Words matter, so choose yours wisely

 

Photo: James Snell/Postmedia Network

Words matter! How we speak to another, regardless of their place in our immediate sphere determines how they will react and respond to us.

When interacting with very young children, the words we use are tailored to the notion of ‘age appropriateness’ and the listener’s ability to comprehend. Talking ‘down’ to children has potential to be demoralizing and defeating and as a consequence is not instructive. Parents brought their son or daughter into the world and now that the little people are here, the adults in the room have another role — that of teacher. A parent with a sound moral compass is able to effectively teach children right from wrong, so that a son and daughter may take their place in their community and in the broader society. Then, those young people venture forth to their first real job with real earning power, often in the food service industry. Then something horrible happens. They get screamed at for doing their job.

In this age of COVID denialism, mask defiance and vaccine defiance, what are far too many adults, Moms and Dads, really teaching their children? Is it fear that’s driving them to dismiss science, to ignore the law? Laws in place to protect all. That behaviour cannot stand without challenge. It must not stand without challenge.

Recent press has shone a light on just how out of touch with their moral compass so many people have become; supposedly mature adults, who have access to our roadways with lethal weapons, their vehicle, are screaming at restaurant wait staff claiming violation of their rights. Seriously! Those overly enraged people are in COVID shock, trapped in a rolling drum of emotions that they don’t know what to do with. With diminished coping skills, they jeopardize the health and safety of those around them who are trying to do the right things in spite of the turmoil.

Young people, as example, are working to pay for school, or just pay their way in life in general. The human brain isn’t fully developed until at least 25, so for men and women beyond that age screaming at children, yes children, is unacceptable no matter how those who do it try to spin it. COVID isn’t going away any time soon so it’s time for everyone who is eligible to get the vaccine so that life can get back to some semblance of normal, or at the very least, a ‘new normal’ that is kinder and gentler. The holiday season needs that peace.

Historically and sadly, holiday time brings out the very worst in some people and it’s the same angst year after year. Since COVID visited the world a few years ago, the anger meter of far too many is off the charts. It’s unfortunate and clearly unacceptable that their behaviour is doing potentially irreparable damage to those in their communities who are tasked with providing service or keeping citizens safe and healthy. Young people are the future. Have we forgotten that?

Step away from your self-serving ME and get to know the WE you used to be or could be. There are so many things that both young and old could be doing to lift their spirits. Being vaccinated provides us with more freedom of movement within the community to engage in activities we enjoy. It also opens the doors to new opportunities as the job/career landscape has changed during COVID times.

Food banks are scrambling to serve the food insecure and you can contribute to bending and perhaps breaking the back of that problem by donating your time and energy to such worthy causes. They get lots of peanut butter, jam and jelly, but they don’t get enough loaves of bread to put under it. English muffins, flat breads, pita breads are great alternatives that would be most welcome. Use your voice to spread the word about expanding contributions to food banks and other such venues whose mission is to ensure a better quality of health and wellness for those who are struggling and have done so for decades, long before COVID visited. When the lesser among us are healthier, all are healthier, making for a holiday time that’s less stressful and more meaningful. Raise a glass to yourself.

Carla MacInnis Rockwell is a freelance writer and disability rights advocate living outside Fredericton, NB with Miss Lexie, a rambunctious Maltese and Mr. Malcolm, a boisterous Havanese. She can be reached via email at Carla MacInnis Rockwell

Bob, the times need to change a bit faster

“You don’t sound disabled.” Words heard almost  40 years ago during a telephone interview when I had to disclose a mobility disorder because the location of the job was hampered by steps and the building had no elevator. I had to take a pass on the employment opportunity.

Suffice to say I was mortified at the interviewer’s attitude. After all, it was only a few years before, in 1981, that the world shared the International Year of Persons with Disability. It was also the year that Prince Charles married Lady Diana Spencer, both patrons of a range of agencies and organizations advocating on behalf of persons with challenges to daily living. 

Time marches on and I heard those very words — “you don’t  sound disabled” —  just a few weeks ago. To say my head was figuratively spinning is an understatement. How can it be that such attitudes about people can be so fixed in the minds of so many? It’s like they’ve been living under a rock while life moved on without them. Attitude awareness requires a commitment to change; to be sincere in efforts to make the world a more inclusive and  better place for those among us disadvantaged by circumstances beyond our control.

