Copper wire theft is a manifold crime

 

Luke Sharrett/Bloomberg

It happened again!! For a third time, I became a crime victim and I am all at once furious and concerned. On Friday, 13 October 2023, I and my neighbours were assaulted by thieves – copper wire thieves. Make no mistake, it is not a victimless crime. One of my neighbours, Sarah English, who works with the Stanley Volunteer Fire Department, came to my home to do a wellness check. She had  called Bell Aliant to inform them of my ‘person with disability’ status and that I was home alone. She told me to stay in touch via Facebook if I required assistance of any kind. Knowing that Bell Aliant  was prioritizing medical/health needs in situations like mine is vital to ensuring that those among us who are least able to help ourselves are reassured that all that needs to be done as expeditiously as possible will be done. I am thankful the thievery didn’t occur in the midst of winter, in frigid temperatures.

The last time it happened was on the morning of February 16th at around 11:00a.m. Before that my safety and that of my neighbours took a hit on 18 January 2023. Two criminal acts against home owners and others within a month. A month! What these persons fail to realize is that they’re stealing more than copper wire. They’re stealing security and peace of mind. Clearly, they give no thought to what their criminal behaviour is doing to those whose lives have been turned upside down by their cruel act. Yes, it’s cruel!

Since I don’t drive, my home alone status is impacted by any number of events that would require me to be able to leave quickly and easily. I’m glad that I have a network of neighbours who have, over the years, made themselves available to me should I require any sort of assistance given my mobility challenges.                                    

The crime of stealing copper wire and selling it to recyclers is one crime. Manifold crimes fell on top of that when hundreds of lives were put at risk by that one act of disconnecting people from services they need and use on a daily basis. Not all rural dwellers have access to cell phone service and not all cell phone services function with a high degree of stability in some rural settings. That’s the nature of aging technology in rural areas trying to pair with modern communication trends. As well, that act of vandalism elevated the stress level of those who rely on services like Lifeline which is landline dependent. Not every senior can afford both a landline and a cellphone.

In my reading, I learned that copper may be stolen from electric poles, power lines, substations and company storage yards with cables being cut in short lengths  with saw, bolt cutter or axe, with the  plastic coating being removed, as raw copper is more valuable. 

Copper thieves are receiving cash from recyclers who often fill orders for commercial scrap dealers. Recycled copper flows from dealers to a range of specialized applications on an international scale. It seems like an attractive venture to someone who doesn’t have a full time job and is looking for an ‘in and out’ gig to earn a lot of money over a short period of time, or someone who’s keen to go all in and make a full time job out of ‘cutting the cord’ of anyone and everyone in their community; effectively putting lives at risk! 

Yes, copper theft can make some people dead. Let that sink in. And let this sink in – copper thievery can make the criminal dead if he doesn’t know what he’s doing and is cutting chunks of cable willy-nilly without regard for the steps required to safely complete the process. Do they work in pairs? In teams? What if one of the wire thieves is struck down? Do his companions abandon him? 

          And what do we, their victims get? The medically fragile, housebound, in many cases and having no access to a cell phone, is truly trapped. Life Line doesn’t work without a phone connection. A person impacted by the criminal act of copper theft could be their own mother or father, or some other relative or family friend. Do they find their spine, their moral compass and stop. Do they turn themselves in, recognizing that they have to pay for the crime they’ve committed. Or do they keep going, and wait for the law to catch up with them. What are they thinking about as they’re up on a pole cutting lifelines for those in need? Is a Mom going to rat out her son who is involved in criminal activity that may ultimately take a life?                

Let’s hope the courts will expeditiously take care of the morally bankrupt who’ve put lives at risk. A slap on the wrist isn’t enough; community service and an impactful fine rather than jail time would be more of a deterrent. Perhaps restorative justice could be part of the process as well. This is serious, people! It’s time the courts took a hard line with sentencing. Lives depend on it.

If you see something, say something! As for me, with the help of two techie friends who visited on Sunday, I’m looking to get a barebones cell phone for emergency use. To be reliant exclusively on a landline is a fool’s errand and one I cannot afford to continue. 

