My dad’s world (and my family’s world) changed dramatically this month. It started with a phone message alerting me that dad wasn’t answering the door for his noon “Meals on Wheels” delivery. I wasn’t initially too concerned, because sometimes he doesn’t hear the doorbell. So I tried calling dad and left a message. Five minutes later I tried again. When another few minutes had elapsed, my anxiety began to rise. I called my cousin’s husband who lives around the corner from dad and asked him to check things out.
My relative called with an urgent tone in his voice moments later to let me know that he had found dad collapsed on the floor, unable to get up. Dad was still wearing his night clothes, so we estimated he had been there at least five hours. His “Life Line,” which would have detected the fall, was later found on his bathroom counter. Continue reading →
The analogy made perfect sense to me. My dear friend, who has courageously struggled with several disabilities throughout her life, passed on a story about a young woman who was trying to describe what it’s like to have limited energy.
“Imagine you are given twelve spoons at the beginning of the day,” the story goes. Each spoon represents energy expenditure . . . physical, mental, and emotional. For most people, twelve spoons are more than enough to sail through the day, and they can always go to their silverware drawer and get more, if needed. However, in the case of someone with a chronic illness or disability, seemingly small activities can cause a spoon to disappear before a “normal” person has even touched one. Continue reading →