The nature of the exchange I had recently was such that the person would be attending at Chez Rockwell to provide services critical to home maintenance. The more the man talked the more uncomfortable I became about just how competent he was and whether I wanted to allow him into my home. I may be totally wrong about his character but first impressions are telling.  My impression of  the gentleman told me is that I couldn’t allow myself to hire him.  I thanked him for taking the time with me and bid him a good day. The second call I made  provided me with exactly what I needed. Words matter.

It’s unfortunate that in 2021, I and so many in like circumstance must do battle with the attitudes others hold about us as a group. Some among us become demoralized and give up; at least for awhile. Others press on  in spite of the misconceptions and ill-chosen words that effectively diminish them human beings. That’s just wrong. There is no getting around it. Words matter.

Not only do I not sound disabled, it’s been said that I don’t sound like a New Brunswicker though I don’t know about that. I’m sure I have that certain ‘tell' that reveals my place/province of birth, though I can say with certainty that one particular NB colloquialism that I’ve never used is ‘some good’ when expounding upon the quality of something, particularly an item of food. By the way, ‘eh’ is not in my vocabulary, either. How did that happen?

It’s a given that we are going to harbour certain views about people; it’s often more related to their socio-economic status and preconceived notions we have about them because of the reality that they have money, the means to enrich their lifestyle at will while so many struggle to meet the demands of basic necessities of life. Those who may not have the financial means do have the wherewithal to improve their lot in other ways and that’s what propels them forward, so that even in spite of challenges to daily living such as physical disability imposes— it’s not going to hold them back and won’t be a deterrent to getting them where they need to be in life. 

Though I don’t sound disabled, how I do sound makes an impact out there in the world. The same is true for anyone as he makes his way through life. 

Polishing our speech so that we more easily fit into the workplace where we conduct business to earn a living is critical to our sustained success. Mimicking the habits of successful people while still embracing what makes us unique allows men and women of any age to find their voice, find their way. We can change the world with our words, no matter how we sound. These times need to change a bit faster if the world is to turn itself around.

Carla MacInnis Rockwell is a freelance writer and disability rights advocate living outside Fredericton, NB with Miss Lexie, a rambunctious Maltese and Mr. Malcolm, a boisterous Havanese. She can be reached via email at Carla MacInnis Rockwell

Daily engagement is vital to wellness

All around us are people who are of ill health or failing health or living with the knowledge that in a few months they will no longer be with us. Each day is a gift and we all, in our own unique way, have opportunity to share that gift with another, whether for a few minutes, an hour, an afternoon, a day, a few days. Life and all the trappings are tied up in a common thread — choice. Boredom can and does weigh us down so it’s vital we find something, anything, to help keep us engaged and present. For me, it’s a daily dose of online scrabble after I’ve done my daily chores. Then there’s reading and writing. Baking and cooking are givens.

There are so many people who are alone; some by choice, others by circumstance out of their control. We each have a story. As for me, I’ve surrounded myself with things that engage my brain; books and music, old movies, favourite television programs. I don’t ‘allow’ myself to be bored. As I’ve often told people - so long as one can wipe his own butt and breathe without mechanical aid he has no right to plead boredom.  

I suppose having lived a life that was challenged by progressive fatigue associated with aging with cerebral palsy has set me on a path to make decisions that protect my physical body. Living outside the city has impacted my social connectedness but not so much that I lack for interactions with people I can actually see breathing and with whom I may share coffee and cake from time to time. That’s the key  — from time to time. My biggest concern has always been about the emotional welfare of my pets. I’d love to be able to easily and safely take them out for walks, tethered to my mobility scooter, but rural living makes that somewhat prohibitive given the likelihood of coming across an unleashed larger dog with a proclivity to gobble up ‘little bites’. City life is the one for dogs like mine — froo-froo lap dogs toddling along in the park, attached to designer leashes wearing the latest fashion statement canine cape.

Every now and then I express the sentiment that I should get a housemate — not only to defray costs, but also as a level of security. Being on my own at 67, given my ‘compromised’ health status has inherent risks but I don’t fixate on what might happen or what could happen. I go with the flow, from day to day, always having a plan for how to do things and knowing when I shouldn’t go downstairs to put wood in the stove, or knowing when I shouldn’t try to take trash to roadside on collection day. How my body feels and how my legs move function as a gauge with regard to tasks for the day. Certainly it would be nice to have a roommate to share the task loads - doing some things more easily and more quickly than I can. Oh what a relief it would be.

