Sunday Considerations

There is a spot when transferring from the wheelchair to some place else which is the go for broke spot, the place where one has to shift their weight or lift their weight from one point to the next. If one does not commit to this shift they whether have to fall back to bed to re-group or end up on the floor or worse. I sat on the edge of my bed this morning for at least twenty minutes as I tried to make the transfer from bed to my manual wheelchair. I couldn’t try as I may, I had the strength but the wheelchair I was transferring to would just not stay still. Every time I would try to shift my weight the wheelchair chair would move enough for me to realize if I continued on with the shift the chair would slide and I would be on the floor. This is new behavior for me. I have felt it coming on and I cannot pinpoint what the problem is. I suspect or I want to believe the problem is with my equipment. The wheelchair is an old quickie, the brakes are poor and light weight. I have had Dianne keep the tires pumped up so the brakes will bite fairly well but the floor is pretty slippery and even if I have the strength to do the lift and transfer if the chair will not hold sill I am still on the floor.

So what am I going to do? If this continues sure enough I am going to wind up on the floor, and Dianne will not be able to get me back on the bed or on the chair then it’s a call to Gabe, Mark A or 911 and get the firemen over to get the old codger back in his chair. Once when this happens its OK, the fire guys smile and are glad to help-it’s their job. If it happens again in short succession then they look concerned and ask you to be careful, and three times then you get a call from Adult Protective Services—the Gestapo with a heart or so they would like to have you believe. Three strikes and you are out and you get three strikes if nothing more serious happens like what if I fall and on the way down I land on my arm and break am arm. I think then I would have to consider the long term care facility a.k.a. nursing home; at least until I could get rehabed to the point of returning to my home if the care facility did not kill me first.

It’s happening I am growing old before my very eyes. I am going to grow old as gracefully as I can but I have a feeling the process will not be pretty. I just spoke with my mom, who is old and who is living in a long term care facility and we both concur that any day that we both get through is a good day and a day to be thankful for.