I note, with some regret, that it is four months since my last post. Four months which have been filled with a frantic attempt to ‘do normal things’ whilst recognising that day by day the word ‘normal’ takes on a new definition.
This is not the first time that I have experienced a shift in the ‘normal life’ continuum. I remember the day we brought our first-born home from hospital and I sat in the dining room thinking life will never be normal again. True, we never again experienced our old life, but instead a new world of fun, laughter, tears and blind panic opened before us and we embarked upon a new normal.
One of the reasons I delayed writing this blog was in anticipation of being able to document my driving once again; the last time I drove a car was autumn 2019. In September we purchased a Mercedes Sprinter van fitted with all the electronic gizmos I would need to drive, and then waited a number of weeks while adjustments were made to the wheelchair from which I would drive, and to the set up of the controls to suit my requirements. I have always wanted to own a Mercedes and here I was, about to regain an element of independence, in style.
The great day came, and the great day went, in crushing disappointment. There were some physical adjustments that needed to be made that would give me better control over the vehicle, not least dampening down the movement on the wheelchair that left me lurching wildly every time I braked, like a man clinging to the top of a palm tree swaying in the wind. However, the biggest factor that means I will never venture forth behind the wheel of a vehicle again, is that my required driving position means I can’t easily turn to my right to see if it is safe to pull out of a junction. The problem could, in part, be addressed by fitting additional mirrors, but in truth driving under those conditions would remain a game of Russian Roulette from which there could only ever be one outcome.
The darkness of that moment cannot be overstated. Like sand, slipping through my fingers, my increasing disability is loosening the grip I had on the old ‘normal’, and my one chance to recover some of the ground I had lost had been snatched away from me. I felt like a climber who had reached out to grasp a handhold he saw ahead only to discover it was merely a shadow on the rock face; an illusion.
I have talked about this before, but each loss, each failed attempt to do the thing that a month ago I could do relatively easily, is a moment of grief. Grief for me isn’t one big event, but rather it is the accumulation of lots of small losses and there is nothing you can do but ride the wave and pick yourself up again.
In this journey I am surrounded by a host of amazing people, each one rooting for me and cheering me on. I am overwhelmed by the generosity I experience and the positivity from family, friends and strangers alike. Last week, people we barely know gave me an off-road wheelchair that takes me, once again, up the tracks I used to explore on Molly, but which had become inaccessible to me as I have lost the strength in my arms to control her over really rough terrain. This new chair, a Magic Mobility Extreme X8 (even the name tells you something about its credentials!) is joystick controlled so the loss of arm strength is not an issue. We have named her Madge (short for Magic).
And so, as one door slammed shut, another has opened up and once again there is a hope for further adventure. As an aside, I realise I have started to accumulate wheelchairs in the same way I used to accumulate bicycles and the old formula of n+1, regarding the right number of bikes to own, is once again being discussed. At present, for those who are curious, n=4. 😉
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Believe it or not, this very morning as I walked to the station I thought to myself ‘there hasn’t been an Ian Theodoreson blog update for a while and I hope he’s alright’. And on my return home, there was the latest blog notification. How strange.
I am so sorry to read the sad story of the cruel snatching away of the exciting new opportunities that the Merc was meant to bring, yet I remain inspired and awed by your ability to seize the next thing and make it joyful. You’re a true hero, Ian, and you remain in my thoughts and prayers.
See, I told you I am surrounded by amazingly supportive people. Thank you Matt.
By the way I came across your poem the other day, and it made me smile again 😁
Oh Ian, what a journey you and Sally are on. So different from the one you (we) imagined. But you carry that burden with grace and fortitude that most us can hardly imagine. You continue to an inspiration my dear brother-in-law.
Thanks Mike. Love reading about your adventures too x
So good to hear from you again Ian, so sorry it is such a tough journey which however you bear with such grace. Saw Mike Hill recently and heard your news but even better to have your own words. May God continue to bless you and Sally.
Thanks David. Hope we might get together soon
Reading this, my friend, I am reminded of Philippians 3:21 “who, by the power that enables him to bring everything under his control, will transform our lowly bodies so that they will be like his glorious body”. We all have this promise to look forward to, however, I believe that you will experience far more joy at that moment when you run into heaven, than those of us who may be able to walk in through those gates!
Joy is the opposite of grief, and God will continue to give you those joyful moments, but not always in the way that you expect. Not being biased in any way, but you and Sally continue to be one of the greatest examples in adversity to us all, even though we know that behind closed doors the brave faces may fade sometimes. We will always be here cheering you on, appreciating your awesome friendship, wisdom and love that will never change. New Year here we come. Get the kettle on!
❤️
So sorry to hear that the Mercedes isn’t going to ‘work’. Perhaps Sally can use it to do some Amazon deliveries in her spare time! But, I’ve had a look at the Extreme x8 and what a beast. “…… the kindness of strangers”. (To butcher a quote from Tenessee Williams). Anyway, much thanks to them.
The JCB of wheel chairs. Looks like it should have a plough behind it or a bucket on the front. I hope you enjoy excursions into the hills once more.
Take care old friends and stay safe.
The JCB of wheelchairs! 😂
Sadly Sally has point blank refused to join the Amazon delivery crew🙁. I too put this idea forward and was met with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. I expect it’s because her throwing skills don’t meet the expected standard for launching packages into bins and porches 🤣
As always with your blogs – raw pain mixed with hope and faith. Thank you for sharing your heart and your life with us. Looking forward to the next meeting up wherever and whenever that my be? Soon we hope. Sending so much love from us to you.❤️
Soon would be good!
I was waiting for your blog and always appreciate when it comes. We value your friendship and true honesty. We shed tears and laugh with you/along with you. We have always loved your sense of humour! And the bikes and wheel chair counts is up there. Hugs, love n joy from up north, Terri n Keith
A beautifully written, bittersweet piece Ian. Surprisingly rambunctious in tone, given the subject matter.
You are indeed an inspiration. We are so sorry that the Merc didn’t shape up for you but very grateful for the immaculate timing of what sounds like the wheelchair of all wheelchairs. Looking forward to a spin round the village very soon! Big love xx
…or further afield!
Despite a difficult journey, admire your positive inspiration approach. Keep it up mate. Wishing you all a very Merry Christmas and Happy new year.
Hey Paramjit – great to hear from you. Best wishes.
Hi Ian , sorry to comment late , I’ve just caught up with the blog. Very pleased that you have managed to find a way to combat the disappointment with the Mercedes. You are indeed an inspiration. xx