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

Tenaciously aging in place with terriers

 

 Miss Lexie and Mr. Malcolm make sure things are done the way they're supposed to be done

Co-housing, aging in place; aging together. It’s a trend gaining in popularity in Canada, the US and around the world, having its origins in Denmark. To me, it makes a lot of sense but it’s not to be entered into lightly — rather like marriage. It takes commitment and a lot of work each and every day. 

For myself, I’m aging in place with terriers, one having recently celebrated her 17th birthday.  In my 69th year, I may well be the oldest independently living spastic diplegic responsible for home and hearth and two salad hounds who like to bark. We’ll call it singing. That I still walk, surface touching in the house, with occasional use of walker to move things about, is testament to a desire to do my own thing for as long as I am safely able.                                            

In New Brunswick,  as was the case in many provinces across the country, most families were comprised of several generations living under one roof back in the day when farming communities were thriving and it was ‘all hands’ to work the land. At the time, gender played a role with regard to tasks. Today, men and women have a hand in all manner of shared tasks which works well when combined with communication and compromise.

Communication and compromise are the glues that keep a relationship intact and growing and going along in a healthy, constructive and productive way. That’s why co-housing makes sense, especially for lifelong friends who believe they’d do better with each other than on their own. Together, they have a better chance of not becoming nursing home statistics. Government take heed. Real estate developers and builders, listen up. We need to rethink where and how our seniors live. 

When we lose the supports of the traditional family dynamic, through death, or family members moving to other locations around the world, we begin to feel the stress that those changes impose upon our daily lives. Our physical and emotional health often takes a hit and we experience one or more health situations that may not exist were we not on our own. A viable solution is to share the new reality with others, whether a close friend, or someone interviewed through the process of finding a housemate or 2 or even 3. Sort of like the multi-generational family farm without the farm.

Co-housing also means sharing the bills and the responsibilities of the house, going beyond practical financial arrangements. It’s cheaper to live with somebody else while at the same time contributing to our physical and emotional wellness. Sharing and caring together enhances quality of life and puts off an often inevitable transition into nursing home/assisted living care.

New Brunswick needs co-housing, as people currently aging in place alone in sprawling homes that are becoming more difficult to maintain, would be far better served sharing with a long time friend in a similar situation. The financial health of the province’s systems of care would also improve as they would be less burdened with people who would be far happier in a space that’s easier to manage. Co-housing combines the best features of home ownership with the added layers of security, companionship, community spaces in buildings that are on the ‘campus’, within walking distance. Movie nights and pot luck suppers in the community lounge. Then, back to your own private home with your housemate. You own it. It’s yours. Having places to go and people to see is far better than any anti-anxiety medication or sleeping pill. The possibilities for a long term ‘people prescription' are endless.

I believe that developers in this province and beyond would do well to embrace the idea of co-operative housing units, which include all the features that are critical to safety. Invaluable would be consulting with persons with challenges to daily living who know, based on life experience, what would be needed in a home for older people who want to ‘age in place’. Ask me about kitchens.

The cost of purchasing a property in a senior co-housing community is comparable to buying a house in a traditional community; further, buying a home in a newer development, downsizing to a smaller property, can reduce maintenance and overhead costs such as utility bills. To further reduce expenses, some senior co-housing communities also encourage neighbors to share resources such as lawn maintenance equipment. What a great way to meet `n greet.

Fredericton, in particular, and New Brunswick, in general is ideally suited to multi-generational co-housing, given that Fredericton is a ‘university town’, and New Brunswick has several university campuses and lots of students in need of housing. Friendships across generations is critical to emotional health and wellness — ask any senior who only gets to see grandchildren a few times a year, if that.  

Co-housing with age related peers and multi-generational co-housing contribute to improved physical health, reduces the number of seniors living in poverty, which impacts wellness. In my view, co-housing is necessary for survival, particularly for those ‘at risk’ populations who would benefit from a sustained people connection. To learn more, visit Canada Co-housing Network.

For myself, if I was fortunate enough to match with a compatible housemate, I’d certainly be amenable to opening the doors of Chez Rockwell to a roomie. Must love dogs! 

