A Slow Process

 

Remember the “old house” we were in when I began walking on my toe? Shortly after moving in, my parents wanted to remodel the house, but termites had eaten away almost everything, and a contractor said the house wasn’t worth saving. We were all disappointed. The living room was big enough to ride a tricycle in! And Dale had his room in his mind too. He was going to be in the attic. But some dreams aren’t meant to be.

My dad went to work on a new home where my parents would spend the rest of their days. It was my dad’s design. It has a wide hall and low to the ground for a wheelchair. I really don’t recall much about the new house going up. I was too ill at the time, and my mom said she rarely visited the new home either.

I do understand this though. It takes time, money, and effort to build a new house, much like the time, money, and effort Dale and I were putting into our progress.

I went to a physical therapist, Ms. Steel, a retired army therapist. She was tough, but she taught me to never give up on myself. Again, parts of this time are fuzzy, but I will try to relate what I can recall.

            I started scooting on the floor, not crawling. Crawling implies using two hands and both legs. Nope. I could use one side, the left, to do everything. My right arm was up and around my head. It would continue to be like that for years. I’m not certain when I finally got my right hand from doing that, likely after I started school.

            Back to scooting. I would use my left hand and my left leg and move myself. I suppose the closest thing I can think of is a worm and the way they move. An uncle made me an extremely low wooden cart, I guess you would call it. It had a whole in the center and he put strong leather in the center and casters underneath. This is just the beginning of the homemade inventions I would receive in my lifetime. But this way I didn’t have to clean the floor with my clothes! I could move freely!

            I learned how to pull myself up on the toilet, the bed, the couch, and the table.

            Dale was still walking on crutches but his legs were getting less stiff and fixed.  He used hand controls to drive when he was sixteen. They didn’t have the laws about putting them on then, so Dale and Dad figured out how to put them on themselves.

            While I was in the hospital, Dale stayed with our aunt Hazel. Hazel was the person who cleaned the house, washed clothes, and kept things as normal as possible for us all. I don’t know what we would have done without Hazel and Dean, her husband.

            We are not a rich family. Everything we did, we did the hard way.

            Until next time, my friends! I will connect the building a new home to what happened next.