I'm at home today and likely will be tomorrow, too. Where I live is smack in the middle of Snowmageddon. There are about eight inches on the ground right more and probably at least another four to come.
My wheels likely would not be happy in this, any kind of wheels.
But here's something else - I probably couldn't wheel today. I have arthritis in my right hand that is normally managed down to annoyance level, but today, it hurts all the way up to my elbow. I've also got some kind of strained or pulled muscle in my shoulder. All told, I can't do much with my right arm at all today.
These things happen. There are some days when you have no choice but to stay close to home.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Concerning Doors and Floors
Oh, right, like I could wait until Sunday to do this again. Actually, considering my weekend schedule, Friday night looked like the best time to go for a spin.
What I had forgotten was that on Friday night, the mallrats come out in force. They travel in packs and their movements are unpredictable and erratic.
Weeknights, then, would be a good time to go out and about.
Regarding Doors - Everyone Wants to be Galahad
The doors for Anonymous Mall aren't great but they aren't terrible, either. There's a wheelchair entrance of one door, with the big square button to push. The sills aren't raised. It's easy to get into. The Anonymous Bookstore, on the other hand, is a stone bitch. Yet, I managed. I had to leave the mall to get into the bookstore.
Honestly, the only attention I pay to people is to make sure no one is darting in front of my path, which would end badly for both of us.
But as I approached the bookstore's doors, two guys ran ahead of me to get the door for me. While I appreciate the gesture, it isn't necessary. I grabbed the first door, shot through it and as someone was getting ready to hold open the second door, I opened it and used the door jambs to shoot on through. I heard a disappointed little "oh" behind me.
"Got it, thanks," I called over my shoulder.
The same thing happened as I re-entered the mall.
But the worst door, the almost insurmountable yet most vital door, was the one leading into the ladies' room. I'm sure it has to open inward to the bathroom to meet some kind of code, but the way this one was positioned was just a pain.
Otherwise, no problems.
Floors
Ceramic tile = Evil.
Padded carpet = Evil.
Unpadded carpet = Better.
Plain old floor, such as linoleum or wood = Whee!
Smooth cement = Watch my dust.
But you probably already knew that.
What I had forgotten was that on Friday night, the mallrats come out in force. They travel in packs and their movements are unpredictable and erratic.
Weeknights, then, would be a good time to go out and about.
Regarding Doors - Everyone Wants to be Galahad
The doors for Anonymous Mall aren't great but they aren't terrible, either. There's a wheelchair entrance of one door, with the big square button to push. The sills aren't raised. It's easy to get into. The Anonymous Bookstore, on the other hand, is a stone bitch. Yet, I managed. I had to leave the mall to get into the bookstore.
Honestly, the only attention I pay to people is to make sure no one is darting in front of my path, which would end badly for both of us.
But as I approached the bookstore's doors, two guys ran ahead of me to get the door for me. While I appreciate the gesture, it isn't necessary. I grabbed the first door, shot through it and as someone was getting ready to hold open the second door, I opened it and used the door jambs to shoot on through. I heard a disappointed little "oh" behind me.
"Got it, thanks," I called over my shoulder.
The same thing happened as I re-entered the mall.
But the worst door, the almost insurmountable yet most vital door, was the one leading into the ladies' room. I'm sure it has to open inward to the bathroom to meet some kind of code, but the way this one was positioned was just a pain.
Otherwise, no problems.
Floors
Ceramic tile = Evil.
Padded carpet = Evil.
Unpadded carpet = Better.
Plain old floor, such as linoleum or wood = Whee!
Smooth cement = Watch my dust.
But you probably already knew that.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
First Flight
I had the tricky part of the chair fixed at a bike shop. The guy was able to get the seat back into the right position. I think he was initially a little freaked out about it, but after a few minutes, he was just working on machinery, which made him happy.
He was fascinated by the quick release pin for the wheels. I also think I put the casters on wrong, but that's another adventure at a later date.
For the past three years, I've known exactly where I would head the first day I had my chair: the Anonymous Mall. No one I know goes there because it's out of the way and a bit down at heels.