Key to successful home alone living is to establish very early on a routine that satisfies the basic needs and then extends outwards. We who are aging in place with disabling conditions that preclude full participation on a consistent daily basis don’t have to feel ‘less than’ ‘because of’. Rather, we should work at strengthening those skills that enhance the quality of our lives. 

Holidays and all the trappings of frivolity and gift giving often pose significant stress to those who just can’t get into the spirit or feel that their impoverished circumstance make it impossible to be part of the holiday party scene. Persons on fixed incomes, or living on the financial edge day in and day out tend not to look for the silver lining. There is one you know. The silver lining is found when you let go of trying to keep up with the Joneses and allow yourself to just be YOU. 

Carla MacInnis Rockwell is a freelance writer and disability rights advocate living outside Fredericton, NB with Miss Lexie, a rambunctious Maltese and Mr. Malcolm, a boisterous Havanese. She can be reached via email at carmacrockwell@xplornet.ca 

In plumbing and in life, we have the tools to fix what is broken

Photo: Flickr/Erich Ferdinand

           What is it with me and plumbing fixtures? My first plumbing disaster months ago was with a toilet. In an effort to clear calcium deposit in the outlet, I tapped with a hammer; a piece broke off.  Oops!

Recently, I did it again. I had a go at fixing a water flow problem in the bathroom sink. Those with hard water know what I’m talking about. That build-up in the aerator that slows water to a trickle. Not an expensive fix if I had a few extra aerators and just replaced it!  But oh no! I sprayed vinegar around it and use pliers to remove. I put the cruddy aerator in a saucer and  with a sprinkle of soda and a vinegar spritz. The white hardened deposit flaked right off. All good! Then my mistake. I used pliers to tighten the aerator once I put it back on the faucet.  In turning it with the pliers, I applied too much pressure and broke a plastic piece inside the  faucet. I didn’t learn until a plumber visited that there even was a plastic piece inside the faucet.

Initially, when turning on the tap, water was flowing just fine; then the unthinkable happened. It was escaping at the elbow and going directly onto the floor inside the sink cabinet. And there it was! My OMG what I have I done moment.  I immediately turned off the water. Point of access shut-offs are critical!

I called my good and faithful plumber and his associate booked an appointment. They have been insanely busy and I appreciated that they did their best to accommodate me. You don’t realize how much you miss a bathroom sink until you don’t have access to it. Points to ponder.

When the plumber and his apprentice came to remedy the problem, they could have pointed and laughed, given ‘the thing’ with the toilet bowl, but they didn’t. After their inspection under the sink, I was vindicated.

They discovered that the plumbing pipes inside the cabinet were not aligned so, over time, they simply shifted. That was not my fault! When I leaned onto the bowl to put the aerator back on, that was just enough to push on the pipes to allow water escape. The primary culprit, truth be told, was the person who installed the pipes in the first place. That’s on him. I relied on him to ensure a quality install; clearly, I didn’t get what I paid for. Moaning about it would do me no good in the current circumstance. 

The bathroom fiascos turned out to be life lessons. Costly ones, certainly, but within them I leaned a few things. Notably, that I shouldn’t do a job for which I am not trained

The same is true in our daily lives. For so many, COVID confinement has put into the closet the ‘better angels’ with whom we walk. Tempers flare at the least little thing. Families become divided over beliefs about vaccines. Mild irritation goes from a simmer to a boil with anger reaching the point where husbands and wives, brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles are so fractured they see no way back.  The screaming, the yelling, then the walking away, with declarations they’re not looking back. Friends are falling away from social groups, often in self-preservation. Take a breath everyone! Like the plumber had tools to fix my toilet and sink, we have tools to fix relationships — if we want to. 

In this age of technology, the one sided approach may be  a first step. Write a letter — put pen to paper. It’s more personal than an email and taking the time to write and mail a letter illustrates that you’re willing to take a step forward. Then wait.  I’m of the belief that anything is possible. If the door to reconciliation is opened with a reply in kind, a call or email, take the win. Reach out and talk.

Carla MacInnis Rockwell is a freelance writer and disability rights advocate living outside Fredericton, NB with Miss Lexie, a rambunctious Maltese and Mr. Malcolm, the boisterous Havanese. She can be reached via email at carmacrockwell@xplornet.ca

I am not lonely in my solitude

Photo: Azin Ghaffari/Post Media

   In the words of the Belgian poet, May Sarton  “loneliness is the poverty of self; solitude is the richness of self.” 

