Hi Darling Ones,

Yesterday I got a new set of wheels. The wheels are not attached to the red Jeep Wrangler of my teenage dreams. There was no giant bow. Instead, I got a generic Mediline wheelchair paid for by my poor people’s insurance.

Happy Birthday to me?

My birthday isn’t until next week so technically there is time for my head to clear, my right side to stop being a dick, and someone to buy me a car. But, if I’m being honest, I’d rather get LEGOs, plants, and records for my birthday. Cars are overrated.

Darling Ones, I am struggling with this latest development. My internalized ableism has crashed into my fat-trauma and they have leveled me. I worry people will think I’m too fat or too lazy to walk. Hell, half the time I worry if I’m “disabled enough” to warrant using a wheelchair, which is ridiculous. All of it is. Who cares if I do and why? I don’t scrutinize wheelchair users. In fact, I give them no more thought than I do blondes or someone wearing a hat. It’s something I notice and then move on.

I’m embarrassed that I need one. I feel like I failed. All I’ve wanted since the stroke was to be able to walk again. Well, walk for more than 90 seconds unassisted. You can want something with your entire heart and do everything you can to achieve it and still fail. I know this and yet. . . it still packs a wallop when the failure comes with wheels.

On my less charitable days I call myself lazy. I chastise myself for not trying hard enough. I tell myself it’s all in my head, because it literally is. Sometimes I wonder if maybe I’m making it all up.

But then I check in with my body and the wooshiness is always there. It’s better on some days than others, depending on how well I’ve slept. The almost dizziness plus lightheadedness and that feeling you get the moment you start to fall is my constant companion. It’s there no matter what I do, even if all I’m doing is sitting in a chair typing.

On my better days I’m in awe of all I can accomplish with this annoying distraction always in my head. I cook and clean and crochet and take care of cats and do laundry and even write all while the weird thing is happening in my head, even while my eyes struggle to stay focused. What I can do is amazing.

Last night I managed to move my king-size bed about three inches away from the wall so I could fit my stool next to the bed making it easier to put new sheets on. It was so hard and it took forever, but I did it. I did it!

And I will do this too. I will be a wheelchair user and it will be okay. I already went through all the red tape to get it. My mom is thrilled about it. The Tea Ladies can’t wait to pick me up so we can all go for coffee. I know the wheelchair is a good thing and will allow me to get back out into the world, but right now I kind of hate it.

Life would be so much easier if things were more cut and dry. All one thing or another. Maybe that’s what I should wish for. . . but I still think I’d rather have LEGOs.

Your dream on a mean machine with hell in her eyes,
Jodi