Scooter Saga

Disclaimer: The daisy helmet is a Google Image graphic.  I have not gone 'over the edge'—yet. Another symptom of ataxia is diminished fine motor control.  Once I had excellent penmanship, now I can barely write*.  Fortunately, I retired from nursing before the loss of fine motor movement began to noticeably manifest.  I was never a good keyboarder but, since word processing takes so long now, it's helpful to have time and a spell checker.  I can't play the piano now, but I never played before, so that was no big loss.  My grandchildren print, color, paint, and cut better than I do.  "That's OK, Grandma..I'll do it." they say delightedly. I was on the lookout for a creative outlet that didn't make me look bad or threaten my well–being.  Painting was out–required talent and good hands.  I was never very skilled at gardening and falling in the dirt didn't have much appeal.  Everything else seemed to require hand/eye coordination....

As I've said before, Skeeter affords no direct exercise.  She is, however, an effective 'enabler' in that she keeps me off the floor.  When you have ataxia, that is no small deal.  Nonetheless, I could tell that the predictable neurological progression was gradually diminishing my leg strength.  A big fear is not being able to get out of a chair.  I've learned that some loss is beyond my control and some isn't.  Fortunately, I don't have to deal with persistent chronic pain or nausea.  At the risk of sounding pollyanna–ish, they are far more debilitating than weakness and loss of balance. I am surrounded by people who, although possibly experiencing a decline in muscle mass for one reason or another, keep their bodies in motion.  They run, walk, bike, participate in sports, garden, or chase after small children.  My heart is with them—my lower body, not so much.  It's OK, really.  Sometimes, I'm content to stay home...alone.....

"Grandma, would you come to my reading camp play next Friday?" Zoe asked.  "What kind of camp?", not sure I had heard correctly.  It's a new world.  Summer daycamp used to mean water sports, craft projects, and a few hours of parental respite.  These days it means enrichment, meaningful learning, and a few hours of parental respite .  Our eight year old granddaughter was wrapping up her session of Reading Camp and invited me to join the family at the group performance .  No matter what the event is, if asked by the grandkids and it's doable, I go.  We have four grand children under 12; children at this age aren't embarrassed by disability.  That may not always be the case. Turned out, the presentation was a mock radio reading of a mystery, each child taking on a character and reading from a script.  Zoe assured me hers was a big part, but the rest of the details had to remain a surprise. The camp location was not far from my son and...

Public restrooms are a mystery, each having its own learning curve.  You never know how big it is, how many people are in there, or how long the line might be.  As my ataxia progressed, I learned to pay more attention to restroom etiquette.  However, like everything else, it's unpredictable.  Granted, I have no experience with men's rooms, except to know ladies' rooms should have twice the capacity, but don't.  Who hasn't used a vacant men's room when desperate?  I can only speak to bladder–challenged female issues.   Fortunately, the USA does have ADA requirements and one can usually count on there being a large handicapped accessible stall.  "Bumping ahead in line" was something I had never done in my pre–ataxia days—it always seemed rude.  That's a hard habit to break, even when it may seem to be indicated.  So, while everyone wants a large stall, who gets it?  It has always been my understanding that when the ...