The parking lot was full.
I lucked into a spot relatively close to the book store I wanted to go to. I got the chair out of the car, assembled it, and got in. I closed the trunk and set off slowly.
What I didn't realize while it was happening was that I had to go up a slight incline to get into the store. There were double non-automatic doors with raised sills.
Every middle-aged woman in the book store rushed to the front to open all of the doors for me at once. I said thank you because I genuinely needed that bit of assistance. So. Thanks.
In the store, I took a minute to orient myself to being in an unfamiliar store and at tush height, no less.
I picked out a couple of books and wheeled over to the cafe area. I was already jazzed up/borderline manic without making it worse with a cup of high octane coffee, so I just wheeled up to a table, scooted over one of the chair, and thumbed through my books.
There were a couple of things I learned.
One is energy conservation. I was in the middle of the store and wanted to look at cookbooks. Instead of drifting all over the place, I asked a sales clerk which direction to the cookbooks and she pointed me on my way.
I haven't the least idea if anybody stared at me, nor do I care. I was more concerned about getting from point A to point B without falling on my face. When I left the store, I was feeling considerably more confident and I bulled through the doors. "Oh wait," one woman said, chasing after me,"I'll get the door for you."
"Got it, thanks," I called over my shoulder.
And then I zipped down the slight incline and began to feel what my cadence will be like when I wheel longer distances. It takes some experimenting to get into the groove. To find your own particular groove.
I got into the car and thought about how odd it was.
When I was in the chair, it was as if my legs and indeed, anything from my hips down, didn't exist. I didn't expect them to do anything to aid me in my travels.
Getting in the car, it really was a bit of a struggle. I sat and looked at my legs. I said, "All right. You have to work now." And after a few minutes, they did.
When I got home, I thought, that was interesting but I don't know if I ever have to do that again.
Today, I started planning a trip for Sunday.
He was fascinated by the quick release pin for the wheels. I also think I put the casters on wrong, but that's another adventure at a later date.
For the past three years, I've known exactly where I would head the first day I had my chair: the Anonymous Mall. No one I know goes there because it's out of the way and a bit down at heels.
The parking lot was full.
I lucked into a spot relatively close to the book store I wanted to go to. I got the chair out of the car, assembled it, and got in. I closed the trunk and set off slowly.
What I didn't realize while it was happening was that I had to go up a slight incline to get into the store. There were double non-automatic doors with raised sills.
Every middle-aged woman in the book store rushed to the front to open all of the doors for me at once. I said thank you because I genuinely needed that bit of assistance. So. Thanks.
In the store, I took a minute to orient myself to being in an unfamiliar store and at tush height, no less.
I picked out a couple of books and wheeled over to the cafe area. I was already jazzed up/borderline manic without making it worse with a cup of high octane coffee, so I just wheeled up to a table, scooted over one of the chair, and thumbed through my books.
There were a couple of things I learned.
One is energy conservation. I was in the middle of the store and wanted to look at cookbooks. Instead of drifting all over the place, I asked a sales clerk which direction to the cookbooks and she pointed me on my way.
I haven't the least idea if anybody stared at me, nor do I care. I was more concerned about getting from point A to point B without falling on my face. When I left the store, I was feeling considerably more confident and I bulled through the doors. "Oh wait," one woman said, chasing after me,"I'll get the door for you."
"Got it, thanks," I called over my shoulder.
And then I zipped down the slight incline and began to feel what my cadence will be like when I wheel longer distances. It takes some experimenting to get into the groove. To find your own particular groove.
I got into the car and thought about how odd it was.
When I was in the chair, it was as if my legs and indeed, anything from my hips down, didn't exist. I didn't expect them to do anything to aid me in my travels.
Getting in the car, it really was a bit of a struggle. I sat and looked at my legs. I said, "All right. You have to work now." And after a few minutes, they did.
When I got home, I thought, that was interesting but I don't know if I ever have to do that again.
Today, I started planning a trip for Sunday.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Mine
It's sitting in my bedroom, the Quickie 2 wheelchair that arrived yesterday. I put most of it together, but not being mechanically-minded, I was stymied by one back post. I'll deal with it later, but want it dealt with by the weekend.
