I am at home.
I am supposed to be in New Orleans.
On leaving this morning to go down to catch the bus to the airport, I lifted my leg to put it on the footrest and then tragedy struck. My wheelchair began to lean to the left and then with barely a wimper, died. I was panic-struck. WheelTrans was coming to get me, I was going to meet Manuela at the airport to fly down to do a presentation at NADD, we had flights booked and pre-paid a hotel room (to get a lower rate). I saw a fun trip disappear. I saw money fly out of the window. I saw hours of trying to get myself mobile again.
Everyone was understanding. Manuela was very cool about it. Joe, whose birthday we were going to celebrate in the Big Easy, was great about it. But sometimes I feel the burden of others 'understanding' hard to bear. I simply wanted to get about getting there. But I knew it wasn't going to happen.
The wheelchair company promised me something by the afternoon but then a wrenching call told me that they were having trouble getting a chair with the kind of tires I like. I talked to someone I know here at the building and ended up with a mechanic type guy in the apartment saying, 'I think I can get this going again, can I take it with me?' He called much later, saying, 'This is a little more difficult than I thought.'
So, I got on the phone and started calling wheelchair stores. People were nice, I've even got a guy whose going to go through their warehouse to find something for me. I'm grateful but my anxiety is through the roof.
What next, I don't know. Life is sometimes incredibly difficult. I know that things will work out the way they will. But until then, I worry. Constantly.