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

                                                                         

Keep the home fires safely burning

 

This stove looks a bit like the one in my den.

        Winter's fast approaching. Are you ready for it?

Growing up in rural NB, in a large 3-storey  (4 if the basement was included; the eldest of my 5 brothers had a ‘jail’ down there) that was heated with oil, it was always a tad chilly. Over the early years when my parents and the 4 eldest moved into the big house on Church Street, Dad had Rusco windows installed. Still chilly! Four more children later, winterizing the house was put higher up on the ‘to do’ list. When I was a pre-teen, I told my Mom I wanted fireplace in my bedroom, the largest on the 2nd floor, to accommodate some of my physiotherapy equipment. Kids say the darndest things! 

Suffice to say it never happened. Years before I was a twinkle in the eye, there had been a fireplace in the living room, with the end of the wall being open to a hallway which led to that 2nd floor.  Dad had the brilliant idea to close it all off, installing bookcases in both spaces. Turned out that made a lot of sense, with the bookcases beginning half way up the wall to allow for tables or small seating to be positioned below to make more efficient use of the space. Though his speciality was anaesthesiology, Dad had a flare for design and building things. 

Fast forward a few decades and a few living spaces later, none of which had a working fireplace, my husband and I moved into our current home in the fall of 1991. I loved the layout of the main floor as it suited my mobility needs from the outset. To access downstairs to enjoy the den space with the wood stove,  two railings were soon added; actually one was a medical grade grab bar secured on a half wall and a full railing installed on the other side. Safety first! 

Neither my husband nor I had experience with a wood stove but we educated ourselves in preparation for our first winter fire. What we didn’t anticipate was something that was not done, unbeknownst to us. The flue and stove had not been cleaned by the previous owner and we were not told that it had not been done. It never occurred to us to ask, so that was on us. 

The day of our first fire, it got very hot very quickly. Smoke billowed out from around the stove door and filled the downstairs space. Smoke alarms on both floors were blaring away. I wasted no time, moving as fast as my spazzy legs would take me, to get the geriatric Westie and the young Cairn tethered and put outside. Fire department was called and on scene in short order. At that time I met one of the volunteer firemen, Stewart Smith, who wasn’t long giving the older terrier oxygen; she’d fallen over on her side, overcome by the smoke.  A pair of his team went downstairs, through the front door; another two up on the roof to drop a chimney bomb into the flue. After a conversation with Stewart and one of his fellow volunteers, we learned what to do to prevent such an occurrence in future. The flue was cleaned as soon as we could arrange it and was cleared for use through our first winter. We had it replaced for the following winter with all appropriate fire proof pads in place; on the floor under the stove and on the wall behind it.  Those steps are vital so as not to invalidate home owner insurance.

Recently, I had the flue cleaned and eaves troughs cleared; the latter is another vital part of home maintenance to prevent foundation damage. The stuff I’ve learned! The guy who did the jobs said the flue was not too bad with hardly any creosote. That’s because I used compressed wood bricks  which burn hot and clean. If using cord wood, flue cleaning saves lives! Final prep involved the stove door, testing for air tightness of the stove. Put a slip of paper between door and stove, then latch the door. Pull on the paper. If it comes out with little or no resistance, it’s time to replace the gasket (that braid around the inside of the door) as your wood burning heater is no longer air tight.

My stove failed the air tight test and I bought a new gasket. My visiting physiotherapist was helpful to me in choosing the right size since he’s replaced the braid on his own stove. It’s nice to know folks who provide tips and tricks so I can stay safe as I live independently, aging with multiple disabilities.

Next up, arranging to have this winter’s supply of compressed wood bricks delivered. 

        I stack three bricks one on top of the other after first getting the fire started with kindling a bit of waxed dryer lint and a few piece of egg carton. With damper fully open, the fire blazes and bricks are put in place. Damper is closed; I don’t have to top up for 6 hours or so. That’s quite impressive, actually. I load up the stove for the last time at midnight, adding an extra brick in case I sleep in or it’s really cold in the night and the wood burns up a bit faster. 

And so, winter 2023, bring it on. I’m ready! 

