Point was: God never wastes anything. He uses every situation to teach us something. I can relate to that because, as a former teacher (once a teacher, always a teacher?), I am forever turning small experiences into “teaching moments” with my grandsons. Since learning this fact about God, I've found it to be true in my life and in the lives of others. Good experiences and bad. They all teach something. Although the lessons are often painful, it’s my hope that the process makes me a better person.
Many of you who follow me on Facebook know that I recently broke a tiny bone in my foot. Of the 24 bones I could’ve broken, this one was part of the Lisfranc joint complex. (For a fascinating study, click on the link.)
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| In case you were wondering. |
I’ve had a cast on my foot and lower leg since Dec. 11. Because there’s only so much a body can take, I had it removed six days ahead of schedule.
During the course of my disability, I have used crutches, my office chair, and a transport chair to get around. I’ve had to depend on friends and family to take me places, buy groceries, etc. For a mostly independent person living alone, you can imagine how difficult this has been for me.
So, along with becoming more grateful for the things I have taken for granted, here’s what I’ve learned.
I used to resent the size of “handicapped” bathroom stalls because, it meant there’d only be one toilet where there could be two. Once I had to learn to maneuver a wheelchair, I got it. You need a lot more space than it would appear. In fact, once I’m done with the chair (or the Beast), I’m going to have to hire someone to touch-up paint walls, doors, and door frames.
During the course of my disability, I have used crutches, my office chair, and a transport chair to get around. I’ve had to depend on friends and family to take me places, buy groceries, etc. For a mostly independent person living alone, you can imagine how difficult this has been for me.
So, along with becoming more grateful for the things I have taken for granted, here’s what I’ve learned.
I used to resent the size of “handicapped” bathroom stalls because, it meant there’d only be one toilet where there could be two. Once I had to learn to maneuver a wheelchair, I got it. You need a lot more space than it would appear. In fact, once I’m done with the chair (or the Beast), I’m going to have to hire someone to touch-up paint walls, doors, and door frames.
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| The Beast. With seat cushion to prevent slipping off. |
Have you ever noticed how many people there are around you, mostly in retail establishments, in wheel chairs of some kind? Probably not. They are, after all, below eye level. I discovered that most people (for whatever reasons) avoided eye contact with me, and/or ignored me altogether while in a chair. Some even refused to give way while I was driving one of those fancy electric carts. Not wise, my friends. Although I only crashed into two display stands and caused no bloodshed whatsoever. That I know of.
Several of the disabled, wheelchair bound, people I’ve had interaction with in my life, were grumpy, and I never understood why. Now I do. From now on, I’m going to smile at all of them. I don’t have to start a conversation, find out how they got into the chair in the first place, just acknowledge their existence with a SMILE.
Not being able to get out of my home and trot down to the mailbox or dash off to the store for a last minute item I need, such as a bottle of Pinot to go with that freeze-dried meal I've just reconstituted, left me at the mercy of friends and family. That’s not a bad thing, and I’m grateful for them, but it's humbling to have to ask. I’m especially thankful to those who hefted the Beast into the back of their vehicles and drove me to stores and doctor’s appointments.
I’m also grateful for the drive-up window at the pharmacy.
Going out, however, provided additional challenges. In the rain. Sure, an umbrella is useful, but you still have to close it before you lift yourself out of the chair and into the car. Then, the chair gets wet. California only received 3" of rain all last year, but as luck would have it, it poured on the day I had to go for the MRI. And yes, my fanny was wet when I got home.
I found that being alone for days on end, brought on short bouts of depression. Once outside, I felt elated. I could breathe better, relieved of the confining walls of my otherwise wonderful home. It’s not that I don’t like being alone, you understand. It’s not being able to choose being alone or with people. Forced isolation breeds resentment. It also makes bathing optional. So besides my “stinkin’ thinkin’,” I had the other, too. Not good for the soul. In my own defense, having a cast on my foot made it difficult to bathe. And washing up with a wet 12 by 12 cloth, is most unsatisfying. There are just so many sponge baths one can take without a deep longing to submerge completely in a hot tub of water.
Now I am grateful for a low bath tub, and rails in the guest shower.
My mother is confined in her small apartment, tethered to an oxygen machine. Of course, there are portables enabling her to go out for short periods, but in the very cold weather, her infirmity makes that unwise. I make it a habit to call her once or twice a week, but now I understand better what she’s experiencing, how she feels. She's embarrassed to be in a wheelchair. I get that. When she complains about how she asked someone to buy her “x” and that person brings her “not quite x,” I feel her pain.
Speaking of pain, the strain of using muscles in new ways, (hopping, twisting, standing on one foot to reach the microwave) learning to sweep the kitchen floor with a whisk broom, or figuring out how to pick things up off the floor, have left me with twinges everywhere, except my nose. No wonder those folks are grumpy. Boy, could I use a massage.
And, by the way, have you ever tried to cook a meal, slice a tomato, brush your teeth sitting down? Probably not. Try it sometime. There is virtually no leverage when your chin is on the level of the counter. Spills are inevitable. Clean up ridiculous!
Lesson learned: I don’t have to be so picky about cleanliness. My grandsons will appreciate that!
