Tag Archives: scarlett

Updates

We got back from Tahoe on Thursday night, and I was so happy to see my normal, wonderful wheelchair with all of its capabilities. The elevated footrest! The reclining feature! The headrest!

Wow, you know times have changed when this is the stuff that you find exciting.

On Friday, the van was still not in our possession. I had not heard from Mobility Works with any sort of status update, so I called them. The man who answered didn’t have a lot of information for me, but he did know the part they needed had not yet arrived. It had been five days.

When I received a call back several hours later, David, who runs the service department, told me that he had sent someone on his staff up to Sacramento to pick up the part, but he wouldn’t be back until that night. I’ve always found David to be responsive and helpful. He told me that he would have a rental van dropped off at our house, so that we could use it for the weekend. This was great news.

On Saturday afternoon, we got into the rental van (“It’s red!” Scarlet exclaimed excitedly), and headed out for basketball game number two. I rolled into the van and Rob hooked the wheelchair down. When he went to put my seatbelt on, we realized they’d given us the wrong one. There was no way to fasten me safely into the van. But at that point, I just didn’t care. I wanted to get to the game.

I called David on his cell phone, apologizing for bothering him on a Saturday, but explaining that it would be safer for me to ride around wearing a seatbelt, so that I didn’t feel quite as much like I was nestled in a slingshot, waiting to be deployed into freeway traffic. David agreed that this seemed like a good idea, and sent someone out with the correct seatbelt.

But we had to get to the game right then, so there I was, sitting directly in the center of the car and aimed at the windshield, a very bony ballistics missile in Uggs. Rob tried to take the flattest route, which was not the shortest route, but we made it in time, and I was able to watch Scarlett play. Kindergartners playing basketball turned out to be pretty much everything I had imagined. Some of them were just twirling in circles on the court. Scarlett had one hand in her mouth for most of the game. But they all seemed to really enjoy it, and I was just glad to be there.

I’m not sure when we’ll get our van back, but I want to thank everyone who sent and posted words of support, and especially those of you who reached out to Mobility Works yourselves to tell them my story. Their Director of Customer Service called while we were in Tahoe to check on everything, and he did seem to take everything more seriously once they heard that I was flinging names like Gargamel around. You just don’t want to be associated with that guy.

In the grand scheme of everything, this experience is not a big deal. I know that, but I still managed to let it get to me in a pretty major way, and it affected our trip a lot. Now that we’re back and I’m much more comfortable, I’m better able to focus on the positive.

Scarlett is becoming the kind of skier I never was, and she loves it.

I got my nails painted bright blue at the hotel.

Right now, there’s a red Toyota in our driveway with enough seatbelts for everyone.

And for some reason, which is not totally clear to me, Otto is decked out in a multicolored ensemble that makes him look like the Chiquita banana lady.

We’re okay.

Just Monday

I woke up early this morning, my hair matted down under my breathing mask, so thirsty I could feel the dry pockets in my mouth eviscerating all the moisture in the room. Sleeping is uncomfortable now, so that sometimes, when I find myself in the perfect position (usually on my side, with my legs tucked up in psychic regression) I feel that I have never been happier. Take something away, take it away again and again, and then return it, even just partially. It’s either the definition of bliss or the definition of torture. I can’t decide.

Otto woke up at 5:30 AM, crying in his crate next to Rob’s side of the bed. He’s been sleeping pretty well, but it’s still something like having a new baby, and Rob mutters his displeasure at these early risings. It’s not just the dog. When I’m thirsty in the middle of the night, I need Rob’s help to wrestle the mask up above my lips, to hold my water bottle up so I can drink. When my legs are so leaden under blankets that used to feel like air, I have to ask him to roll me over. Then the dog cries, then Scarlett appears. Then it’s breakfast time, the day has begun, and we feel that we didn’t get quite enough night.

The nighttime difficulties make me feel the most helpless. I lie there for as long as I can, not wanting anyone else to be disturbed, and still, eventually, I throw the sleep grenade. I have to. Read More>

Stolen Summer

My memories of summer start with heat. In the mornings, coming down to breakfast, hair sticky with sweat. Spending afternoons at the community pool, eating melted peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and hot fruit, wishing our parents would spring for something from the concession: salty popcorn, Sno cones, nachos dripping with gooey cheese. Evenings, still so light that we could sometimes walk down the block to the library in our pajamas, which felt like some incredible adventure. Then running through the grass, catching fireflies until it was time to go to sleep again, the open windows letting in some breeze, kicking at the single sheet, all that was manageable with the thick air.

I grew up outside Chicago, in a suburb called Oak Park, where many of my family and friends still live. As I got older, summer meant “L” rides to the beach,  the final blocks traversed with a pair of rollerblades, a skill I never quite mastered, so that on the downhill parts, I could almost always be trusted to run into a newsstand.

At the beach, my girlfriends and I lathered ourselves with suntan oil, virtually nothing protective about it, and laid out on bright towels to bake ourselves golden. We met boys, lied about our ages, and once drank spiked kool-aid from a large cooler with boisterous characters we’d only just met. Read More>