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

The ebb and flow of online relationships

Patricia Ernsberger, Mansfield, Ohio

According to Walter Elliot, a 19th century American priest, “perseverance is not a long race; it is many short races one after the other.”    

A life measured in terms of months or years due to a condition like cancer is much the same. Daily routines are disrupted, with all family members impacted by what the person with disability or disease is going through. 

I did it again. I had one of those “OMG, I’m old!” moments. Then I took a breath and reminded myself of those people, young and old who live with since birth disabilities like I do, who never came close to the number of years I’ve chalked up. I’ll be 70 next year! Imagine that. 

On 11 July, my little friend Eli James from Tennessee passed away. He lived with the most severe form of Spina Bifida and managed to squeeze a lot of purpose out of almost 13 years. He was a firecracker and won’t be forgotten by those who got to know him through a Facebook presence created by his Mom, Dawn. His service dog, Tobias, was a huge part of his life.

Death visited my online world again when, on Monday, 11 September, my friend, Patricia Ernsberger, from Mansfield, Ohio passed away due to stomach cancer that grew quickly. 

         Using the handle SilkyWay, in honour of a cat who liked only her, according to her grandson, Kody,  her death was a total shock and saddened our scrabble community. She was a vital part of the daily ‘doins’ and we could always count on her for all manner of ‘stuff of life’. Her family had expected at least a few more weeks. Alas, they were not given any more time with a woman with whom I interacted for years on a daily basis – all of it online. On a scrabble site. We were hooked! Oddest thing, though – we never played each other. Now, we never will.


 Over my many years of participation on the ‘information highway’, I’ve come across people from all over the world – people I’ll never meet in person but with whom I have a connection nonetheless. For over a decade, I’ve been part of an online scrabble community at a site called International Scrabble Club. Many of its members came from now defunct sites; I migrated from Internet Relay Chat’s #networdz channel. Lots of lively conversations each day with people, from the very young to the very old; young people still in grade school to men and women in university or trade school -- some taking their first degree, others on their second or third.                                                                                                     

Trish was thrilled to meet one of our fellow players in person, Hollie Packer, know in our scrabble world as luvs2scrab. We, in the scrabble channel, were equally thrilled for them. Sadly, Hollie passed away not long after, having struggled quietly with illness. For her, the scrabble tile flinging was a diversion from the slings and arrows of life.

Others in the group also had the opportunity and pleasure of meeting and greeting, sometimes one person meeting another, or a group getting together at a mutually agreed upon location; some met at scrabble tournaments.                  

The rituals we undertook for years became a staple for those of us who lived with challenges to mobility that impacted comfort, critical to moving around in the community. In some circles we’d be called lonely – we weren’t.  We had daily ‘people’ fixes though we never made coffee for them or shared a meal. Online relationships and connections are no less valuable than the ones we have in real life where we can see folks breathing and blinking.

Trish and I had one thing in common; we weren’t much for going out and about in our community, finding it more comfortable to stay home, in jammies with a cup of coffee, a few scrabble games or to watch a classic movie. We both were huge fans of British whodunits and got to enjoy all manner of excellent films via online streaming. Though sometimes a challenge, internet technology and all its quirks was something both of us wanted to learn more about.  Many folks in our chat room were trained in IT and always ready to offer instruction and advice. As well, I had my writing and Trish had her crafting. We stayed busy and engaged in things that were important to us.



I found myself often taking Trish into private chat to explain to her how to do this or that, or how to install and set up a program I thought she might like and find useful. She was ever the student and truly loved learning. Her limited out and about frustrated her emotional health, but she never let it get her down, not one to dwell on situations out of her control. I am convinced it’s the not stewing about things that we cannot change that makes our quality of life better and allows us to get up each day with a renewed sense of purpose. 



Trish’s life was one of perseverance. She kept going in spite of many challenges. I think that’s what drew me to her. Many in the world define themselves based on the stuff they’ve accumulated, convinced they couldn’t do without this or that and seemed not to believe folks who would say that their slow-paced life was enough. It is! Trish proved that it was.

Rest in peace, my friend.

