Assistive Devices
I'm in love with my rollator.
Dear Readers,
On Wednesday, I’m scheduled to have a port “placed,” which means my PICC line will be removed, and I can go into pools and jacuzzis, which I rarely do, but when someone tells me I can’t do something, I become obsessed. I had to spend time on the phone with a nurse going over medications and all sorts of things to prepare for this “placement,” and was struck by one question she asked, because my answer was different than for any of the other surgeries I’ve been subjected to the past four years: she asked, “Do you use any sort of assistive device, like a wheelchair or walker?” For the first time, I responded, yes, I do.
At a cardiology appointment in April, I collapsed when being weighed, and they broke out a wheelchair for me to sit in for the rest of the appointment. On the way home, Gary and I stopped to buy a cane. The following week, however, I was so dizzy and “orthostatic” that we borrowed the church’s heavy rusty wheelchair to take me to a primary care appointment. While there, Gary asked about a referral to physical therapy, which I received.
My physical therapist asked if I had ever considered a rollator. I had two parishioners who use them, so was familiar and open to trying one out. She loaned me one, and within a week I had bought my own, which my sister Wendy helped me select and then assembled for me. I’m now far more independent. I have even driven myself to the hospital for infusions, tucking the rollator in the seat behind me. I’ve noticed that the more I use the rollator to move around the house or even outside, the more confident I become without the rollator.
We set goals for physical therapy, and I told her how much I miss my morning walks. So a few days ago, we tried taking the rollator down the five front steps, up the steep driveway and around our cul-de-sac. I’ve walked outside every day since. Something about being outdoors speaks to my soul.
Still, I feel self-conscious when I see people out running or walking whom I used to see when I was walking a couple miles each morning vs. the .23 miles I now manage going around the cul-de-sac. The rollator is also very noisy. This morning as I was walking with the noisy rollator, I saw a neighbor whom I don’t know very well walking up his driveway. I used to see him when I was out walking, but I don’t even know his name.
I smiled at him as I followed the curve of the cul-de-sac, expecting him to quickly pass me, now that we were walking in the same direction. Instead, he slowed a bit and asked, “Are you OK?”
His question surprised me, as I don’t think we had ever said more than “Good morning” or simply waved. Am I OK? No. How to answer? “I have cancer,” I blurted. I felt emotional. I’ve had to give up my job that I love. I’m stage four and have multiple medical appointments every week. My world has become so small that a lap around the block is a highlight of my day.
He didn’t say anything but walked beside me for a bit. Then he said, “I hope you have a nice day,” and walked ahead. I thanked him and said that I hoped he had a nice day too.
Somehow, his question and response of simply walking with me for a little while seemed perfect, which surprised me because I can, unfortunately, be judgmental about how people react to me. They don’t know what to say to me, and in Samantha and my book Irreverent Prayers (which comes out July 2!) we wrote prayers about people saying the “wrong” thing: calling us brave or inspiring. Telling us that their grandmother died from our disease. Wishing us a speedy recovery. I’ve certainly said similar things to people before I got sick myself. The comment that infuriates me the most is one I did not write a prayer about: I cannot tell you how many people have suggested I smoke marijuana—me, a nonsmoker with lung cancer and one lung. Any prayer I wrote about that would have been filled with expletives.
But my neighbor’s reaction struck me as ideal. Rather than pretending nothing had changed since we’d last encountered each other, which many would have done, he asked, gently. Then instead of telling me to stay positive or asking a bunch of detailed questions, he just silently walked with me a bit. And then he moved on.
I didn’t mind the rollator’s noise as much after this encounter. I hope I continue to get stronger thanks to the new freedom I have with this “assistive device” and will start seeing more of the people I used to pass every day on walks. And will be happy to see them however they react to my noisy rollator and me.
Do you use any sort of “assistive device”—or have you in the past? When don’t you know what to say? What are some things people have said to you that you found unhelpful—or things you’ve said and regretted? I’d love to hear from you in the comments.
Peace,
Elizabeth
What I’m Reading:
As I mentioned last week, I am not reading as much as you might expect for someone who is no longer working apart from writing. I did a little better this month, though. I’m most excited about a new book about John the Baptist from another Eerdmans author. When I turn in my current book manuscript on July 1, I will turn to my JBap devotional! In the meantime, however, I have started to read Christmaker: a Life of John the Baptist by scholar James McGrath. He will publish a more academic volume about JBap in the fall, also from Eerdmans.
I also read two spiritual memoirs this month, For Love of the Broken Body by Julia Walsh, about a young woman’s discernment to become a nun and a major accident—falling off a cliff—that happened in the midst of it. I also read Rift by Cait West, an exvangelical tale.
I also read Tana French’s latest, The Hunter.
What I’m Writing:
These are likely the last sermons I’ll be able to link to, as I am no longer the rector of St. David’s. I had to miss a couple of my final Sundays due to low platelets and white blood cells, but managed to preach about my beloved deacon Bill, as well as a farewell sermon, plus a couple from April that hadn’t posted yet at the time of my last newsletter:
Easter 7 (Final Sermon at St. David’s)
Review of Kat Arnas Sacred Belonging devotional for the Christian Century
Book News:
My second launches July 2, and I will be at The Little Bookshop! Samantha hopes do something in Philadephia around the same time. If you’re local, I’d love to see you and have you support The Little Bookshop. You can call them to preorder at 804-464-1244. Here’s a prayer preview:
If you aren’t local, you can find links to preorder here.
Hi Elizabeth,
I use a cane and rollator. The latter is, indeed, noisy on asphalt. I’m blessed to have it after breaking my right ankle two weeks before Christmas.
It bothers me a little when someone says to me “Well I guess I’m going to have to get one of those.”
I used a wheelchair for a while and a hospital bed at home.
I’m just so glad to be up and around after 2 months of not being able to walk.
Elizabeth, I enjoy reading your messages.
This is a great post, Elizabeth. Seeing some of my loved ones resist assistive devices, I’ve often thought if I needed one, I’d welcome it. But we can’t know until we’re in that spot, and I’m grateful for your candor that you’re loving it and how it’s helping you get outside.