In an effort to make myself useful, this week I insisted my daughter take me shopping. Grocery shopping consisted of her pushing the trolley and reaching for the groceries, while I pointed and gave instructions.
I suspect she didn't find me useful at all.
Clothes shopping was a little easier… I could reach more items, but pushing my wheelchair between the racks had me coming out the other side wreathed in garments I'd dislodged along the way, and my daughter having to go and put them all back again.
She did, however, find my chair handy to hang her handbag on, and my lap was a good place to pile her purchases. I'd consider that useful.
A trip to the shops is a quick way to discover that footpaths that look flat actually have a distinct camber to them. There's quite a pronounced slope towards the road, which I'd like to point out makes wheelchairs veer alarmingly traffic-wards.
It's also a chance to get acquainted with every lump, bump and hole in the footpath, not just because my eyes are closer to the concrete at the moment, but because each of those things is an occupational hazard to the amateur wheelchairist.
A decent lump or bump can darned near tip you out of your chair or at the very least alter your trajectory and send you whizzing towards shop windows or unwary pedestrians. A hole or a dip can leave one or both of your driving wheels spinning uselessly and if it's both… you're stuck.
Another hazard is the footpath dog poo. I know where each of these are, on my most commonly-wheeled route, because they are stench-laden little land mines just waiting to adhere to my wheels and hitch a lift into shops, my car and home with me. The trick is to remember the location of each small brown health hazard and to keep my eyes peeled for new deposits.
Speaking of poo…what's with disability toilets? There seems to be a mindset that "ooh, here's a large vacant corner, let's utilise it fully by putting a nappy change station and nappy disposal bin in here".
Don't.
I have now had several encounters with large and obstructive nappy disposal bins that lurk in the corners of disability toilets, waiting to become obnoxious when you go to turn around and leave. They have the ability to turn a three-point-turn into something resembling a prize-fight.
That crashing and banging coming from behind that toilet door? It's not someone practicing for the NZ heavyweight title. It's a wheelchairist entangled in a nappy disposal bin.
That's if you can get in the door in the first place. What's with doors being so heavy? I wheel up to them and give them a shove, only to find I've just shoved myself off backwards at speed. I reckon wheelchairs need bull-bars to tackle doors.
It could be all behind me soon enough though, as I have the medics' approval to change things up a bit… with the aid of a walking frame. I figured if the very elderly can make using a walking frame look like a piece of cake… me too.
So far it's taken me three days to stand up. Deceptive pieces of kit, walking frames. It seems I won't be winning any walking frame races any time soon. My leg (because I am only allowed the use of one of them at this stage…) is as weak as a kitten.
Which isn't that bad given that my kitten has just taken a dislike to a large terracotta-potted aloe vera plant and hefted it off the kitchen bench to its doom. Kittens can be tougher than they look.