Barely Made It
No one is ever ready for an unexpected trip to the ER, and as it happens, I ended up needing to head to the hospital after midnight one evening. I didn’t have time to bother getting dressed, so I just kept my split-up-the-back nightshirt on and used my comforter to cover myself up and keep warm for the ride and while I waited.
It was a while before I was seen and I wheeled around the emergency waiting area to pass the time. At some point, a nice woman came over to chat for a minute. Graciously, she pointed out that she didn’t think I intended to have my naked backside showing for all to see and casually reached over and adjusted my blanket. I was thankful to her, but looked over at my husband disappointedly and said, “Your only job was to make sure I was covered up, and you failed!”
The Crime is Afoot
Any powerchair user knows that the footrest is like a Swiss Army knife, serving many purposes beyond simply providing a home for your bored feet. My footrest has doubled as a child transporter, a dog feeder, and most commonly, a door opener and closer. Most of these functions are beneficial, or at worst harmless, but not all of them. Over 15 years my chair has racked up a list of minor thefts any petty criminal would envy. Silverware, napkins, sunglasses, keys — you name it, someone (likely me) has dropped it or knocked it off a table and it has landed on my footrest. Ninety-nine percent of the time someone notices right away, but that other 1 percent of the time — in a loud club or restaurant, or a busy crowd — the dropped item goes unnoticed, undetected until I get home or … god forbid … the police find us. “I swear officer, it was the footrest. It has a history!”
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