“I don’t want a wheelchair”.
But he opened the box anyway, took out a screwdriver and made the adjustments. Then he sat down in it.
“Not bad” he commented. “Surprisingly comfortable”.
The wheelchair sat by his bed, serving two functions. It stopped him falling out, which is what you want with cancer in the bones, and it served as a stroller. Now he could decide when he was going to get up, or walk across the room, and did not have to ask for help.
He used it happily for a couple of weeks as a stroller, then he was in it. Now he found its limitations. It was not electric so he either had to propel it himself or get someone to push it. It did not have big wheels so he could not propel it himself. So he kicked the footrests up and propelled the chair with his feet.
The wheelchair took him on his last journey to the ambulance taking him to hospital, and came back empty.
He loved that wheelchair, and so did I. How can you love an inanimate object? I did not think that possible.
In a few weeks it had become an extension of him, replacing the independence and safety he had lost.
It came, just when needed.
The hero of the hour.
Copyright 2014 Prayerwarriorpsychicnot