COVID  has taken so much life and living away from millions across the globe, being especially impactful on the very young and the very old; men, women and children who fall into pockets of society where those compromised by ongoing illness, disease or condition that diminishes access to inclusion in life’s daily activities are living. Very often, they are the most at risk due to inherent stressors of their circumstance.

As we approach the holiday season and all that entails, the lonely are even more mired down in their often demoralized lives. The financially fragile struggle to make ends meet and to keep up the wants of children in their care who are influenced by the Madison Avenue machine and the televised hype targeting them. Spending on gifts may not be an option and many will isolate themselves as a way to cope with what they no longer have; for lots of people, they’ve never had that spend-ability as every penny goes to costs of daily living. Added to the ranks are those, due to COVID ’s assault on the  economy, who’ve lost jobs or abandoned jobs. Families with young children are caught in the cross-hairs on a daily basis, having to juggle almost every minute of the day to make sure they can get it all done. Reality tells us that’s not possible as is evidenced by the demand for more paediatric mental health counsellors and clinicians working with seniors and geriatric populations who are falling further down the rabbit hole.

Solitude is enjoyed by those like me who made the decision early on that being on their own is not always a bad thing or a wrong thing as they adjusted their life compass, adapting to being alone; folks such as I whose lives have been challenged by compromised health or certain disabilities that preclude full inclusion into daily living in the ‘out and about’ world develop such skills very early on. I’ve spent decades creating a ‘comfort space’ for myself, realizing early that there would always be things I could never do by virtue of living of cerebral palsy. There are other things.

As frustrating as that has been over the years, I’ve managed to press on;  being angry or fixating on what one doesn’t have is a fool’s game, wasting valuable time that could be spent  engaged in the purposeful and the enjoyable. Taking time to explore opportunities may reveal options you never thought about; your major wow moment. Solitude is not about not wanting to be with other people. It’s about being with yourself.

We’ve been ‘confined to quarters’ as the COVID virus spreads, out of control in so many places because naysayers are defying science and the law to make a statement about personal freedom and choice and not getting vaccinated. Their defiance puts people in their immediate circle at significant risk. As well, their oppositional posture is contributing to the loneliness of the most vulnerable among us and that is not acceptable. It will never be acceptable. No one consciously chooses loneliness as the way it’s going to be in their world. There are many things over which we have no control and COVID is one of them. Here’s the thing — each and every one of us, across the globe, is in the same boat. What’s disheartening is that far too many ME people are making life far more challenging for the rest. 

Loneliness is viewed as a negative state marked by a sense of isolation and disconnect from community with a feeling that something is missing.  As COVID restrictions spread out across many countries around the world, people who functioned well in solitude found themselves experiencing a kind of stress like no other.  It’s pushed them into a state of feeling lonely; access to close friends has been diminished.  With acute loneliness one may feel isolated whether they’re surround by others or not. Negative feelings of self-doubt and self-worth begin to weigh on them. Civil discourse has fallen by the wayside and it has to stop. You can help. Be a good neighbour.

 Carla MacInnis Rockwell is a freelance writer and disability rights advocate living outside Fredericton, NB with Miss Lexie, a rambunctious Maltese and Mr. Malcolm, the boisterous Havanese. She can be reached via email at Carla MacInnis Rockwell

Extra Mural Program keeps me mobile one foot at a time

  

Photo: BNI Archives

        Since 2007, after my husband passed away, I’ve had an ongoing relationship with New Brunswick’s Extra Mural Program aka EMP, often called ‘a hospital without walls’. 

A physiotherapist visited me a few months after the death of my husband to determine what my ongoing ‘home alone’ needs would be in order that I would be safe within the parameters of living and aging with spastic diplegic cerebral palsy. At that time, it was decided that I would benefit from a walker. Choosing one with four wheels, I have found it to be a huge assist to my daily ambulation. Moving around inside and outside my home had always been relatively easy as I pay close attention to surroundings. Housework was undertaken in blocks, based on related tasks, room by room with no going back and forth with no rushing. Staying focused ensured I stayed safe and well and reduced the potential for falling injuries. 

