital. I also know I am lucky to live in my home as my living room boasts quite the view. Yet weeks ago my idea of observing wildlife includes paddling on the Hudson River. Now I look out my window at squirrels and chipmunks. This is a big let down. I have no doubt my spirits will rise as I adjust to my new life and temporarily limited environment. For now, I am still in a transitional phase. I am better but now 100% I am happy to be home but sad at the same time. These observations bring back long ago memories of when I was first paralyzed. To be blunt, the adjustment from walking to using a wheelchair was a real mind fuck. The transition however was filled with periodic excitement. For instance, I recall my first wheelchair. What a poerful sense of liberation! To go fro a hospital clunker to what was at the time a real wheelchair left me smiling for days. Thus I am content knowing in a few weeks or months I will have a similar experience when I sit up and leave my home for the first time. So this is what I am trying to keep at the forefront of my mind. I am not always successful but as each day passes the hospitalization drifts into the past and I am another day closer to a return to what passes for normal to me. Amazing that on such a deary day I can be so positive.
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