July 12, 2018 – I can only hop so long on one foot . . .

         This may all sound funny to my blogging friends, and in retrospect it is sort of amusing;  but, at the time, it was not amusing in the least bit.

The blue walker we used during my husband’s heart surgery recovery [about five years ago] only takes one to the doorjamb of the bathroom.  I hop on my good foot to the toilet.  This is dangerous . . . I’m not a teenager.  I’ve never really had good balance. I could easily twist this ankle, I could teeter, fall, and break an arm, or a hip . . . this is not a good situation. 

It is early morning after the emergency trip to the clinic last evening. 

         Idea!  I have this garden seat on wheels that I use to roll along the avenues to pull weeds or pick beans.  I have the husband bring it in – red clay mud on the wheels and all.  I use that to wheel myself in and out of the bathroom.  Doesn’t work to well as it is in a straight line only. I have to stand on one foot and readjust its direction to get it where it needs to go.  Need to RE-THINK this!

         I am a prisoner in my own house . . . my husband’s hearing is just about non-existent.  It takes a five-minute discussion that turns quickly into an argument when I ask him to bring me my cell phone, my purse, and then the charger cord.

         Of course, he does not know where the charger cord is.  Will he listen to what I am saying?  NO!

         “Just look at me,” I snarl. After this foolish snarling and spitting to get his attention he eventually he does turn to look at me.

         “I am pointing to it – that lamp – no – where is my finger pointing?  That lamp.  The black cord is wrapped around the middle of the lamp . . .”

         In less than two waking hours with no cooperation or assistance, I know I am in a crisis mode.

         I am guessing his theory is, ‘I’ll leave her to it, and she will eventually get up and get what she wants . . .’

         An hour slips by.  I did get a cup of coffee at about 6 a.m., but has  he returned to offer me any breakfast?  NO? It is after 8 a.m.  I am hungry, why wouldn’t I be?  I didn’t have supper the night before.  I am propped up on pillows and can see the top of his head down the hall in the living room in his lounge chair.  I take the metal water bottle, now empty and start pounding it on the metal walker leg to get his attention.  He can’t hear that?  He can’t hear me yelling at the top of my lungs?

         Well, my cell phone is now charged enough. I dial my home phone that is in the kitchen about 15 feet from him.  He gets up and answers the phone. 

         “Hello,” is all he says and in seconds hangs up and goes back to his chair. I am talking to him and he hangs up on me? WHAT?

         I am stunned.  He really can’t hear. I guess he is clinically deaf and won’t admit it. I knew he had trouble with the telephone but I am screaming at the top of my lungs in the bedroom forty feet away and he honestly can’t hear me?

         I dial again.  He answers the phone.

         “Hello,” is all he says and hangs up again.

         I throw a few books at the bedroom door and a plastic bottle of aspirin.  Still I do not get the attention of my husband 40 feet away.  I am more than angry.  I am incensed.  

         I imagine you reading this think it is amusing – it wasn’t to me!

         No help within this house, I guess I better call for outside help. It is too early to call most of my friends  – but this is ridiculous.  I dial one friend and leave a message on her answering machine I imagine she is still asleep.  I wait a few minutes and then dial another friend who is more of an early riser and she answers.  I ask for a favor.

         I rarely ask for favors – I have always prided myself in being “self-sufficient”.  But, I am in a pickle. I am in a serious situation. 

         I quickly explain my predicament and that I need one of those scooters that people put their knee on when they break their foot.  It has to be skinny enough to get in and out of the bathroom door.  I shared with her the five-minute useless dialog and ensuing fight with my husband about a telephone cord – I was not going to repeat it with the scooter situation.

I also told her I’d phoned him twice and he hung up. Then I said he would only bitch about the cost and come home empty handed or come home with something that would not fit through the bathroom door jam.  My friend understood completely and said she’d be at the drug store in less than an hour and reconnect with me via my cell phone to confirm my wishes.

         An hour later my friend delivers my prescription and advises the scooter will be delivered by the drug store van.  She also assesses the bathroom doorjambs and agrees they are surprisingly narrow.  When we bought the house we were unware of that issue.  Only during my husband’s heart surgery did we become aware of their smaller width.

Thank God, I have an astute angel for a friend.

         A few hours later, the drug store delivers the scooter and the driver adjusts it to my height. But, I must say, the scooter barely slips through the doorjamb by only two inches or so on each side.

         OH, glorious wheels – wheels to get to the bathroom and back to bed.

         Now I don’t have to hop on one foot – I will be safer, I can stay off this leg!  This too is a learning curve . . . has a strange turning radius, but have wheels will travel. 

         Day one – TCM movie channel – we have musicals all day.  Some I’ve never seen.  I am already bored. Mentally exhausted I nap during the dull parts.

         The seriousness of this situation is clear to me, but the husband, he is in denial.  He thinks it is a 24-hour set back and I’ll be fully functional by morning.

         Au Contraire.