Which brings up another challenge for the wheelchair bound. Dressing. To be honest, there were some days I didn’t get out of my pajamas, either because it was too difficult or my pants wouldn’t fit over the cast. Getting into the closet to obtain clothing meant maneuvering that damn chair between bed and dresser with a fraction of space between the ripping screws of the front wheels and my furniture. Guess I’ll have to hire someone to repair that also.
Speaking of clothing, I spent a lot of time on one foot washing, drying, and hanging said clothing. A friend came over the other day and transferred my clean sweaters from the laundry to my closet and I almost kissed her. What a treat.
At the end of the day, I was tired, exhausted, with a swollen foot that felt as though it were on fire. Did you know that icing the back of your knee would help relieve foot swelling in a cast? Me neither. Too bad the doc didn’t tell me during the first four weeks of cast wearing.
This entire experience (and it’s not over yet) has made me acutely aware of the needs of shut-ins and disabled persons. I intend to be more sensitive to their needs and feelings.
Lots of lessons learned. Nothing wasted. Gratefulness abounds. But I’m left with one troubling thought:
How will I feel, cope, adapt if I were to become forever wheelchair bound?
Several of the disabled, wheelchair bound, people I’ve had interaction with in my life, were grumpy, and I never understood why. Now I do. From now on, I’m going to smile at all of them. I don’t have to start a conversation, find out how they got into the chair in the first place, just acknowledge their existence with a SMILE.
Not being able to get out of my home and trot down to the mailbox or dash off to the store for a last minute item I need, such as a bottle of Pinot to go with that freeze-dried meal I've just reconstituted, left me at the mercy of friends and family. That’s not a bad thing, and I’m grateful for them, but it's humbling to have to ask. I’m especially thankful to those who hefted the Beast into the back of their vehicles and drove me to stores and doctor’s appointments.
I’m also grateful for the drive-up window at the pharmacy.
Going out, however, provided additional challenges. In the rain. Sure, an umbrella is useful, but you still have to close it before you lift yourself out of the chair and into the car. Then, the chair gets wet. California only received 3" of rain all last year, but as luck would have it, it poured on the day I had to go for the MRI. And yes, my fanny was wet when I got home.
I found that being alone for days on end, brought on short bouts of depression. Once outside, I felt elated. I could breathe better, relieved of the confining walls of my otherwise wonderful home. It’s not that I don’t like being alone, you understand. It’s not being able to choose being alone or with people. Forced isolation breeds resentment. It also makes bathing optional. So besides my “stinkin’ thinkin’,” I had the other, too. Not good for the soul. In my own defense, having a cast on my foot made it difficult to bathe. And washing up with a wet 12 by 12 cloth, is most unsatisfying. There are just so many sponge baths one can take without a deep longing to submerge completely in a hot tub of water.
Now I am grateful for a low bath tub, and rails in the guest shower.
My mother is confined in her small apartment, tethered to an oxygen machine. Of course, there are portables enabling her to go out for short periods, but in the very cold weather, her infirmity makes that unwise. I make it a habit to call her once or twice a week, but now I understand better what she’s experiencing, how she feels. She's embarrassed to be in a wheelchair. I get that. When she complains about how she asked someone to buy her “x” and that person brings her “not quite x,” I feel her pain.
Speaking of pain, the strain of using muscles in new ways, (hopping, twisting, standing on one foot to reach the microwave) learning to sweep the kitchen floor with a whisk broom, or figuring out how to pick things up off the floor, have left me with twinges everywhere, except my nose. No wonder those folks are grumpy. Boy, could I use a massage.
And, by the way, have you ever tried to cook a meal, slice a tomato, brush your teeth sitting down? Probably not. Try it sometime. There is virtually no leverage when your chin is on the level of the counter. Spills are inevitable. Clean up ridiculous!
Lesson learned: I don’t have to be so picky about cleanliness. My grandsons will appreciate that!
Which brings up another challenge for the wheelchair bound. Dressing. To be honest, there were some days I didn’t get out of my pajamas, either because it was too difficult or my pants wouldn’t fit over the cast. Getting into the closet to obtain clothing meant maneuvering that damn chair between bed and dresser with a fraction of space between the ripping screws of the front wheels and my furniture. Guess I’ll have to hire someone to repair that also.
Speaking of clothing, I spent a lot of time on one foot washing, drying, and hanging said clothing. A friend came over the other day and transferred my clean sweaters from the laundry to my closet and I almost kissed her. What a treat.
At the end of the day, I was tired, exhausted, with a swollen foot that felt as though it were on fire. Did you know that icing the back of your knee would help relieve foot swelling in a cast? Me neither. Too bad the doc didn’t tell me during the first four weeks of cast wearing.
This entire experience (and it’s not over yet) has made me acutely aware of the needs of shut-ins and disabled persons. I intend to be more sensitive to their needs and feelings.
Lots of lessons learned. Nothing wasted. Gratefulness abounds. But I’m left with one troubling thought:
How will I feel, cope, adapt if I were to become forever wheelchair bound?
.This is a great reminder of not taking anything for granted. Plus you never know what a person is going through unless you have been there. i will have to watch how i treat person next time in a wheel chair. I will be kind and nice to them. What a long journey for you.
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