“The scale says 65 pounds,” the physician’s assistant says doubtfully.
“Well, that can’t be accurate,” I say. “I mean, I know I’ve lost weight, but not that much.”
Molly agrees, from her spot on the right side of my wheelchair. She is my visiting nurse, and has been helping the PA move me back and forth so they can get a giant sling wrapped around my body. Every time I’ve used this machine, the PA says the same thing.
“This was donated, and it is a $10,000 piece of machinery, so when it goes, we’re out of luck.”
The tarp-like device is attached to a hook in the ceiling and when the PA presses the button, the whole thing rises like a thick uncomfortable hammock, with me trestled inside on splayed legs. The first time we seem to near an accurate reading, but then the ties on my boots get caught in the wheelchair, and the whole thing has to be redone. Twice more they lower and lift me, like we’re at a construction site instead of inside a hospital bathroom. Read More>