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The Soldier and the Squirrel introduces children to the Purple Heart

through a loving story of a friendship between a newly wounded soldier

and Rocky the squirrel with his backyard friends. This story began as a

blog during my first year in bed after my incident. With much

encouragement, it is now a book and has been placed in the

Ronald Reagan Presidential Library & Museum. Please watch the video

on the About page to learn for the Soldier & Rocky are changing children's

lives.

 

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« Faith | Main | Random Thought »
Saturday
Aug312013

Monkey Wrench

Disclaimer: Wine will make this funnier.

Today I woke up with a monkey wrench on my nightstand. Strange things happen when adjusting to a wheelchair.

I am becoming more like a man every day. I look at women's chests when we talk. So I must strain to look up. Up. Up. At their eyes. Which aren't really eyes anymore. More like nostrils. With eyes. So I plead with the public. Unless you need a nasal assessment, it's best to come down to our level. Not morally. That might be disruptive. But at least physically. Just find a chair and pull it up. Because if it's me you're talking to, you're going to be there a while. Or else, look at it as an opportunity to tighten your quads, and squat. Burn those buns. Come on. At least do it for me. Someone has to do my squats for me. Or lastly, just back up. Don't beep or anything. Just scoot on back. That alone will not only save us from experiencing any unduly garlic breath, it will offer a clear line of site. To your eyes. Without craning our neck like a, well, a crane.

We just modified our home so that the stairs and doorways are more accessible. We oiled the stairs. Now I just throw myself down them and smoke a cigarette when I'm done. Or I use the stair lift. Doorways are wider which is nice because now I don't have to blame doing so on the width of me bum.

My husband no longer needs a leveler around the house. He just sets me and my chair in the middle of the room. So far our entire house is crooked. I am also now hooked on Dramamine.

Not everything is easier. If you ever wonder whether someone is really disabled, just put the wine on the top shelf.

The plusses of disability are many. But no one likes to talk about that because then random people would just start throwing themselves out of cars.

I no longer worry about a panty line. Because no one ever sees my tush. Which means Spanx are only things I get for good behavior.

Pedicures last longer. And, I now know when they are talking about me in the nail salon. I learned how to say gimp in Korean!

(It's 장애인.)

My dog, Reggie, is a dachshund. He is my therapy dog and rides on my electric scooter with me. It has two speeds. Turtle and rabbit. But he has a hard time keeping up. Because it doesn't have a sloth. Or a caterpillar.

Tom Selleck's mustache is tweeting. Like you need a punch line for that.

I've thought of attaching a Roomba to the bottom of my wheelchair. So then it can really suck.

So that's about it for today. Things I've thought about because a walk-about won't get me very far. It's not like I go anywhere but to doctors' offices, so I have plenty of time to think about such things. And my odds of getting hit by a truck have been greatly diminished. So it works for me.

Oh. And please know. I get it - that this is horrible. Sometimes I cry like a child, my shoulders too weak to carry on. But, Do I wish this never happened? Not for a minute. Because I would have never known how strong one can be, when your strength is stripped away. Or the goodness in the world, that I thought had gone astray. But most of all, I would have missed the chance to think about this predicament I am in. To blog about so many thoughts that began with a simple monkey wrench.

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