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 mailto: Carla MacInnis Rockwell

Character building in the classroom

Photo: Luke Hendry/Postmedia

Coming out of COVID lock-down has forever changed the landscape with regard to how we conduct ourselves within the community; from how things now function within the school systems, within the workplace and in public gathering places. To ensure health and wellness of all, it’s vital that men, women, boys and girls embrace being a ‘WE’ people. Some of us are disadvantaged by circumstances beyond our control and sometimes need a hand up.

According to William Ellery Channing, a Rhode Island born Unitarian preacher, “the home is the chief school of human virtues.”

Not a day goes by that we don’t read or hear about some ‘wronged’ person, adult or child, going on a rampage, armed with assault weapons, randomly shooting moving targets who are running for their lives. Clearly, all is not well in their world for them to explode their rage in a hail of bullets.

Parenting children today is no easy task, with the push and pull of almost every facet of daily life contributing to elevated stress levels — children want what they want — NOW. Some parents tend to give in rather than have conversations about the value of patience and behaving in acceptable ways to ‘earn’ the object/toy of their desire. They need help.

I recall, many years ago, making my way through parenting a young school-age stepson, venturing into not totally uncharted territory as I was used to being around youngsters. He was not an easy child, a combination of temperament and circumstance, so I decided that a way to reach him would be through reading together. All manner of books became part of his childhood library. Among them Joy Berry’s series, Let’s Talk About, with each book focusing on a single topic and includes cartoon illustrations and relatable situations. Though designed for pre-schoolers, they were appropriate for my stepson given his situation. The Let’s Talk About books help children identify, understand and learn how to handle their new feelings. It was my hope that my stepson would adjust and grow into this new, blended family. Alas, that was not to be. His needs were far greater than my abilities to meet them. Now an adult, he still hasn’t fully found his feet.

That is why I am a strong advocate of early intervention for children with special needs, unique circumstances and different learning styles, with adults in their world who just don’t seem to get them. That being so, I also believe that virtues/moral values should to be taught in school. They need be taught in school.

In Ontario Catholic schools, as example, they have what is called graduation expectations. It’s not about advancing the doctrine of a particular religion; rather it’s about developing in students a skill set that readies them for their place in their community as full-time, ongoing contributors. Students must meet a specific set of goals/requirements in order to graduate; to me, it’s ideal in theory and in practice. In fact, we could use it in our schools — I’m sure parents and teachers would welcome it. Several of the goals include: an effective communicator; a reflective, creative and holistic thinker; a self-directed, responsible, lifelong learner; a collaborative contributor; a caring family member; and, a responsible citizen. Each goal has various individual components which guide behaviour and learning.

Children who are not getting enough constructive conversation in the home, for whatever reason, need access to it in school — the one place where they rely on other adults to help them when they need it. Success in life isn’t just about reading and writing, language arts and maths. One must have the basics of kindness, of caring and sharing, if they are to achieve favourable outcomes in other aspects of life.

I don’t think I’d be too far off the mark when I say that, if each school day, in each classroom started with “Good morning, how are you feeling this morning? John, you go first,” teachers would soon realize there is a need and they have an opportunity to fill it. Invite students to share but remind them that others need to have a turn. If there’s not enough time to get to everyone, invite them to stay after school for more conversation. Invite colleagues to participate and explore plans for making these discussions a part of daily interactions with students. Such exchanges could potentially save lives as they allow teachers to see who’s struggling with situations beyond what would be expected. Stabilize the feelings and the learning takes flight.

Character/morals education is not some outdated concept that has no place in school curriculum. It has a very important place in the education of our children if they are to succeed in life. Building character in children also involves including them in the community so that they come to know that what they have to say and how they feel is important.

Morals education is like growing a vegetable garden. The seeds are planted and watered and as ideas flourish and feelings mature, the weeds are pulled away. Imagine if students developed their own real-time gardens and watched them grow. Carrots and conversation go well together.

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

Doctors need to listen more to their patients

 

Photo/Unsplash

To coin one of my oft-used phrases — ‘we’re going to have a sharing moment!’

I live with spastic diplegic cerebral palsy. Years ago an episode of chest pain required that I go to the city hospital ER 40 minutes away. I’m not a ‘frequent flyer’ in the ER so  to make the decision to go was not without a lot of thought. Do I really, really need to? At the time my husband was still living, supporting my decision.

