Temporary infirmities are inevitable. As I have learned the landscape of my own, I've realized what a difficult world this would be to navigate for one who's permanently disabled in just about any way.
Today I drove to CVS, got the cane out, got the dog out, and wrapped my pocket book around my neck. I grabbed a buggy (cart to most of you) and walked around the store looking for (A) some graduation cards, (B) a scented candle, and (C) a gallon of my favorite bottled tea.
Turns out, CVS had a terribly limited choice of cards and the tea was too low to reach. The few scented candles they had didn't appeal to me.
I passed over anything (a) heavy, (b) too high, (c) too low--but I found a few things I needed. With cane and canine and cart, I made it to check out, walking robotically.
There were no humans at check-out, only two self-service kiosks. Frustrated, I decided never mind. Gone are the days when a human might be nearby to help pack your bags or even take them to the car.
About that time, Pam called and asked me to meet her at a nearby E-zee's to share a burger. I was halfway there, so away we went.
While Luci has never been trained to be an official service dog, I have trained her on the fly--starting during my recovery from knee surgery. She does whatever I ask her to. She doesn't pull in the opposite direction or rush me. Patiently she waits and then steadies me more than the wooden cane.
She watches every step I take. Not once has she veered or yanked or jumped; she's totally focused as if she'd been trained for the job.
I'm convinced that this silent vibrating device is audible to her canine ears as she studies my legs and feet with intense attention. This week, I've taught her to jump up on the sofa so I can get her leash on for a walk.
As I was walking her around the block tonight, a leash in one hand, a cane borrowed from Jan in the other, I was thinking about what it feels like to be (a) old, (b) disabled, or (c) reliant on other people. I'm not accustomed to asking a stranger for help, and even reluctant to ask a friend.
Yesterday, I drove carefully to the Valero station and got out of the car before noticing the step (I'd never noticed before) between me and the front door. Ugh oh!
About that time, a young man walked up and I asked, "Can I please hold your hand?"
People are invariably willing to help. While they are helping, they also relate stories of their own. The young (50-something) man told me that he understood, that his wife had recently had back surgery.
This morning, I spoke to a man who walks his little white dog in the neighborhood. He's never been particularly chatty. He was raking his yard and I commented on how good his lawn looked, then Luci decided to grace his newly raked yard with poop!
While I always carry a bag for these occasions, I hadn't bothered today. I can't bend down. I apologized to the man for not doing the neighborly thing and he said, "No problem. You bend down and you'll find yourself in the ER."
Which is true. The downside of this week of "test driving" a spinal cord stimulator is that a fall or a twist could be devastating. The leads are bound up in a bundle along with the device the size of a man's hand, and all of that is wrapped in bandaging. Everything staying exactly where it's supposed to be takes constant vigilance.
Two more days of this and the apparatus will be removed and we'll set a date to replace it with a permanent one, placed inside like a pace-maker. I'm so ready!
No comments:
Post a Comment