Because yes, that's when I'm taking my first trip with my chair.
My chair. My wheelchair.
Although one of my cats would disagree...
I was mortified to find that it is a bit of a squeeze to fit into it, but tell myself this should prove an incentive to fit into it better. (We don't say the "d" and "e" words here, although we think them, frequently)
And it's mine.
Someone had loaned me his for a good long while, but I thought I was keeping it in storage for him. As such, I didn't regard it as something I could play fast and loose with, although I did roll around the house a little bit with it. There was something about that chair - I never felt comfortable in it.
This one, I do. And we will begin our adventures together very soon. Stay tuned.
Because yes, that's when I'm taking my first trip with my chair.
My chair. My wheelchair.
Although one of my cats would disagree...
I was mortified to find that it is a bit of a squeeze to fit into it, but tell myself this should prove an incentive to fit into it better. (We don't say the "d" and "e" words here, although we think them, frequently)
And it's mine.
Someone had loaned me his for a good long while, but I thought I was keeping it in storage for him. As such, I didn't regard it as something I could play fast and loose with, although I did roll around the house a little bit with it. There was something about that chair - I never felt comfortable in it.
This one, I do. And we will begin our adventures together very soon. Stay tuned.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
The Fever
I've been thinking up ways to save money. At this point, not really enough wiggle room to let it happen. But still, I ponder.
I thought hard, really hard, about getting myself a right AFO. After all, my ankle is all kinds of messed up. I don't have any health insurance right now, so of course that couldn't pay for it. I went to an online brace site and added up that my AFO might cost me upwards of $500 - $600.
Next month, I start a new job. Although I know the AFO wouldn't have arrived in time, I thought, wouldn't it be nifty to just start this way, with a right AFO? I know no one looked at me for long when I went in for the interview. Since this is a contracting gig, no one asked me any questions about needing accommodation to perform my job.
I checked eBay to see if I could find something that would make do.
Instead, I found a wheelchair. A beautiful wheelchair. A Tilite ZRA. For more than $800, plus $50 for shipping.
I suddenly found out a lot about wheelchairs. I learned to measure myself and learned that this chair might be too big for me. But that didn't stop the obsessive round-and-round thoughts in my mind. I dug in and learned more. For one thing, the back didn't appear to be adjustable and I couldn't go any higher than 15".
But I had this irrational fever for this chair.
Although I will be paying my bills out of my savings account until my first paycheck arrives, I wanted this chair. And I knew I was being completely irrational about wanting it.
I begged someone to talk me down from the ledge and he did.
I felt like I could finally breathe again.
Then, quite wisely, he said, "Just because you got around it this time, don't think it won't come back twice as hard."
He's right. And I wish he was wrong. But he's been coping with this longer than I have and had the stones to acknowledge it long before Miss Repression 2009 here did.
The fever will be back. And what then?
I thought hard, really hard, about getting myself a right AFO. After all, my ankle is all kinds of messed up. I don't have any health insurance right now, so of course that couldn't pay for it. I went to an online brace site and added up that my AFO might cost me upwards of $500 - $600.
Next month, I start a new job. Although I know the AFO wouldn't have arrived in time, I thought, wouldn't it be nifty to just start this way, with a right AFO? I know no one looked at me for long when I went in for the interview. Since this is a contracting gig, no one asked me any questions about needing accommodation to perform my job.
I checked eBay to see if I could find something that would make do.
Instead, I found a wheelchair. A beautiful wheelchair. A Tilite ZRA. For more than $800, plus $50 for shipping.
I suddenly found out a lot about wheelchairs. I learned to measure myself and learned that this chair might be too big for me. But that didn't stop the obsessive round-and-round thoughts in my mind. I dug in and learned more. For one thing, the back didn't appear to be adjustable and I couldn't go any higher than 15".
But I had this irrational fever for this chair.
Although I will be paying my bills out of my savings account until my first paycheck arrives, I wanted this chair. And I knew I was being completely irrational about wanting it.