Earlier in the day, while at the mall, I was having difficulty wheeling my Quickie chair up a ramp which normally was not a problem given my powerful upper body. I worried because my heart was hurting. My family doctor at the time made house calls and while attending me at my home after the mall outing, put me on his portable heart monitor. He was concerned enough after the exam to insist that I go to the hospital immediately though there was no need for ambulance transport.

I went to the hospital ER, outlining symptoms in detail, noting that my family doctor felt that I experienced a mild ‘cardiac event’ based on his exam. I didn’t have a long wait, thankfully. Given my status as an ‘at risk’ patient, I also have a need to be really proactive when it comes to avoiding too much contact with germs -- colds and flu. For me, a simple cold could develop into pneumonia.                                                                           

The ER doctor arrived and I took note of the fact that I wasn’t invited to get out of my chair to lie on the exam table. As was my habit, I wheeled around the space, mentally photographing the environment - part of my modus operandi in the event that I did have to stand up and make my way to the table. I prefer to move under my own power as being ‘manhandled’ had potential to cause me to totter/balance shift; then I have to  ’re-balance’. A fall at my advanced age poses even greater risk, given I am a senior citizen with a since-birth brain insult but still uprightly mobile; quite an accomplishment! I wasn’t about to jeopardize my health and wellness any further by landing on my bum and possibly breaking or dislocating a limb. It’s important for clinical staff, whether nurse or doctor, to ASK if a patient with obvious mobility disorder who IS able to walk, would like or requires assistance.  To not ask and simply latch onto them without regard for their personal safety is inappropriate as their boundaries were not respected.

I also noted another ‘problem’ with the ER doctor’s protocols. She did not wash her hands. I had observed her munching on a slice of pizza just moments before she came to see me but said nothing. I was asked about the reason for my visit while the doctor, rarely making eye contact, looked at the chart. She then asked why I was in the wheelchair and was informed about the spastic diplegic cerebral palsy status. Much to my shock, she asked what CP is. Confidence in this physician went right out the window, barreling down the highway. 

The doctor put the chart down, bent over and leaned into me and with her thumb pushed on my stomach. There was no blood pressure taken, no temperature taken, no questions about chest/heart pain asked, no questions about what I ate that day. Red flag! Red flag! Red flag! Red flag! In just seconds, the diagnosis - indigestion. She wrote a script for Propulsid, and with that, the  examination had concluded.

For the record, I’ve never had indigestion in my life. I would be remiss, however, if I didn’t point out that in many patients, heartburn and indigestion can and do mimic symptoms of a heart attack so ALL avenues must be explored. 

I accepted the script and bid the doctor good day, wheeling away without a backward glance. There was NO WAY I’d be getting that script filled. Once at home, I researched the drug and was stunned to learn that it had potential to cause fatal arrhythmia. It was finally taken off the US market in 2000. I had a conversation with my father, a old-school country doctor, and within days was examined by a cardiac internist in Fredericton. More tests followed, and I was subsequently diagnosed with grade two aortic insufficiency; two pinhead sized holes in the valve.  Had I taken the drug as prescribed by that ER doc, I could have found myself in serious difficulty, compromising the ‘golden hour’ of care lost because my proximity to the hospital would have most assuredly worked against me.

Fast forward over two decades later, and I’m still ticking along, paying attention to my body; 70 next year, I take only one script drug. My ‘good medicine’ is working!

My point in sharing this story is to make people aware that they have a right to assert themselves. To all doctors who may be reading this column, attention must be paid not only to what YOU see and hear from the body you examine, but what the patient is telling you. Hearing and listening is vital to outcomes. Let those two critical skills be your gifts to your patients as you work to establish a rapport that grows into a trust driven relationship that is critical to patient health going forward. 

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

Where do retired mobility aids go?

Elijah William James and friend

When I was born in 1954, the diagnosis of spastic diplegic cerebral palsy came within the first year, by Alexander Torrie, an orthopaedic surgeon trained in Scotland and paediatrician, Barbara Robinson-Watson, both practicing at the former Victoria Public Hospital in Fredericton, NB. Dr. Robinson was the only woman in her class in 1947.

