A lesson in dependency

Me with the walker that tried to dump me.
My friend there is Pierre, a visitor.

Last night I was sitting in my seated walker doing I don’t know what at the butcher block in the kitchen when suddenly I felt a strange pull to the right, looked down, and saw that the front right wheel of the walker was splayed out of line. Got up and walked it to my desk where I could sit in the chair and see what was wrong. At first, I thought it was a loose joint and could be temporarily fixed with that magic solution, duct tape. I would walk it everywhere and only sit when I was perfectly still, like brushing my teeth. Good plan but faulty. As I was walking through my tiny kitchen, that whole leg of the walker broke off and hung uselessly in the air.

I was lucky to make it to the bedroom corner where an old-fashioned walker waited—the kind with no seat, no way to carry anything. It takes both hands to balance and use it. I was essentially helpless. I could go from desk to bathroom to bed, but that was about it. And I was the only one home.

I did two positive things: I put a notice on the neighborhood email list that I needed to borrow a seated walker, and I ordered a new one from Amazon—they promised Tuesday delivery. Then I went to bed.

This morning, lying in bed, I ran through all kinds of options in my mind—a friend whose husband had died might still have his walker, I could use my transport chair as a walker, I could rent one from a handicap store. It took me five trips to assemble and carry Sophie’s food, medication, etc. from the kitchen to the desk where I could sit to mix it altogether.

I went back to bed and wondered if it was worth getting up. I might have stayed there except I remembered two women: Mrs. Taylor lived across the alley when I was a kid. She had bad arthritis and decided she would spend just one day in bed—she never walked again; a friend’s sister, in her late seventies or early eighties, announced that she was tired and was going to spend a few days in bed. She died before her few days were up. I practically jumped out of bed.

Jordan came out dutifully bearing duct tape—I hadn’t updated her. She immediately ruled out using the transport chair as too dangerous. When I mentioned renting, she said we could make do until tomorrow when Amazon delivers the new chair. She made my tea, refreshed my ice water, took me to brush my teeth in the transport chair because I really don’t think I could balance to brush them while standing. She got me settled at my desk and came back to fix my lunch.

Sophie watched all this carefully. The transport chair alarms her because it means I am going somewhere. When it stood in the kitchen, and I was still at my desk, she was clearly puzzled.

Then Jeannie called. She had a walker in her car from the resale store at the retirement community where she lives and she was on her way to my cottage. You cannot imagine how happy I was to take my own dishes to the sink and wash them, tidy up the kitchen and the bathroom.

Two lessons came out of this, the first rather obvious. I pride myself on being rather independent despite my mobility challenges and yet, I am almost completely helpless without one special piece of equipment. If I can’t sit in various locations, I can’t cook, wash dishes, make the bed, brush my teeth or put on makeup—a whole lot of the little business of daily living is beyond my grasp. Without my four-wheeled walker, I would need a lot more help each day.

If that lesson was humbling, the second one made me feel much better. Jordan has been out of town almost a week, helping Megan tend to Brandon who broke his jaw last Tuesday. When I said this morning that I had chicken for a sheet pan dinner tonight, which I thought would be easy, she said, “If we don’t have a walker, I’m not cooking. I don’t want to be on my feet. I’m exhausted.” So I realized that’s my contribution in this cooperative living arrangement—I do a lot of the cooking, and it’s a real help to them. That makes me feel a lot less like a burden and more like a contributing member of a team.

To add troubles to troubles, the wonderful lady who cleans for us once every two weeks cancelled this morning because of an allergy flare. The cottage is dirty and the laundry basket full. I am so disappointed! And so spoiled, and I know it.

The week is bound to get better. Hope your Monday was better than mine!