stories

As far as saving Elmo (my knee replacement) is concerned: We didn't. Barring miracles, he becomes a biohazard on July 28. "This should have worked; I'm out of options," sighs The Doc, looking sad, "I'm so sorry, but I want you to see Dr. Jack, our traumatology expert. Maybe he'll have some ideas." I head to the other side of [...]

Nikki welcomed me home with wild abandon and never settled down for a good photo...but wouldn't get more than a few steps away from the entry hall closet. More on that later. I moved back home last Monday, an event wonderful and bittersweet at the same time. I was sad to be leaving Mom and her wide, spacious [...]

Eric the Wheelchair Guy wears a permanent grin and stands tall. The standing tall part is important, because his clients mostly don't stand at all. On Friday night, Sept. 16, 2016, I fractured my left femur just above Elmo, my replacement knee. I lived in a wheelchair, facing hip-high amputation of my left leg, for about two years while I [...]

Driving is easy. Driving with wheelchair is not. Wheelchairs are wonderful beasts, enabling you to get from Point A to Point B without asking to be carried. "Whoever said 'confined to a wheelchair' was an idiot," says a paraplegic friend scornfully, "My wheelchair is my legs, only round. It doesn't confine me; it frees me." Of course, he has the OTHER [...]

I'm going home. Until a couple of weeks ago, I hadn't so much as driven onto my street for more than eight months. Since I couldn't go inside the house--it's not exactly compatible with a woman who balances the world on one leg and lives in a wheelchair--there wasn't much point. The Elmo stories (of Elmo, my replacement knee and then [...]

"Does THIS look better to you?!" she raged, pointing to her leg, "It's supposed to be ELEVATED. Does this look elevated?" I smiled weakly, made a note: The lady in room 15 is not up for small talk. On Friday night, Sept. 16, 2016, I fractured my left femur just above Elmo, my replacement knee. I lived in a wheelchair, [...]

"What did you do in life?" he asks cheerfully, interestedly, and I nearly punch his lights out. "The last time I checked," I say, dryly, "I was still doing it." He's about 18, just entered college, determined to be a doctor some day. He's got a way to go on the bedside manner, but he means well. He'd crept into my [...]