Crutches Chronicles Part 4

One thing about the crutches has gone far beyond a regular annoyance to downright painful. I have serious bruises and burns on the underside of my arms and the outside of my upper rib cage from crutching around. The situation was exacerbated in several ways: first, on the first night of my new crutches life style, I met my sister out for sushi, which we walked to. And second, on my first day of work my boss sent me to an unprecedented amount of meetings, forcing me to crutch around the entire Capitol and wear out my muscles--not to mention my skin from where the crutches rubbed me raw.

 

So when I got home, I came up with what I thought at the time was the most intelligent solution in the world: I would simply roll around my condo in my rolly chair. The used leftover of my sister, this small black chair has everything I could've wanted: five wheel stability, 360 pivot motion, even a slight recline should I desire it. I cruised around my condo, moving rugs and chairs out of the way so I had clear track to travel on. And it was brilliant. I could wheel to the kitchen, stand and make food, then wheel back to the den to enjoy my meal. I could wheel over to my bedroom, to my bathroom, to the front door without issue, enjoying the freedom of being able to use my arms without limit. Even the cats were happier with the rolly chair, sometimes sitting in my lap as we crossed from room to room.

 

But it wasn't until one task in particular, perhaps the worst task one could imagine, that the chair betrayed me.

 

I had wheeled over to the catbox to take care of that, which I'd pitifully neglected since discovering my foot was fractured. As I leaned over to make the first scoop, something happened and the chair literally threw me to the ground, landing partially in...yes, the catbox. The dirty, stinky, neglected cat box that I'd just gotten around to cleaning up. I shakily sat up and glared at my chair, lying complacent on its side, its 'five wheel stability' clearly not what it was cracked up to be.

 

After hopping for five minutes on one foot to clean up the mess I'd made, I took a one-footed shower and recommitted to my crutches.