Tag: life from a wheelchair

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Equilibrium of Nature

Are you stressed, lonely, bored, or all of the above and SCI? Do you relieve these anxieties with serotonin producing comfort foods like bread, pasta, chocolate, or ice cream, wind down with alcohol, mellow out with drugs, or work it out with exercise or sex?

The last two have been proven to be beneficial, but if “All the world’s a stage,” (Shakespeare) did you know that you can relieve stress, feel connected, and find equilibrium (mental, emotional, physical, and spiritual) in the show of Nature? Preferably in the wild outdoors, but pictures of Nature bring comfort on these levels, as well.

Consider going anywhere green. (Green lends balance, renewal, and peace.) There are 80 national and state parks. Take a pick!

Then, there are scenic drives like the 444-miles of Natchez Trace Parkway (MS), Tennessee’s Great Smokey Mountains, 469-miles of the Blue Ridge Parkway (NC-VA) over the Shenandoah Mountains and through North Carolina’s Asheville in the Appalachian Mountains.

(FYI: The Biltmore Estate is a MUST SEE! Overcome with amazement at George Washington Vanderbilt’s vision (8,000 acres worth), I couldn’t sleep for two weeks after touring its mansion (175,000 square feet and 250 rooms) and gardens (75 acres), which are 95% wheelchair accessible. It is a self-supporting estate. I was more impressed with The Biltmore than the many European mansions I have visited.)

Organize a trip to Arizona’s brownish-orange (B-vitamin enhancing) clay, or New Mexico to drink in its landscape of neutral desert rocks, thirsty plans, and sand (browns calm and ground), and its eternal sunset colors—golden yellows (ease depression and increase energy), ochre, orange (stimulates happiness and joy), and rust; maybe a greenish-yellow margarita, or two; always helps what ails you.

Maybe, take in Wyoming’s Doppelgänger reflections of blue (for vitality, knowledge, intuition, mental relaxation) lakes, snow-capped mountains, and evergreens.

Then, there is oxygenated Oregon; great for renewed energy and cerebral creativity.
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Take in an ocean view with its turquoise (calming, sleep inducing) waters, like a trek along California’s Big Sur, a Caribbean cruise, or Jamaica, mon.

Your geographical location determines the landscape, or lack thereof. If you are a city-dweller, there must be art and science museums, public parks and gardens, a zoo, an animal shelter, or aquarium, most always wheelchair accssible. Plan weekly look-forward-to trips somewhere. Reward your dedication to work. Remind yourself that you’re not a lost island or, relieve a rut.

If your mobility limits these participations, rent travel and adventure videos. My favorite are “Warren Miller Entertainment” videos (extreme snow skiing, snowboarding, etc.), because I loved snow skiing and relish Nature. “The Wonders of God’s Creation: Animal Kingdom, Planet Earth, and Human Life” is awesome. And, there’s youtube.

You can purchase paintings and pictures of whatever calms and inspires you—the Northern lights, mountain tops, sunrises and sunsets, moon-lit evening skies, clouds, rain, rainbows, rainforests, waterfalls, whales, seascapes, trees, flowers, animals, insects, etc; Nature is limitless. She’s waiting for you.

I am calmed, refreshed, inspired, and renewed when I commune with Nature. As well, my home is filled with objects of Nature. I even frame note cards and cut pictures out of magazines to frame. I have pictures of lightening on my refrigerator that I cut out of a National Geographic magazine.

Sometimes, I let scissors do the walking.

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“Help!” (Not the Beatles) – A Wheelchair Assist

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.”

–the Beatles

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.”

–the Beatles

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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,…”

–the Beatles

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.”

–the Beatles

Waiting for some “Help!”-ful comments; but not from you, Paul.

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Living With a Disability-WITH A HOPE

According to me, one of the misfortunes of living with a disability is the loss of spontaneity. I miss impromptu trysts with friends for a midday coffee, catching a matinee at the last minute, foot-scorching sands on the beach, beach towel sunbathing, walking barefoot in the rain…but, living with a disability can not diminish beholding beauty.

Recently, I felt overindulged at a friend’s “throw her own” birthday party. She invited an estimated seventy friends for a special luncheon at her country club. (For you guys, if you’re not into flowers, envision the panoramic view through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the 18-hole, 6,702 yards of rambling golf course. Now, fantasize about your par 71 score. Check back in for the last three paragraphs.) The speaker was Dorothy McDaniels of Dorothy McDaniel’s Flower Market fame in Homewood, Alabama. (She has even made arrangements for Margaret Thatcher!) She demonstrated techniques of a dozen different floral arrangements using red roses and green roses (I didn’t know that there were green roses.), green hydrangeas, purple irises, hot pink lilies, yellow this and thats, and white everythings; I love the purity and simplicity of white.

