Picture of a wheelchair

eBay Delivered Me Irony in a Box

Lately, it’s been quite the ‘ride’. After my latest urine sample fiasco (read about it here), the story continues. But I suppose as long as there is life, there is a story.

During the worst health crash of my life the past few weeks, thanks to Myalgic Encephalomyelitis (M.E.), and during this crazy pandemic of COVID-19, self-isolation, UK lock down and all the craziness that goes with it, the time finally came.

We had tossed around the need on other occasions, but this time there was no question: If I have days like these that I can’t lift a fork or comb my hair or operate my insulin pump and for sure not walk to the loo on my own, I’m gonna need one.

We ordered a wheelchair. {My new ‘ride’.}

The irony? It arrived the day I was able to do all of those things I listed above, on my own again.

I actually met the delivery man at the garage door (from a safe social distance, of course.) He grunted and groaned as he lifted the large box from his van and carried it like you’d carry a wiggly baby elephant, if given the chance. (I’m obviously an expert on this simile with all of my elephant carrying experience and expertise.)

“Is this an outdoor chair?” he asked after glancing at the label.

“No. It’s a wheelchair, actually.”

“Oh!” he said. “No one wants a wheelchair.”

True story Mr. Delivery Dude, I thought with internal sarcasm. (Don’t worry. I just smiled as I agreed.)

Although…I suppose after thinking about it for a while, there may be some bedridden people that would love to be able to use a wheelchair, with its ability to take them to a window and watch birds dance and daffodils bloom and neighbours walk their dogs in the rain.

But for me this was a step in the wrong direction. An emotional shift, yes, but more so for the practical reasons for its need. Laying in pain and in total helplessness is not a state I enjoy. (I do aim to accept and embrace whatever state I find myself in, but I honestly wouldn’t ask for ‘whatever just happened back there.’

I’m really hoping that the chair will just be backup for iffy days, but the truth is, the M.E. isn’t going to just disappear. It might not get worse and may even improve to some degree, long term, but there is no magic wand that can be waved and…poof! Gone! (Unless a miracle happens, which I’d glady welcome.) Please read this as the ‘acceptance’ I spoke of, and not pessimisim. Currently there is no treatment, nevermind a cure.

Still, I do hope this last few weeks never repeat themselves. It’s funny how good terrible feels after worse happens. Huge improvements would be very welcome, but any kind of better than that would be, well, better.

And when it comes to the wheelchair, upon sending her a picture, my friend Kath messaged me and said, “I hope that is the biggest waste of money you ever spent.”

Me too, Kath. Me. Too.