Timmargh.me

The price of freedom  2

I’ve had my newfangled chair for a week over six months now and the joy of having a new toy hasn’t worn off yet and nor have I gotten bored of showing it off to people — I relish the chance to put it through it’s paces and show anyone who’s willing to pay attention how high it’ll raise me, how fast it can go and how bloody comfy it is. It’s marvellous.

On Sunday Tugger called in and we nipped over to my auntie’s house to fix her computer. Unfortunately, we arrived to discover that they’d had a power cut and so no tinkering was possible, so instead we went round to see my mum, wandered around the garden for a while, I took some photos, we scoffed some biscuits and had a drink, and then me and Tugger came back to my house. After a brief discussion with the carer, the three of us journeyed into Kidderminster town to Frankie & Benny’s and then proceeded to stuff our faces — I had salmon and mozzarella fish cakes followed by scoops of vanilla, chocolate and mint choc chip ice cream. After dropping the carer off at at home, me and Tugger raced to the cinema to catch Iron Man, which I enjoyed even more than the first time I saw it.

All this was understandably good in itself but it was all rendered infinitely better for that fact during the entire day the only assistance I needed from anyone was for them to open the back door of the car, fold the ramp down, secure the straps to my chair once I’d wheeled in, lift the ramp back up and then close the door, reversing the process when we reached our destination. Not wanting to belittle the help Tugger and the carer gave, but less than 18 months ago a day like that would’ve required at least ten lifts between my wheelchair and the car, plus having to push me because my crappy arms are too weak for me to self-propel.

So this is why the sheen hasn’t worn off the chair (or indeed the car) yet; days like that when I can really feel like we’re just people going out together and not worry about how many times I’ll need help, whether Tugger or the carer’s backs are being strained and whether or not they can position me just right so I can lean my elbows on the table to eat. No, now I can claim responsibility for all that myself, and it also allows people who would otherwise struggle or find it impossible to take me out, due to the amount of physical effort involved, to once more be able to do so. (Hi mum!)

Is the Balder F280 wheelchair worth nearly fourteen thousand pounds sterling? Probably not in itself, no. Is the feeling of freedom and sheer joy it gives you worth that much? Abso-fucking-lutely.

Comments