I went on a short excursion from BBH (Bailey Boushay House, my hospice facility). I was tormented with suicidal thoughts to the point that I was planning my act. Thus I thought it prudent to get into a different environment to help change my headspace.
Though I was a mess with dishelveled hair, red, swollen eyes, and bare of foot, I determined to go out for a walk, so to speak. I am, retroactively, grateful that they did not deny me my rights out of hand, like was the practice of Life Care Center of Federal Way. They assigned me a patient care technician to walk alongside my power wheelchair and down the road I wen.t.
Heading down Madison Avenue towards Lake Washington on the north side of the street, I crossed Martin Luther King, Jr to pass an eatery I've wanted to try since landing at BBH. Dinnertime and Luc was full up with contented diners leaving the bustling establishment. I felt a twinge of regret they had to see miserable me on their egress. Even ignoring the pleas of my walking companion to discuss what was agonizing me. How do you propose I tell you when you do not speak ALS? When I have so much pain to pour out? When I cannot stop the tears long enough to form a single word on my eye gaze enabled speech device? When I left the bulky contraption back at BBH to optimize my viewing and navigating abilities?
We passed by many tiny storefronts selling furnishings, yoga, chocolates, nail painting, framing, and wine. What stopped me in my tracks? The full beautiful purple blossoms of the butterfly bush held my gaze as did the yucca in full bloom at the base of a telephone pole. A breeze rustled the leaves of a gigantic poplar towering over a craftsman home commanding my rapt attention. Across Madison, sat City Peoples, closed for business for the day. I wished it were open. Also across the street was my old favorite yarn shop, Tricoter, except that it seeming to move to a smaller suite, also closed.
I had trouble with forward movement since my hand control got bumped again but I was determined to move away from my place of forced residency. Even with the difficulty, I had to redouble my effort to not turn left at Lake Washington Blvd to go see the Japanese Garden.
I learned that my respiratory system is more compromised than ever. Smells are everywhere. Exhaust, flowers, trees, foods but what really got me was the fuel smells as I passed the Shell gas station. Whew! It slammed into me like a wall. The sidewalks were a mess. Sure, the edges of the upended slabs were ground down making passage possible but it jostled me almost to the point of causing whiplash. No kidding! The worst part of my delightful walk was the abrupt end of the accessible crosswalks. I felt cheated. I had no choice but to turn around and go back.
Coming back was easier but I was not happy about Having to come back. Did it get me out of my "no hope" mood? It did. Not elated but more elevated than I was. No permanent solution to a temporary problem. That wouldn't have made much sense.
Though I was a mess with dishelveled hair, red, swollen eyes, and bare of foot, I determined to go out for a walk, so to speak. I am, retroactively, grateful that they did not deny me my rights out of hand, like was the practice of Life Care Center of Federal Way. They assigned me a patient care technician to walk alongside my power wheelchair and down the road I wen.t.
Heading down Madison Avenue towards Lake Washington on the north side of the street, I crossed Martin Luther King, Jr to pass an eatery I've wanted to try since landing at BBH. Dinnertime and Luc was full up with contented diners leaving the bustling establishment. I felt a twinge of regret they had to see miserable me on their egress. Even ignoring the pleas of my walking companion to discuss what was agonizing me. How do you propose I tell you when you do not speak ALS? When I have so much pain to pour out? When I cannot stop the tears long enough to form a single word on my eye gaze enabled speech device? When I left the bulky contraption back at BBH to optimize my viewing and navigating abilities?
We passed by many tiny storefronts selling furnishings, yoga, chocolates, nail painting, framing, and wine. What stopped me in my tracks? The full beautiful purple blossoms of the butterfly bush held my gaze as did the yucca in full bloom at the base of a telephone pole. A breeze rustled the leaves of a gigantic poplar towering over a craftsman home commanding my rapt attention. Across Madison, sat City Peoples, closed for business for the day. I wished it were open. Also across the street was my old favorite yarn shop, Tricoter, except that it seeming to move to a smaller suite, also closed.
I had trouble with forward movement since my hand control got bumped again but I was determined to move away from my place of forced residency. Even with the difficulty, I had to redouble my effort to not turn left at Lake Washington Blvd to go see the Japanese Garden.
I learned that my respiratory system is more compromised than ever. Smells are everywhere. Exhaust, flowers, trees, foods but what really got me was the fuel smells as I passed the Shell gas station. Whew! It slammed into me like a wall. The sidewalks were a mess. Sure, the edges of the upended slabs were ground down making passage possible but it jostled me almost to the point of causing whiplash. No kidding! The worst part of my delightful walk was the abrupt end of the accessible crosswalks. I felt cheated. I had no choice but to turn around and go back.
Coming back was easier but I was not happy about Having to come back. Did it get me out of my "no hope" mood? It did. Not elated but more elevated than I was. No permanent solution to a temporary problem. That wouldn't have made much sense.
Comments
Post a Comment