But Tuesday at dinner, Katherine said she had
seen Eddie heading to Publix in her wheelchair earlier. Wednesday, Eddie was
getting her mail when I went to get mine. Before I could say a word she
reprimanded me for going to Publix.
“I’ve thought about it, but I’ve never gone
over there,” I told her.
“When we were coming back on the bus, I saw
you going down the driveway. Where were you going? You didn’t go out on the
road, did you?”
“No. I go down to the end of the driveway
and turn around. I’m not foolish. Besides, I heard you went to Publix
yesterday.”
“Yeah, but when I go to Publix, I go down
service road by the old K-Mart. Then it’s a straight shot across. I just wait
for a break in the traffic and go.”
“Well, that’s my plan, too. I just haven’t
done it yet.”
If Eddie can do it, I can do it. And Sunday
morning, I did. At eight o’clock there isn’t much traffic, so crossing the road
wasn’t a challenge, and I had no intention to buy anything. Like the chicken,
the only reason I crossed the road was to get to the other side. But it turned
out to be a rewarding little jaunt. A man got off his bicycle near the entrance
to the Publix parking lot as I was coming across the street. I said “good
morning.” He said “good morning” and kept talking. He looked to be in his
mid-seventies.
“It’s a beautiful day, and I’ve never felt
better in my life,” he said.
He’d had a stroke about three years ago and
nearly died, he said. He was overweight and out of shape at the time, but since
then he’s been working on correcting those problems. He asked me if I lived at
Covenant Woods. I said I did.
“You know Terry? He’s a maintenance man
over there.”
“The little guy? He’s kind of hunched over?”
“That’s him,” the man said. “He’s the guy
who stayed with me and made sure I got help. He probably saved my life. If you
see him, tell him Jerry said hello.”
Apparently Terry drew the short straw and
had to work on Labor Day, and he was pitching garbage when I made my morning
trip around the grounds. I told him what Jerry had said.
“I’ve been here nine years,” Terry said.
“And I’ve been in a lot of those situations. I don’t remember each of them.”
“He doesn’t live here. He was out riding his
bicycle when I was on my way to Publix.”
Terry thought for a minute. “You say his
name is Jerry?”
“I think that’s what he said.”
He thought a little more. “Oh, now I
remember,” Terry said. “It was at the flea market. He almost didn’t make it.
He asked me to take him to the hospital. I said, ‘No way. If you go into
cardiac arrest I won’t know what to do.’ I called 911 instead, and stayed with
him until the EMTs got there.
“Thanks for telling me,” Terry said. “It’s
nice to hear that he’s taking care of himself and doing so well.”
Talking to Jerry lifted my spirits, and Terry was delighted to get an update on Jerry’s health. For not buying
anything, I came back from Publix with quite a lot.
The best thing about being in a wheelchair
is discovering how anxious people are to help. The worst thing about being in a
wheelchair is discovering how anxious people are to help. A couple weeks ago
some of us went to an organ concert at the River Center. Annie was the staff
person for the outing, and she brought along her daughter Chelsea, who is in
high school.
When we got there, another resident - a very nice woman who is nearly thirty years older than I - who had been to the River Center many times, began directing me
to the seating area for the handicapped. She delivered the directions with the expectation that they would be followed without question.
She pointed to a space, told me to pull into it and she sat in the seat
next to it. The next time I saw Annie, she told me Chelsea had watched
the woman tell me what to do and wondered if she was my girlfriend.
Friday a small group of us went up to
Georgia Aquarium in Atlanta. I was able to wander around on my own for the
first two hours. But after lunch, the place was so crowded I thought it best to
fall in behind Evelyn and Richard and let them run interference for me. Evelyn
is a kind and caring woman, but she's not afraid to take charge. She spent the afternoon
telling me to go here and go there, and to go faster or to go slower, to be careful and to get over there before anyone else has a chance. I told Annie if Chelsea had been along on this trip she
would have thought Evelyn was my mother-in-law.
And the willingness of people to help those
in a wheelchair is sometimes scary. One day last week while I was out
for my evening constitutional, I ran into two residents who are known to tip a few, or perhaps several, now and then.
“Hey, you’re getting some exercise,” one
said.
“I suppose my joystick finger is.”
“You ought to go swimming, that’s good
exercise,” he said.
Covenant Woods has a small in-ground pool
that is four feet deep, and the two men are there most afternoons.
“I could probably get in without too much
problem,” I told them. “But I’d never be able to get out.”
“We’ll get you out,” other fellow said.
Frightened by the prospect, I moseyed on.
The next day, I was telling some people about the encounter, and Sue asked,
“Did they say if they’d get out before or after they start drinking?”
“I didn’t bother to ask,” I told
her.
No comments:
Post a Comment