On Elevators, Covid, Rhythms, MS, God, and TV (Part 1 of 2)

Well, it was a long winter. Not so much because there was a ton of snow that made me housebound, but because there was just simply no place to go due to this Covid thing. On top of that, my elevator broke. For those of you who do not know my current situation, our basement has been renovated so that I can stay here in the house and not live in long-term care somewhere. There is an accessible washroom, and I sleep in a hospital bed. A support worker comes in every morning and every night in order to help me get up from and go to bed.

In order to get to the basement, I use a lift/elevator.
(pic is of my lift, bed, bedside table, and me)
But one day, after having a nice dinner with the girls, I got in the lift and sure enough it didn’t work. So three guys had to come, lift me up out of my wheelchair, and carry me down the stairs and put me on my bed.
That is no easy task!
I called the elevator company that installed this thing, and the repair guy couldn’t come for five days. So I ended up staying in bed that whole time. When he finally came, he was able to get the lift downstairs with my wheelchair so that I could at least get out of bed each day, but there was a part broken that needed to be ordered from the states. I was told that this would just take a few days. It turns out, it took a lot longer. Apparently the part was flagged at customs and needed to be scrutinized. Once that got done though, somehow it got mixed up and sent back to the states. Then it had to do that all over again. By the time it got here it was literally four weeks from the time the elevator broke down.
I was beside myself.
I couldn’t think straight.
I was angry.
And my anxiety levels were going through the roof.
So as a refuge I watched an exorbitant amount of television. That was the only thing that could help get my mind off of things.
I did end up renting a wheelchair that we left in the kitchen. And every few days, three friends would come over, pick me up out of my wheelchair in the basement, lift me up the stairs, and put me in my rental chair. Then they would come over at the end of the day, and bring me back downstairs. It was a pain in the ass, literally, but at the same time I found myself once again unbelievably grateful for good friends. If it weren’t for them helping me get outside once in a while, I think I would have lost my mind.
But all of this threw me way out of any sort of rhythm of life.
I was watching way too much television.
I was eating a ton of junk food.
I was mad at the world/at God.
And I felt helpless to do anything about it.
It truly was, as Saint John of the cross put it, a dark night of the soul.
Well the part finally came. The elevator got fixed. And now I can come and go as I please.
But now I have to create a new rhythm for myself.
I’ll talk more about that tomorrow I guess…

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