I Feel It

My wife says that she's been reading my posts on The Brown Knowser and on Facebook, and she says that I have a one-track mind.

That's not true at all: I still think a lot about sex.

She's referring, of course, to my posts about my foot surgery and mobility issues, with my crutches and my iWalk 2.0 peg leg.

And she's right. Since my reconstructive surgery, on November 15, I've pretty much been house-bound, recovering. I've been outside only a few times, primarily to move from the house to a car, to the hospital, or to the office.

I've only been in the office about four or five times. Moving around that much wears me out, and sometimes the weather isn't favourable to crutches. I can't sweep snow off my car, nor will I risk slipping on unseen ice.

Lately, when I do make it into the office, I use my hands-free crutches to get around. I can carry things and though I move much more slowly, I feel more stable. But I am finding some obstacles to be a major pain in the butt, and I'm only realizing how difficult it must be for those whose mobility is more restricted, permanently.

My woes, by comparison, are trivial, but they are still significant. I only see it clearly when I'm at work, and I need to use the public washroom.

The men's room has four urinals and five toilets. You wouldn't believe how thrilled I was when I switched from conventional crutches to the iWalk 2.0, and learned that I could pee standing up. It was like I was my old self again.

Having to sit, when you're in a cast, is a bit of a hassle. Let me paint you a picture (hopefully, not too graphic):

You negotiate your way into the cubicle and close the door. You find a spot to rest your crutches, hopefully, within short reach. All the while, you're standing on one foot—a foot that is suffering from acute osteoarthritis, and makes it impossible to balance for more than a couple of seconds. You rest a hand on a wall for further support, so that you stop swaying.

Now, with your free hand, you grab some TP and give the toilet seat a wipe. You don't want the ass sweat from the previous occupant. You then spin 180 degrees, ready to sit. But first, with that free hand, you undo your pants and pull them down as far as they go—on your bad leg, that's only to the top of the cast.

Very carefully, because your bad foot is sensitive to bumps and jarring, you sit down (using only your good leg) and do your business.

When you're done, you carefully lift yourself up (again, only with your good leg). You use one hand to keep yourself balanced and the other to pull everything up. Leaning against a wall, you zip up, tuck in, straighten up. Carefully, you turn around and flush the toilet, and then turn back the other way, grab your crutches, and wiggle your way out of the stall.

You move to a sink, preferably one on either end of the five sinks that line the wall, and position yourself between the sink and the paper towel dispenser. You scrub your hands, and then grab some towels, run them under the sink, lather them up, and wipe down the handles of your crutches.

More paper towel, to dry the handles and your hands.

Exhausted, you move through the door and make your way back to your desk.

With the hands-free crutch, it's pretty much the same, except you have to unstrap yourself from the device before you sit down and strap in before you exit the stall.

All of this is done relatively easily when you have the handicap stall to use. It's about 5 feet by 5 feet, with a wide door that gives you lots of room between it and the toilet. If it's occupied, you're left using one of the 3-by-5 stalls, which is hellish.

The other day, I found myself in the washroom, making my way to the back, where the last stall is for those with mobility issues. The washroom appeared to be empty, until I was near the back and could see a shadow and feet in the handi-stall. I wasn't in desperate need, so I made my way back to my desk.

I was using the iWalk 2.0 on this day. This is an important note.

About 20 or so minutes later, I made my way back to the washroom. Again, while there was no urgency in using a toilet, I did have a meeting within the next half hour, and I wanted to do my business before the meeting started. For surely, I would be in more need if I waited until after the meeting was over.

Again, the washroom first appeared to be empty. And again, it wasn't until I approached the last stall that I saw a shadow and a different pair of shoes.

I groaned, and turned to one of the other stalls.

I opened the door, hobbled inside, but when I made to turn to close the door behind me, I discovered that my cast still extended outside. I tried to pivot around, but had no room, and realized I was close to losing my balance. So, with the door open, I removed my leg from the crutch.

Hopping on my good leg, I picked up my crutch, moved further into the stall, and closed the door. I pivoted around again, leaned the walker against the door, and realized I only had a couple of inches between the walker and the toilet.

Moving to wipe down the toilet seat, my cast kept kicking the crutch, sending jolts of pain through my foot, and running the risk of knocking the crutch to the floor. Sitting down, my cast forward, I rested my bad leg against the peg leg.

Business completed, toilet flushed, I struggled to strap on the walker. And once I was ready to walk, I discovered that I couldn't open the door. I backed up, foot over the toilet bowl, struggling to maintain balance, I was able to open the door, but I had lost balance and hit the walls of the cubicle, shaking every one of them.

I was exhausted before I reached the sink to wash up.

I feel for people who face situations like this on a regular basis, who can't, like me, count the days before they're walking without an aid. I feel for those who have no option but to wait until the handicap stall is vacant, waiting for someone who doesn't need to use that stall.

I recognized the second set of shoes, knew who had taken the one spot that I could use with relative ease.

When I'm back on two feet, I'm never going to needlessly use the handicap stall. I have felt the anxiety of having to wait, of having to use a stall that was not designed for my situation.