In my 67 years of living with CP, I’ve fallen only a few times and without injury. Luck ran out when,  in the early 80s, I tripped over my black cat, Mr. Basil, dislocating my dominant elbow, landing me in the hospital for a month unable to use crutches or propel a wheelchair. I stayed at the then Northern Carleton Hospital during that period, after which there was weekly therapy for 9 months at the Stan Cassidy Center to regain range of motion.

Fast forward to current time where a  falling injury, given my advanced age, could do me major harm or very possibly do me in with regard to independent living. Thus the value of EMP interventions.

How many seniors have sustained serious falls in the home that required surgical intervention followed by at-home care with visiting clinicians from Extra Mural?  Where would they be without that intervention? A huge debt of gratitude is owed to the men and women of EMP who go above and beyond to restore New Brunswickers in need of their services to a level of independence in daily living that most of us enjoy with ease. To not do our part and follow through with daily program designed by the care team insults their role as providers of health care with their time and attention to us. If you’re guilty of doing that, just stop it. If you’ve been given a list of exercises to do a few times a day, DO them!

As a child, growing into cerebral palsy, I was exercised 4 times a day for 12 years and had no choice in the matter; those pushes and pulls hurt. They hurt a lot. I can honestly say, in retrospect, were they not done and had I not been blessed with parents committed to my daily care, I’d not still be uprightly mobile today. That is the truth.

Today, I’m fortunate to have access to a fine therapist who works with me to keep my legs in good form so I may continue getting around in my home. We’re currently challenged by the recovery process after the TIA and my brain is being retrained, revisiting many of the exercises that were done to me as a very small child. They’re tweaking muscle memory to get me back to more efficient stepping and heel-toeing.

For many  years, the Extra Mural Program specialists have visited homes across the province, working with patients coping with a range of situations, whether related to aging or focused on recovery after surgery or some other medical intervention. Their goal is to work with  the individual so that greater mobility and confidence is restored so that independent living may continue. Staying in the home safely and well is the goal and those availing themselves of the services of  the EMP have a duty to ‘get with the program’. As I’ve said before, clinicians are like Santa - they know when a patient has or has not done daily exercises. It’s patently unfair to them and to folks on wait lists if those currently utilizing their services aren’t going to be compliant.  I do my part with stretching and ankle-foot rotations and heel cord strengthening standing with my walker. The therapist does the heavy lifting and I tell him at every visit that I appreciate his involvement in keeping me forward moving — one floppy foot at a time.

Carla MacInnis Rockwell is a freelance writer and disability rights advocate living outside Fredericton, NB with Miss Lexie, a rambunctious Maltese and Mr. Malcolm, the boisterous Havanese. She can be reached via email at Carla MacInnis Rockwell

Vitamins are critical to good health

Transient Ischemic Attack (TIA) erroneously called a mini-stroke, is often a precursor to a full-on stroke. It’s more appropriate to call it a ‘warning stroke’. 

After my own experience with a TIA, what I call a bump on the brain, the 2nd in my 67 years, I decided to immediately go into action to regain as much as I could; it’s imperative that I be able to walk with crutches again as I rely on the walking as another way to stay toned. Wheeling around when I’m in the city gets me where I need to go quickly, but I spent years learning how to walk and I’d hate not to be able to efficiently do it again. Tenacity propels me forward.

For years, I’ve been taking a range of vitamins and minerals, a morning round and a bedtime round. Notable among them are magnesium, C, D, Zinc and B Complex. I had taken a course of B12 years ago to treat implications of carpal tunnel syndrome. At diagnosis of CTS, surgery was recommended but I couldn’t risk anything at all going wrong with my hand, so I opted out. The B12 aka methylcobalamin wasn’t going to hurt. As it turned out, it resolved the issue totally and I’ve not had another episode of CTS.

When I learned B12 was indicated to heal the brain after stroke or TIA, I decided I’d just go ahead and take as directed. I informed my doctor of the plan. Living with CP among other issues affecting mobility and general health, it was critical that the residual effects of the TIA be banished from my body as soon as possible.

All B vitamins are crucial for overall brain health, but vitamin B12 may be the most important. That’s because it may help improve general cognitive and motor function, and possibly help prevent a second stroke, doing this by repairing and protecting the health of neurons, the basic cells of the brain. This has enormous implications for stroke recovery. Vitamin B12 can help patients regenerate neurons and improve neural communications, allowing survivors to improve various stroke side effects, such as impaired movement.

