Nov 16 2012
With all the mystery dining that Fluffy and I have been doing lately, all I can say is that I’m grateful for wheelchairs. I have legs, mind you — huge, treelike legs that should be perfectly capable of supporting a huge, treelike body. But since my heart has decided it doesn’t like me to walk, I have been using other wheeled conveyances whenever I have to walk more than just a few feet at a time.
What I actually need is a walker. Lots of people in my shape get around with walkers. Unfortunately, some of us are not smart enough to actually navigate the walker concept. I am one of them.
I have owned two walkers. One of them met its demise when Fluffy was pushing me out of a theater on a cruise ship (I was sitting on the seat of the walker at the time). The walker got away from him as he pushed me downhill, and I fell. The fall was more embarrassing than anything else, but it broke a leg off the walker. We ended up leaving it on the ship.
I got a new walker, just like the old one.Like the old one, it had a wonderful seat that was wide enough even for me. When I got tired of pushing myself along, I would happily sit on the seat until I caught my breath again. Life was sweet.
I got to the point that if I wasn’t quite ready to walk yet, I would push myself backwards with my feet while I was still sitting on the walker. This worked pretty well except for one minor detail: When you push yourself backwards, you have no idea what is behind you. You could be pushing yourself into a person or down a flight of stairs or into the jaws of a Great White Shark, for all you know. When you push yourself backwards, you are tempting fate.
I had several minor mishaps with the walker, but I wasn’t smart enough to heed any of the warnings. Then one day, also on a cruise ship, I started pushing myself backward, completely forgetting that I was at the top of an incline. The walker obediently raced down the hill until something stopped it short, whereupon I was thrown over the back of it, did a graceless somersault in the air, and was thrown onto the tile floor.
Fortunately, there were only a few witnesses to the mishap. Even more fortunately, one of those witnesses was a Jamaican bartender. He ran to the bar and got five of his cronies, and the six of them managed to get me to my feet.
To this day, I think of myself as being the weight of six Jamaican bartenders. That’s not true, of course, but that’s how many of them it took to pick me up off the ground.
After that incident, I no longer trusted walkers. No, that’s not right. I no longer trusted Kathy on walkers. I needed something that was less likely to get me into trouble. So when the injuries my walker sustained in the Great Jamaican Bartender Incident necessitated a new wheeled conveyance, I decided to get a wheelchair instead. I got a cheap one on Amazon, and now Fluffy rolls me when I need to go distances that are too far for me to walk and not far enough for him to want to assemble the scooter. I feel a lot safer in the wheelchair than I ever did on the walker, and there haven’t been any accidents yet.
I hope most of you are smarter than I am and only travel in the direction you’re facing. There are lot of pitfalls in the road of life, and unless you watch carefully for signs that not everything is well, you may find yourself being sidelined into a ditch.