My rose after a two day bloom

 

The table settings were breathtaking. At each place setting was a single rose tied with bows of purple organza and spring green satin. Every rose was a different type and a different color.

 

The centerpieces were low and glorious with light and hot pinks, purples and periwinkles, orange, yellow, and green. See!

A floral rainbow

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The meal was as colorful and tasty: Spring greens salad sprinkled with sliced strawberries, wild mushroom crepes with Béchamel (a rich, creamy white sauce) over a rice pilaf, and rainbow sherbet with a Pirouette (rolled cookie) served in a long stem wine glass. Yum!

Outings have been rare lately, although I’ll be out promoting my book, Views From My Chariot: A Wheelchair Oddity, in the upcoming months! August 23-26, I’ll be in Chicago for the fall National Rehabilitation Conference peddling my book. Look me up if you’re there.

Although, I believe this is my temporary home (like Carrie Underwood’s song), I travel daily, making the best of living with a disability. Each room in my home is decorated with a different country’s influence. My wardrobe is ethnically chosen, and two of my three cats are Persian and Russian.

A language barrier you wonder? No problem! The language in my home is love—the universal language!

When I “relocate,” I look forward to traveling this universe beholding its breathtaking beauty. I’ll be whole and healed, enjoying unsurpassed spontaneity. That will be something.

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Wheelchair Delights

Until you read my book, Views From My Chariot: A Wheelchair Oddity, let me add a little more personal information, aside from the tidbits included in all my articles about my living with a disability.

I’ve been riding in my chariot, i.e., wheelchair for thirty-five+ years now, at break-neck speed—probably not funny because that’s what I did (broke my neck), but it made me giggle as I typed it.

In fact, I was making a phone call a while back checking on something, maybe accessibility, I can’t recall. My sister was at home with me. Midway through my conversation with whomever I was speaking, Candace reminded me—like a backseat driver—to offer that I was handicapped.

As I began to explain that I was disabled, my sister and I broke into hysterical laughter. The harder we tried to regain appropriate solemnity, the more boisterous we became. Finally, I just hung up. Neither of us could compose ourselves enough to explain. I’m sure they thought it was some sick prank—totally disrespectful of the disabled plight. What can I say? That’s how I roll.

Besides my sister, here are some of my favorite things: Nature’s cooperative communication—like a school of fish changing direction in a split-second (I used to scuba dive.), and a flight of birds swooping in a 180° turn in unison; expressive music (Carmen’s “Champion” is my favorite Easter song; for Christmas, Michael English’s “Mary, did you know?” and in general, the Chordettes’ “Mr. Sandman”—a VERY old oldie.); cashmere sweaters, scarves, and barefoot sandals; breakfast, spicy Indian food, and mahimahi;  beets, turnips (boiled, roasted, and sautéed),and roasted garlic; the aroma of freshly baked bread, rosemary, and lemon verbena; the scents of gardenia, honeysuckle, and vanilla; azure skies, full moons, and shooting stars; the exuberance of orange, and the peacefulness of white; late winter daffodils, bright Gerber daisies, and red poppies;  ancient Asian peonies, graceful crepe myrtles, and their leaping lizards (which will make sense when you read my book); a tugboat’s baritone horn in the night, a train’s distant whistle, soothing wind chimes, and a child’s voice; movies, movies, and more movies; cats, cats, and cats (I have three, and I’ll be posting some of their antics.); a good book, and time to read it; oxymorons (Are you thinking I’m clearly confused?); a smart joke, a fun game with friends, and laughter; champagne, dry red wine, Maker’s Mark Whisky, Glenlivet Scotch, Jose Cuervo Gold Tequila (I’m fasting liquor. Can you tell?); coffee (coffee candy, coffee yogurt, Tiramisu, anything coffee), and espresso.
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I have been tediously repetitious with things that I love, but I DO LOVE LIFE! If you think about it, all of the above are simple sensory delights available to the able and the disabled alike.

And now, like any of you, after my coffee’s adrenalin surge, I am exceedingly alert with dilated arteries and accelerated blood flow. I think I’ll go run it off.

Uh-oh, I can’t run.

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Wheelchair Exercise in Optimism

In a recent article “Disability’s Truth,” my intent was to defuse the seeming tension and uncertainty for the able-bodied person in being around a disabled individual; then I wondered, “Are we, the disabled, fostering the discomfort?”

It sounds trite to say that we are more alike than we are different, but it’s true. We are all living life with the cards we have been dealt, often shuffling and reshuffling—seeking better.

