WELL! I have had an eye-opener-of-a-day!! (Pay attention to double exclamations.) I went through my drive-thru shower this morning only to realize that I COULD NOT make the landing (transfer) onto my helipad (commode). Wheelchair positioning alongside the right of my commode is essential for a successful transfer. Three-fourths of the way, I could not disengage from my rubber ROHO!!
“Help, I need somebody,
Help, not just anybody,
Help, you know I need somebody, help.”
For a safe transfer, I depend on my shower-wet rubber cushion. It was not in slip-n-slide mode. My left buttocks sat on a dry cushion; my right, on the dry left side of the toilet seat. I was stuck, literally. Teetering, I balanced with my left hand on my cushion, while trying to heave my dead weight over onto the toilet seat. NADA!!
I’m not a once-does-it kind-of-girl, so with Olympian efforts amidst multiple Hail Marys (prayers, not passes, although it was in desperation), I finally retreated back onto my ROHO, reentered my shower for a second water-lube, and tried again.
Forget it. It wasn’t happening!
“When I was younger, so much younger, than today,
I never needed anybody’s help in any way.
But now these days are gone, I’m not so self-assured,
Now I find I’ve changed my mind and opened up the doors.”
To assist my regular commode transfers, I sprinkle baby powder on its seat. Powder lessens the skin-against-wood toilet seat friction. After a shower, I depend on water for an assist.
I used to have an antique ball-and-claw tub fitted with a hydraulic-lift seat secured by suction-cup feet under its base. That was definitely when I was younger. The precarious struggles off the rotating seat, over the tub’s rim, and into my wheelchair gave birth to my drive-thru shower design. (I’m also an interior designer.) A drive-in shower seemed much safer, and certainly has been until, lately, when my body and strength changed.
“And now my life has changed in so many ways,
My independence seems to vanish in the haze.
But every now and then I feel so insecure,…”
To remedy my impasse, I had to transfer into bed, dry off, slather up with my lotion, and dress in bed. But, I did it!!
“…Won’t you please, please, help me, help me, help me, oh.”
Waiting for some “Help!”-ful comments; but not from you, Paul.