I took B12 for a week following the TIA and found that it has helped. I will continue to take it throughout my life with an every other month for 7 days schedule. As an infant, my brain was insulted by cerebral palsy; the TIA was my senior citizen warning. Nutrition and supplementing will hold me in good stead and it is my hope that I won’t have to join those in the ‘I take 10 doctor drugs a day’ group. Far too often script meds are contraindicated and some actually compete with each other, not always in a good way. So far, I’m a single script drug user. I hope I am able to maintain that status for many years to come.

In addition to boosting overall brain function, vitamin B12 also promotes axonal growth after a brain injury. Axons are the part of a neuron that connects it to other neurons, where the electrical impulses that a neuron sends travel.

Without axons it would be impossible for any of the billions of neurons in the brain to communicate with each other. After a stroke, many of these axons are destroyed when blood flow is cut off, leading to loss of function. With CP, it’s very often an infection that causes the deficits to brain development. My late father, a doctor, felt that it was, indeed, an infection within weeks of birth that set the stage for my  own diagnosis of CP when I was just over a year old old.

Since I’ve had brain building and repairing vitamins and minerals on board for decades, I am confident that my brain will be sufficiently protected from future insult. In the meantime, my goal is to work on getting back in step so that I may do the occasional walk-about outside with my crutches. Walking in the house is going well and I’m back to doing all those kitcheny things I enjoy so much. I continue to focus on foods that will contribute to brain health. I’m all about the fish, and my home made yogurt, of course. 

As with all things, consult with your physician before undertaking any protocol you read about. What might work for one person may not be appropriate for you.

Carla MacInnis Rockwell is a freelance writer and disability rights advocate living outside Fredericton, NB with Miss Lexie, a rambunctious Maltese and Mr. Malcolm, the boisterous Havanese. She can be reached via email at Carla MacInnis Rockwell

Life with dogs can make flooring a challenge

Miss Lexie enjoying her spot in the sun

As one who lives with challenges to mobility, I am acutely aware of surfaces underfoot, whether inside or outside. Paved. Gravel. Brick. I tune myself in to flooring in the homes of people I visit, whether I’ve been there previously; it’s all about setting the stage for how I move. Will I need my crutches? Is the distance between potential ‘touch spots’ sufficient for me to move along without the crutches?

Here at Chez Rockwell, the floors are a combination of clickable laminate that is textured and non-slip and a commercial, no pile carpet. 

I hate shoes and walk around in sock feet; textured laminate is safe to walk on without fear of slipping and it’s very easy to maintain. I had it installed in the most oft-used spaces in my home; TV room-office, kitchen, dining room, and on the landing at the front door. The rest of the main floor is a sand colored commercial, no pile carpet. Ceramic tile is in the bathroom. I don’t know where my head was on that choice. 

Then there are the hand-hooked rugs, 3 of which I  made as a young child, and 2 more created after I moved into my home in 1991. When I was young, my father felt that anything that  would strengthen the spine and improve sitting balance and posture was always a good thing. Rug hooking was the therapy that wasn’t; I just remember enjoying creating them. During that period, I also did a lot of knitting, having been taught by my paternal grandmother to knit right-handed; I was the only leftie under the MacInnis roof. Dad used to comment that I  was rather like Madame Defarge with her mad knitting. It reasoned that I’d have to become acquainted with the works of Dickens! Those three rugs created in my childhood I did not get until after Mom passed away. The same was true with other things I created over those years. 

For years, in my home, my first rug creation was in the hallway between the two bedrooms; the other two were downstairs. Of the two last rugs made, one is in the living room and the other is the TV/room office. The living room rug creation used to be in front of the sofa but I moved it, thanks to the puppy behaviour of Mr. Malcolm. He was a busy little fellow in those early days, after he became more reliable with potty training and had greater freedom in the house. I didn’t always check on him so I am party to his crime of  ‘chew it til there’s a big hole in it’.  

His first major offence was committed weeks before the rug rearranging in the livingroom. He took it upon himself to nibble away at the hooked rug in the hallway to the point where there was a noticeable chunk missing - right in the middle, which was a solid colour section; the border was a floral design. I still haven’t thrown that rug out. It’s in the laundry room - perhaps I could have it cut in half and bind the edges. Shame to get rid of it. Right? But I digress.

The busy boy puppy just couldn’t help himself with that first rug. It had years of dog and cat scents aged into it; though washed a few times over the years, a dog’s nose knows! That rug, in his little canine brain, was an interloper into his personal space and just had to go and he was going to make that happen.

