Bone deep fear.
At first I didn't understand what was happening. I could feel the wheels of my power chair stick when I made a turn and I put it down to there being something I couldn't see, from my vantage point, on the floor. Then, when it became more serious I thought it was because of the type of floor that I was on. I felt a rising anxiety but my ability to explain away problems and concerns comforted me.
I was on my way home, a route that I'd taken many times. Like other's who are wheelchair users, I have become used to the 'feel' of the sidewalk. Something was different. Something was wrong. I couldn't describe it properly but I knew that something felt much different.That's not good.
Finally, I made the turn to back into the elevator here at home and the chair just didn't move. I had to push back on the back of my chair to encourage it to move. It did, but it sputtered.
And then the full force of fear struck.
A tidal wave of fear.
A tsunami of terror.
I have never taken the ability to get around for granted. I am constantly thankful for what my chair offers me. Funny then that I never thought of it as something that was a 'thing' that could 'break down'. People say that they 'can't live without their morning coffee' or that they 'can't live without chocolate.' They can. I think to myself, 'I can't live without my power wheelchair.'
But I know I can.
I just don't want to.
So this morning the repair person will arrive to take a look at my poor chair. I won't be here. I couldn't take it.
I remember when niece Erin used to pull our computer apart to do things with it like add memory and other forms of witchery, I had to go out because my anxiety was so high.
This is ten times worse.
So I await the 'wheelchair whisperer' and hope that I am returned without outrageous cost to dependable mobility.
For those who think I'm 'confined to a chair' ... you don't get it, I'll be confined without one.