Broken Bones, Bent Pride

 I’ve had my fill of incapacity. After breaking my foot last November and then breaking my wrist in July, I’ve had plenty of time to marinate in personal inadequacy. The inability to bathe oneself, to dress oneself, to drive oneself—the loss of personal agency—is beyond frustrating.

 This isn’t my first go-round with loss of agency. When illness forced me out of the workforce in 1992, my frustration and anger showed themselves in many ways. I tried to do things that I wasn’t capable of doing any longer and that often caused messes and problems other people had to clean up.

 I remember the time I wanted my older daughter to go shopping with me and she wanted me to take my wheelchair. I hated that damn wheelchair; it made me feel like an invalid. Change the stress in that word and invalid becomes invalid. And I did feel invalid.

 People overlook you when you’re in a wheelchair because you’re below eye level. Children see you, but if they comment their parents shush them. The aisles of department stores are notoriously narrow; you can’t move your wheelchair easily around them or through them.

 Alix’s response to my reluctance was to say, “If you’re not going to use your wheelchair, I’m not going to take you. You always think you can do it on your own and you’re always too tired to keep shopping before we’re close to done.”

 Fair point, and I conceded graciously that day. Other days, perhaps I wasn’t so gracious. But I was a person who had taken care of herself, who took care of other people, who never needed all this help. I hated being incapable of caring for myself.

 Fast forward 30 years to my broken foot. I’m in a boot. I can’t walk. I can’t drive. Managing the scooter is so complicated that I have trouble getting around my own house. I can shower once my husband locates the shower chair that I used to need 20 years ago. But at least I was independent in the shower! That’s not a small thing.

With a broken wrist, the shower chair is no help. I do have a handy-dandy plastic mitten (no fingers) designed to go over a cast. It allows one a modicum of freedom in the shower. For the last five weeks, I’ve been able to bathe myself, thank goodness.

Last Thursday, I had surgery to correct some serious thumb problems that my wrist injury had uncovered. Those problems resulted from an 11-year-old surgery. Now, instead of a cast with a cheery pink camo design, I have a giant club on the end of my arm. It may qualify as a weapon because of the (feels like) 10 pounds of plaster around my hand inside the Ace bandage.

My shower mitten doesn’t go over it. Where does that leave me? A plastic grocery bag and duct tape—which I can’t put on by myself—if I have any hope of showering in the next few weeks. Everyone, especially me, is hoping that works out.

What else can’t I do? I can’t put on my own CPAP headgear or hook it up to the machine. I can’t add water to the reservoir in the machine. I can’t put on my own bra and it’s surprisingly difficult to find good help for that task. (Michael insists his training was strictly for removing them.)

Today I tried a sports bra with a zipper in the front. That should’ve been easy, right? When he finally got the zipper started, he zipped me right into it, literally. I’m going commando from now on. If you’re averse to pendulous old lady breasts, don’t look my way.

 Things I can do with difficulty include: Open any jar. Get pills sorted out. Read the newspaper. Use a keyboard efficiently. Push two buttons on a cell phone simultaneously. Hold a cell phone and press the shutter button. I could go on, but it’s a depressingly long list.

 I’m getting pretty good at using my elbow, but I’m really thankful that I usually have two hands. The doctor promised (insofar as she would actually commit) that I’ll be functional when we go to Vienna in October as long as Michael schleps the bags. I’m okay with that. For now, I’m soldiering on.

 Wish me luck on my recovery. And tell us what bodily inconvenience has most plagued you in recent years. Or, if you’re one of the lucky ones, all those years ago…

 Ciao