I suppose this is (for me) the Grand Surrender (not quite, but close). I have an increasingly nasty degree of “limited mobility.” It hurts to even walk…anywhere. I hate to call myself a “cripple,” that seems to be on the horizon.
A friend up here–a social worker–could not understand why the various elder care agencies in the Berkshires are aware of my “issues” but have done absolutely nothing to make it easier for me to get around.
So last week, MaryAnne showed up with a gift: a used but highly functional manual wheelchair. Is it perfect? What is? It’s good for getting me around the halls here, to the laundry room, and back again. It’s a pain in the ass having to maneuver corners and get doors open. But I’ll take it. I don’t like the word take, but I’m powerless. Taking is what I’m doing, after all. And frankly, it sucks. But there we are, trundling around.