I begged someone to talk me down from the ledge and he did.
I felt like I could finally breathe again.
Then, quite wisely, he said, "Just because you got around it this time, don't think it won't come back twice as hard."
He's right. And I wish he was wrong. But he's been coping with this longer than I have and had the stones to acknowledge it long before Miss Repression 2009 here did.
The fever will be back. And what then?
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Avatar
I'm surprised I haven't heard more from the wheeling community about the movie "Avatar". The previews that I saw showed a paraplegic who was once a soldier, willingly giving up his human form to not be a para and to be a soldier again.
A number of things strike me.
First, the movie is set in 2154. I truly believe that medicine will advance enough to heal spinal cord injuries in the next hundred years. And I can't believe that technology won't advance to the point where wheelchairs will be necessary. Although in fairness, this
was rolling around a hundred years ago and
<-- this is what's rolling around now. You can do all kinds of things to chairs but wheels are still pretty much wheels.
So I'm surprised "Avatar" can't do much better than that. I just checked out some design sites that have some amazing chairs on them that I have no doubt are totally impractical for those with an SCI higher than T-12.
But the essence of "Avatar" seems to be "I would rather be an alien than have a disability." Wha? The ABs are still rocking that pity thing.
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Thinking
I've been away from here, thinking a lot lately.
I understand why some people with BIID have a desire to get approval or at least avoid the loathing of the PWD community. Part of that is the reason why I've been quiet. One PWD blogger made a comment that they thought a question about accessibility in NYC directed their way was then used - by a pretender. Gasp. Horror. Because after all, the subway station belongs to this other blogger, of course.
After much pondering, I've decided that I want to move along in here.
I know that if I have BIID (and I've been told by a medical researcher that I have all the symptoms), I don't think it's as severe as it is with other folks.
I don't obsess about it. I put my mind to it from time to time.
It's a tremendous relief to me when I'm at work to think of myself in the body image I want, an L3-4 polio para. The brief seconds I use to think of it bring me a deep peace that I use to get more work done.
Lately, my focus is on a right AFO. Part of this is because my right ankle truly is screwed up. I've ignored all the recommendations for surgery, chiefly because I have yet to find the surgeon I feel comfortable with and I can't afford to miss the time for work.
There may be a wheelchair coming my way soon. I want to take a weekend away, a very, very, very rare occasion for me, and am thinking of where I could go within a 3 hr drive of NYC, a place that is accessible. Accessible is a hard thing in the northeast US. The only place I can think of is Atlantic City and AC is just lost on me. I don't get it. I have several vices, but gambling isn't one that I have. In fact, I just don't get it.
Still, I ponder the place to go. And that, too, brings me a kind of peace.
I understand why some people with BIID have a desire to get approval or at least avoid the loathing of the PWD community. Part of that is the reason why I've been quiet. One PWD blogger made a comment that they thought a question about accessibility in NYC directed their way was then used - by a pretender. Gasp. Horror. Because after all, the subway station belongs to this other blogger, of course.
After much pondering, I've decided that I want to move along in here.
I know that if I have BIID (and I've been told by a medical researcher that I have all the symptoms), I don't think it's as severe as it is with other folks.
I don't obsess about it. I put my mind to it from time to time.
It's a tremendous relief to me when I'm at work to think of myself in the body image I want, an L3-4 polio para. The brief seconds I use to think of it bring me a deep peace that I use to get more work done.
Lately, my focus is on a right AFO. Part of this is because my right ankle truly is screwed up. I've ignored all the recommendations for surgery, chiefly because I have yet to find the surgeon I feel comfortable with and I can't afford to miss the time for work.
There may be a wheelchair coming my way soon. I want to take a weekend away, a very, very, very rare occasion for me, and am thinking of where I could go within a 3 hr drive of NYC, a place that is accessible. Accessible is a hard thing in the northeast US. The only place I can think of is Atlantic City and AC is just lost on me. I don't get it. I have several vices, but gambling isn't one that I have. In fact, I just don't get it.
Still, I ponder the place to go. And that, too, brings me a kind of peace.
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