My parents weren’t long getting everything lined up to do battle with that thing that insulted my brain.

Over the course of my early years there was a parade of ugly brown boots into which equally ugly heavy metal braces with leather straps and knee pads were clipped. For a tiny girl, that added weight threw me off balance. I was exercised 4 times/day for 12 years, had knee surgery at age 8, and have the distinction of being the then Forest Hill Rehabilitation Center’s first child patient back in 1966. At that time, they treated stroke patients and a few with spinal cord injuries. No paediatrics. I was a trail blazer. The facility opened in 1958 with Stan Cassidy being one of its first champions. Years later, it went on to be named after him and with the passage of time, relocated to the current Dr. Everett Chalmers Hospital. My last stint as a pint-size summer patient was spent at Rosary Hall, being taxied back and forth by my favourite nun, Sister Monica Guest. Her sister, Marie, my family’s housekeeper when I was a child was a great friend to me; one of many who influenced my moving forward through a life that was marked by a ‘different’ ableness. Next year, I’ll mark 70 years of upright mobility. There will be cake!

It was during my last extensive therapy summer that I was freed from braces. Oh, what a relief it was. I still used crutches, of course, to ‘straighten and slow’ my wobbly gait. Face-planting on gravel would never be a good look.

I believe that my childhood experiences would have been enhanced with the limited/outside use of a wheelchair, to get from A to B a bit faster. ‘Walk this way’, was cumbersome and exhausting. Over the decades, my shoulders, elbows and wrists took a hit because it’s not ‘natural’ to have that constant hyper-extension. There were penalties paid for independent movement.

Times and technology changed how those ‘leg irons’ look. Today, moulded plastic orthotics make life so much easier for all those children who came after me. My first experience with them was when I was 28 years old when it was felt I should return to orthotics to correct a gait compromised by age and a wonkier spine. The joy never ends. Their use was short lived as I was lopsided, given only one foot required heavy metal correction and the other the slip in the shoe plastic orthotic. I think I got 6 months in, then called the whole thing off. I was an accident waiting to happen.

My young Facebook friend, Eli, who recently passed away, started wheelchair training at the Patricia Neal Rehab Center in Knoxville, TN, and at 2.5yrs old, the youngest child with whom they had use the microlite technology. According to his Mom, “he drove with only switches for quite a while, training for a year. The insurance denied the chair he needed so we did a fundraiser to pay for his first.”

Later, a more mature Eli got another set of wheels.

The struggle for families like Eli’s is real. The right equipment enhances quality of life, notably the learning experience of early education with peers. Being able to move around boosts emotional and physical development given that fitting in is fundamental to life experience. It’s amazing what appropriate mobility aids can do for a child who does not walk.

So, what becomes of orthotics and other supplies we no longer need but are in good shape? Lots of things aren’t custom made so could be used by anyone with a few minor tweaks. The ideal solution is to get the medical supplies that you no longer need to people who can use them because they are poor or have little or no access to medical care. Many organizations will take no-longer-needed, or even better, never used medical equipment and supplies from hospitals, doctors, and dentists but not all take donations from individuals. I gave orthotics to a donations scheme for impoverished countries. My wheelchair, after 28 years of service, was donated to the Red Cross for their program.

Should you have equipment to rehome, the best course it to advertise, with description and photographs, in local newspapers and grocery/shopping center message boards. Be clear on how you want folks to get in touch with you so that interactions go smoothly. If you use social media, that is an ideal place to connect with people who can benefit from what you have available. The opportunities are endless.

Locally, small donations can often go to nonprofits like homeless or women’s and men’s shelters, so please check with the agencies in your communities who may be able to pick-up or have convenient drop-off locations. Yes, homeless shelters can make use of things like crutches, canes and walkers, though space may prohibit keeping even one wheelchair on hand. Calling ahead to find out how what you have can benefit their clients is a way to reach out to ensure you’re networking in an expeditious way.

Knowledge is power.

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 mailto:carmacrockwell@xplornet.ca