My mother always told me that sometimes things happen for a reason, I guess she was right! Having had my hand therapy session swapped from the 5th Jan to the 4th I was all set to carry on with my pre-op reward chart. However an hour before the appointment I received a phone call telling me that my OT had gone home sick and would have to re-schedule. Not wanting to miss out on a sticker I decided that I might as well go and collect the parcel from the post office that was going to be Thursdays outing. So downstairs to Rory I headed, all wrapped up warm and ready for a quite trip with minimal kamikaze pedestrian interaction. Ok so I was a little worried that the post office was a bit further than the anticipated trip to the hospital but he seemed pretty well charged... turns out he wasn’t.
Now the sorting office is exactly a one mile walk from my house, a walk I used to have no problem doing and something I thought Rory would manage fine with his battery level at 24 (out of a maximum 26). It was all going well for the first half mile then the gauge started dipping into the red. Not wanting to risk anything I decided to turn around and head home for a charge but by then it was already too late... after about 50metres (m) Rory had reduced to a snail’s pace and things only got worse from there! For the next 100m he struggled on like the proverbial tortoise until he hit a slight incline. At this point feeling rather desperate I decided to give him a hand, so for the next 150m I rather desperately used a convenient metal railing to get us a little further. So there I was with my rugged outdoor Rascal grabbing at metal railings pulling use forward and releasing with a big push to propel us to the next railing. At the end of the railings it was clear Rory was not going to get past the stretch of wall to the next part of the railing so putting my glove s to the test I used the rather handily placed decorative outcropping on the wall to push off in the hopes of propelling us the 3-4m to the next usable outcropping, taking advantage of the occasional lamppost on the way. From the wall it was back to the railings and we were making some progress at last.
Unfortunately the end of the railings led to a small side road which had to be crossed, fingers crossed I made it down the curb and right up to the next curb where Rory stopped completely. At that moment a couple of kindly builders, thinking we were just struggling with the curb gave us a push to get us going again. Carefully waiting for the lovely men to head off I gave in, pulled the magic lever on the back (which I’m told acts like a clutch on a car) putting Rory into manual mode. At this point it is worth noting that the wonderful January combination of cold, wet and windy has had me in agony and topped up on morphine for the last two days making the next part even more comical. With Rory freewheeling I grabbed my left crutch and tried walking down the road pulling Rory along with my right hand. You have probably guessed how well this went with current pain levels combined with recent shoulder dislocations and two knees in need of surgery... we made it about 3m before I had to stop.
Pushing the lever back down and sitting down on Rory to try to figure out a solution it occurred to me that my brother was just down the road and would come rescue me if I asked him to. As soon as I realised this I also remembered that I am very stubborn and way too proud to get stuck and call for help (yep I really am that stupid) so I carried on sitting there trying to figure out a solution. At this point I remembered that Rory had kept going with a little help from the railings so employing my knowledge of canoeing I came up with a new plan. Switching Rory back on I futilely pressed the forward lever and was met with a pathetic vibration and a lame attempt at forward propulsion. There was no other choice that I could see so steering and holding down the forwards lever with my right hand I began to use my left crutch to propel us forwards. It looked like my plan was working so I defiantly put my earphones back in, put the Dixie Chicks on very loudly and refused to make eye contact with any passing pedestrian. Twenty minutes and one very sore arm later I made it home, covered Rory back up with his tarp and plugged him in.
This is very likely one of those stories that will prove to be very funny in the future (much like the fire alarm incident which may be described at some point in the future) but in the immediate post incident moments has resulted in returning to pyjamas, 10ml of morphine and hiding in bed pretending this is just a fictional story (wishful thinking gone mad). The other thing these stories usually provide (other than comedy value) is a moral or lesson (or in the case of the fire alarm a common experience that ends up bringing you closer to what turns out to be one of your best and most fantastic friends). In this case there are two, firstly: Rory is a liar! If his gauge is on anything other than 26 when he is switched on DO NOT even consider going any further than the corner shop. Secondly: sometimes things really do happen for a reason. If you are in enough pain to spend two days on morphine and still have trouble sleeping because of the pain maybe the cancellation of a hospital appointment is enough to permit staying home today...
Now the sorting office is exactly a one mile walk from my house, a walk I used to have no problem doing and something I thought Rory would manage fine with his battery level at 24 (out of a maximum 26). It was all going well for the first half mile then the gauge started dipping into the red. Not wanting to risk anything I decided to turn around and head home for a charge but by then it was already too late... after about 50metres (m) Rory had reduced to a snail’s pace and things only got worse from there! For the next 100m he struggled on like the proverbial tortoise until he hit a slight incline. At this point feeling rather desperate I decided to give him a hand, so for the next 150m I rather desperately used a convenient metal railing to get us a little further. So there I was with my rugged outdoor Rascal grabbing at metal railings pulling use forward and releasing with a big push to propel us to the next railing. At the end of the railings it was clear Rory was not going to get past the stretch of wall to the next part of the railing so putting my glove s to the test I used the rather handily placed decorative outcropping on the wall to push off in the hopes of propelling us the 3-4m to the next usable outcropping, taking advantage of the occasional lamppost on the way. From the wall it was back to the railings and we were making some progress at last.
Unfortunately the end of the railings led to a small side road which had to be crossed, fingers crossed I made it down the curb and right up to the next curb where Rory stopped completely. At that moment a couple of kindly builders, thinking we were just struggling with the curb gave us a push to get us going again. Carefully waiting for the lovely men to head off I gave in, pulled the magic lever on the back (which I’m told acts like a clutch on a car) putting Rory into manual mode. At this point it is worth noting that the wonderful January combination of cold, wet and windy has had me in agony and topped up on morphine for the last two days making the next part even more comical. With Rory freewheeling I grabbed my left crutch and tried walking down the road pulling Rory along with my right hand. You have probably guessed how well this went with current pain levels combined with recent shoulder dislocations and two knees in need of surgery... we made it about 3m before I had to stop.
Pushing the lever back down and sitting down on Rory to try to figure out a solution it occurred to me that my brother was just down the road and would come rescue me if I asked him to. As soon as I realised this I also remembered that I am very stubborn and way too proud to get stuck and call for help (yep I really am that stupid) so I carried on sitting there trying to figure out a solution. At this point I remembered that Rory had kept going with a little help from the railings so employing my knowledge of canoeing I came up with a new plan. Switching Rory back on I futilely pressed the forward lever and was met with a pathetic vibration and a lame attempt at forward propulsion. There was no other choice that I could see so steering and holding down the forwards lever with my right hand I began to use my left crutch to propel us forwards. It looked like my plan was working so I defiantly put my earphones back in, put the Dixie Chicks on very loudly and refused to make eye contact with any passing pedestrian. Twenty minutes and one very sore arm later I made it home, covered Rory back up with his tarp and plugged him in.
This is very likely one of those stories that will prove to be very funny in the future (much like the fire alarm incident which may be described at some point in the future) but in the immediate post incident moments has resulted in returning to pyjamas, 10ml of morphine and hiding in bed pretending this is just a fictional story (wishful thinking gone mad). The other thing these stories usually provide (other than comedy value) is a moral or lesson (or in the case of the fire alarm a common experience that ends up bringing you closer to what turns out to be one of your best and most fantastic friends). In this case there are two, firstly: Rory is a liar! If his gauge is on anything other than 26 when he is switched on DO NOT even consider going any further than the corner shop. Secondly: sometimes things really do happen for a reason. If you are in enough pain to spend two days on morphine and still have trouble sleeping because of the pain maybe the cancellation of a hospital appointment is enough to permit staying home today...
No comments:
Post a Comment