So you know you’re recently disabled when a trip to the grocery store becomes an adventurous weekend plan rather than an errand. The best thing about my condition is that I’m expected to make a near 100% recovery–after having a few metal screws surgically implanted into my fractured fibula next Friday. In the meantime, a good friend offered to help me shop for groceries, in addition to taking pictures of me cruising around on the electric shopping cart.
One of the employees saw me hobbling in on crutches and figured that I wanted an electric cart. He drove one up to me and my friend arranged my crutches in the basket. Then I was ready to roll. Except the cart wouldn’t move. This not being rocket science, I immediately thought he’d given me a defective one. After all, I was pushing the controls forward with my thumbs. About a minute passed when the employee suggested that perhaps I didn’t weigh enough! As complimentary to me as that comment was, my whole shopping adventure hinged on the fact that I’d be able to cruise around.
My friend handed me the crutches so I could hobble off the cart. The employee rolled it back where he got it from and drove up a second one. I was determined to make this one work. I jiggled the steering mechanism and pulled up on it a bit as I worked the thumb presses. This time, it worked. With my crutches strategically placed, I was ready to either shop or joust. Going down one aisle, there were three people down at the far end, blocking the way. I asked my friend which two out of the three I should take out. She warned me that there would be none of that. Yet, when I had her to put a mop in basket, I thought jousting had become even more doable.
I managed to manuever around without hitting anyone or knocking anything down, despite my medieval ambitions. As fun as that little jaunt was, I am happy that this Thursday I’m picking up my sister who will do the shopping for the two weeks she’s here. I’m going to make sure that she sets me up with food before she hops back on a plane. I’m ready to kick these crutches to the curb as soon as I’m medically cleared to do so. The boot at least allows me to walk so I can have things in my hands and push a shopping cart.
Another thing I’ve discovered is that I cannot stand being “short”. I got a pain in my neck, looking up at things. More problematic, I felt invisible in plain sight. What people noticed first were my crutches and mop coming at them as I approached. From my perspective, they responded as if inanimate objects had become bewitched and moved on their own accord. Seconds later, they’d noticed that an actual human being directed the movement.
Saturday, I slept in, as one should do on the weekend. Then I worked on my fictional WIP, my 6th painting and got some lesson planning done for my sub who will teach my classes for the 2 weeks that I’ll be out. By the time I hopped down my apartment stairs to meet some capoeira friends at a Mexican restaurant to celebrate the impending nuptials of one of our teachers, crutches were my friends again. They allowed my great escape from my apartment, even though I stayed out only a few hours.
One thing this injury has taught me is how to ask for help. I’m the same woman who, when told she needed surgery to fix her ankle, asked in all seriousness, “So can I drive myself home afterwards?” When I drove into the restaurant parking lot and saw no close available parking, I made up my mind that hobbling from some far off street parking would be my exercise for the day. Then, I saw a friend walking toward the restaurant. I called him over and asked him if he’d park my car for me. Of course he said yes. As did the other friend who fetched my car at the end of the night.
I recently recalled a conversation between me and a male coworker/friend who was recounting all the high-maintenance women we worked with. Toward the end of his tirade, I asked, “Where do I fit on the high-maintenance scale?” He took a deep breath and said, “Teresa, you’re at the complete opposite end. A man doesn’t know what to do for you since you do everything yourself.” If only he could see me now.
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