My introduction to the world of disability was my own rehabilitation. I was always optimistic, but in rehab I met some really negative, sour sojourners. Their negative energy was too heavy for me. After awhile, I began avoiding their space. They were still angry and blaming the world for their situation, expecting others to do everything for them. (I lingered a little long in the denial stage myself. Catch the five stages of grief in my “Wheelchair Derailment” article.) They completely missed the point of rehab; we were learning a new way of life in order to become as independent as possible.

Yes, it was hard. After struggling an-hour-and-a-half to dress each morning, I wanted to rest, but I was too hungry to miss breakfast. Creeping down the hall to the cafeteria took me another fifteen minutes. After breakfast, our OT and PT classes began. I took full advantage of our rest period after lunch; I took a recuperative nap! I am so thankful that I learned how to wheel a wheelchair (without ever breaking a toe from running into walls, furniture, and other people), dress and feed myself, and put on my own make-up. I wouldn’t be living independently and triumphantly now if I hadn’t.

So today, I am speaking to us: the disabled. Do we greet the world (and our loved ones) with a frown, assuming that “they” should make things easier for us, or with an optimistic smile believing that we can improve our lives? These facial muscles determine how we are perceived?”

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Think about it: Our body also responds to our frame of mind. No one is responsible for our well-being but oneself. Making excuses for our bad health and habits, low energy level, being disliked and avoided by family and estranged friends, or for a poor prognosis from our doctors, is not an option. Only we can change the stigma of “poor, pitiful, paralytic.” We must let go of the illusion of normalcy. (There is no such thing anyway; and forget convention.)

I understand pain and discomfort, and the precariousness of each outing. But, I don’t expect my friends, family, and community to change just because I experienced change. I bought a portable, extendable ramp for inaccessible terrain, call ahead to verify accessibility, plan outings and appointments around the weather, humbly request help prior to doctor and dentist appointments, wear earrings and dress stylishly when I go out, and greet others with a smile.

If I feel down, I call someone that might need encouragement or may just need to hear a friendly voice; BUT NOT TO COMPLAIN. That doesn’t mean that I don’t experience occasional insecurity; I just nip the doubt into do!

Let’s go for it—our potential, our purpose, our passion. We’re worth it! Optimism is contagious.

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The Etiquette of Truth

The truth used to be told straight up, according to the facts, as it was seen, and with no apologies. Of course, if it was bad news, it was given with heart-felt sympathy and concern, as with the doctor’s prognosis of our disability, illness, or disease. Otherwise, the truth was served up as the truth. Who doesn’t tell the truth or want to know the truth? Well….

When I was fifteen, I remember having a conversation with my best girlfriend. I trustingly asked her to tell me something in my personality that needed tweaking; some bothersome trait she found annoying. I seriously wanted to be a better person. Who else would tell you the truth but your best friend? She agreed to tell me something I needed to change on one condition: that I would first tell her a habit she needed to change.

Well, I loved her the way she was. The only thing I could think of was that most of the time I went to her house to spend time with her. So that’s what I said—I would like for her to come to my house more often instead of always having to go to hers.

Now that it was my turn, I asked her again. She said, “I don’t want to. I don’t know.”

I felt so let down and disappointed that she wouldn’t give me any constructive criticism. Now that I’m older, I understand the conflict she must have felt in telling the truth, even though I had asked for it.

Since becoming disabled, I have observed (or have become more aware of) people’s aversion to and avoidance of discomfort, whether mental or physical. One of these seemingly uncomfortable situations is being around the disabled.

During the five months of SCI rehabilitation after my car wreck, we were warned of other’s reactions to us. The teaching staff explained that their responses to us were more a result of their ignorance than our condition. I have experienced this as true.
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Before I internalize another’s words, looks, or actions, I remove my self-centered glasses stained from my life experiences. (Regardless, if a matter has nothing to do with oneself, we tend to interpret it personally.) When I do this, I can see their awkwardness and discomfort as they approach me.

Most often they look over my head or in another direction. If they muster up enough nerve to meet my gaze, I simply smile. I understand. At first, I didn’t know what to do with myself. And, I’ve learned that we in wheelchairs, using walkers, or assisted by guide dogs aren’t the only ones disabled.

For those of you paralyzed by uncertainty of what to do in our presence, it’s okay. For a starter in etiquette, you could just acknowledge that I am there with a smile and a nod.  At our next encounter, you could do the same or ask if there is anything I need help with. You might even confess your lack of experience in helping a disabled person, but you’re available and willing to learn.

Amazingly, truth dismantles barriers. Unhealed wounds, self-absolving justifications, and staid conclusive judgements do not teach us about anyone or anything, particularly ourselves. There should be no consequences to a well-meaning truth.

What has been your experience? Let’s talk about you.