As to his stealth attack on the carpet in the living room, I’m convinced he discovered a bit of dried on canned food thanks to Miss Lexie! He just had to eat it, taking a bit of the carpet along with it. The hole, though not huge, was certainly noticeable but I wasn’t prepared to replace flooring so I did the next best thing. I morphed into Martha Stewart and put down one of my rug creations, positioned between two ottomans, covering the spot. Mr. M. has shown no interest in chewing, as my sister in law thought he’d do. He’s a big boy now! On to our next adventure.

Carla MacInnis Rockwell is a freelance writer and disability rights advocate living outside Fredericton, NB with Miss Lexie, a rambunctious Maltese and Mr. Malcolm, the boisterous Havanese. She can be reached via email at  Carla MacInnis Rockwell

Well-meaning ‘helpers’ can create big problems for persons with disability

 A second wheeled walker ensures safety during recovery 

from transient ischemic attack (Photo Submitted)

“OMG, I broke you!,” words said to my friend, Kathy,  as we sat in her jeep in my garage, about to head off to the Stanley Health Center. The vehicle is high and has a step. I cannot efficiently lift my feet, so I would turn around and position myself against the side of the seat and Kathy would hold up both legs while I pulled myself in. Then it happened!  She screamed! In just a split second, Kathy injured her back. She actually asked me if I heard the crack. I did not. I was terrified and we both almost started to cry. It was a mess! Mess be damned we carried on to the  Center.

Once there, I slithered out of the passenger seat and grabbed my crutches and then noticed that I could not move my feet! No heel-toe lift. Nothing! I had struggled in the garage at home just moments earlier. For several days, I hadn’t been feeling ‘right’, having experienced a sharp pain at the base of my skull. It didn’t last long, but long enough for me to wonder about it. I was actually going to put the TENS pads on it for a bit of therapy. Never got around to it and carried on with my day. 

At the clinic, to find that my mobility was messed up, was concerning. Two nurses saw me and came out with a wheelchair.  One of them, Nancy, had to resist the urge to ‘help’ me. Her hands were outstretched. Thanks for the welcomed boost into the car, Nancy. 

Here’s why helping is not always a good thing — I have spent decades fine-tuning mechanisms that get me from point A to B, whether inside or outside my home. At home, growing up, Dad would always remind my younger, very tall brother to pull his feet in as I passed by him in the TV room, usually free walking; wobbly walking without my crutches.  Occasionally, I had to alter my walking/stepping behaviour to accommodate extra bodies in the house with the likelihood that, at any moment, one of them might move, throwing my balance into chaos. A ‘helpful’ person who puts their hands on me unawares, startles me. I could twist. I could fracture a hip, or even my spine, trying to ‘save’ myself from a perceived threat to my upright mobility and safety; a harm created by someone interfering with how I move. That ‘save’ could potentially land me in the hospital where I’d be at even greater risk with even more ‘manhandling’. Scary proposition! How would you feel in the circumstance? Think!

It turns out that I experienced a TIA and the residual effect of that sharp pain in my head is that I can no longer lift my feet to heel-toe step/walk; at present, the ability to use my crutches is gone.  I’m in rest and recovery mode. 

I am actually terrified to go to hospital for anything. Far too many bedside caregivers do not listen; do not hear. That is unacceptable. Full stop! How I move myself, seat myself, plan to stand up and step are always issues that I point out to staff only I must be responsible for. Though well meaning, one wrong move from them trying to assist, could cause me to lose the privilege of continued living in my home and being able to care for my dogs. That, people, what a caregiver not thinking about me as a person could cost me. Mentally, that is not a good place to be.

Across the province and across the country, in each and every hospital and facility that provides in-patient care, there must be standards in place specific to those with challenges to mobility whether since birth or late onset. Many of  us live independent lives, are home owners, have jobs and contribute to the economy. Our disabilities must not define us as people, but so many perceive us as persons in need of help and care and they must do their part. Okay, if you must, fine, but ask first! And if your help is turned down, do not view that as a slight. View it as my expression of independence and a right to be!

Carla MacInnis Rockwell is a freelance writer and disability rights advocate living outside Fredericton, NB with Miss Lexie, a rambunctious Maltese and Mr. Malcolm, the boisterous Havanese. She can be reached via email at Carla MacInnis Rockwell