It’s All Small Stuff.
Almost daily, as you have seen if you’ve been reading this blog, there is a large accomplishment in my life, whether that be learning to drive again, going out with my family, walking with the walker, showering, etc.
But I want to take a moment to shout out the small things that really add to my frustration every day.
When I get up in the morning, I almost always have the same thing; a cup of coffee, a packet of Juven (a collagen suppliment to help my wound heal), a Kind Breakfast Protein Bar, and maybe some yogurt.
The acquisition of these things before the surgery might have taken all of about 2 minutes.
These days, and this is no exaggeration, this is a 20 minute process, because every step requires me to wheel around in my kitchen that is just big enough to get around in, and to carry things with one hand while wheeling with the other.
I also like to cook for the family, but that can take an hour, even doing the simplest thing. And sometimes, I need help, which kind of defeats the purpose of trying to do something nice.
Let’s not even talk about emptying the dishwasher.
I’m not going to lie. It’s an exhausting process.
Showering is a similar feat, and it requires some help from my wife, which I always feel bad about asking her to give. She has never once refused, or even indicated that it’s a hardship, but I know it’s a pain in the ass to lift my chair because our bathroom is about a foot too small on all sides to really become accessible.
It has always been my chore to fold the laundry, but, these days, someone has to get the full laundry basket and bring it to me, before I can do that. And, then, I have to wheel into the carpeted bedroom with one arm several times to put it away.
And when I wheel myself out of the bedroom, there’s a little alcove that I need to clear, turn around, and wheel back just to close the door (which I absolutely must do to keep our pets from killing each other).
I can drive or be driven, but someone has to haul my wheelchair into and out of the trunk of the car, which I know is also rather a pain in the ass. Everyone who has done it has been wonderful, but I know it’s no fun.
When I do drive, I have to make sure that I park exactly in the right spot in our garage to make sure I can get out on the driver’s side, but have left enough room on the passenger side in case I’m not driving the next time we go out.
Parking, even with the placard, can be crazy. Even though there are ADA spots everywhere, they’re often taken. So, it’s a negotiation as to whether or not we’ll park far away and try not to get hit in the parking lot, or whether I get dropped off, looking sad and alone, while my wife or friend parks the car to come and retrieve me.
Also, we need to take more time getting out of the house so that I can pee one more time, in case where we’re headed doesn’t have a big enough bathroom to fit me. (And, yes, though almost all bathrooms I’ve encountered have bars, there are many that haven’t been large enough to fit a whole wheelchair in them, so that can be an issue.)
It’s exhausting.
It all adds up to a long day, no matter how you cut it,
And it will probably will be for a while, and, in some cases, permanently. That can be a little defeating sometimes, and it makes me not want to do the thing.
But, you know what? I know it’s important to press on and do it, no matter how much of a pain it is. A lot of what’s to come is based on patience and resilience, and if I can’t do the basic building blocks to make sure that I can do those things, how ever am I going to push through the really hard stuff?
Still, fellow people who struggle with the small stuff, I see you. I know what it’s like. I salute you, and I applaud you, and I am pulling for you, no matter how tedious it all is.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to begin the 30 minute process of going to bed.
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As always, if you have it in you, please give a thought to donating time or money to Hospice Austin. They do amazing work for people who are going through the hardest thing a person can face.
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