Drain of Energy

For the most part, things have been going as well as could be expected in a world that’s crumbling to pieces. In the few weeks that have elapsed since my husband and I got home from our latest trip, I’ve managed to preserve a healthy level of that relaxed vacation energy while also diving back into projects that I missed while we were away. Although I quickly reestablished my usual pattern of freaking out that I don’t have an adequate number of plans, overscheduling myself to compensate, forgetting that I didn’t make many plans on purpose because I wanted to give myself time to work on the aforementioned projects, and then freaking out a second time at day’s end because I haven’t made enough progress toward achieving my entirely self-assigned (but nonetheless exciting and somewhat reasonable) goals, I’ve been busy with stuff that makes me happy. Catching up with friends, reacquainting myself with written pieces I started late last year, sewing up a storm (two pairs of pants, a shirt, and another garment in progress), messing up some of the stuff I’ve sewn and troubleshooting my way out of it or starting over while repeating it’s all about the skills development in my head or aloud and almost believing it, etc.

What I haven’t been able to do much of—or as much as I’d have liked to, anyway—is go out, and that can’t be blamed on the polar vortex that sucked the will to brave the elements from many of my fellow Torontonians. Nope: the fault lies squarely with the power chair I missed so dearly while separated from it. My boo. My pal. My steed. The link between me and my independence.

What betrayal.

It was back in December that I started noticing that my chair’s batteries were depleting more quickly than they once had. I brushed off my concerns for a while by attributing the change to the colder weather. The issue persisted despite my magical thinking, so I contacted my mobility consultant, who flagged the problem and told me to let her know if it got worse. I held off for a bit, convincing myself that there’d been some improvement, but then came a close-ish call on New Year’s Day, when the battery-percentage indicator got uncomfortably close to 0% while I was midway home from an outing with friends. My suspicions, which I’d continued trying my best to ignore, were 100% confirmed by the 90% battery after a few blocks of driving I noted the day after my return from BC. A little panicky, I immediately messaged the mobility consultant. Although it took a week and a half of my being an extremely squeaky wheel—which truly is the way to get the grease, as it turns out—a technician eventually came, tested the batteries, and confirmed they need to be replaced.

It’s good to have an answer, and I’m glad that there’s a relatively straightforward fix. That said, one of the lessons I most solidly learned over the course of years of therapy is that two things can be true at the same time. In this case, I’ll welcome the relief of knowing that my new-normal level of independence is somewhere on the horizon, in the near-ish future, while honouring the melange of frustration bubbling deep within me, a mishmash that includes frustration at myself for engaging in self-pity when, as I recognize, there are much bigger fish to fry at this historical moment. So yes: I’m definitely happy that there isn’t something wrong with my chair itself but am also kind of embittered, for several reasons. First, I make an effort to use best charging practices. It thus feels supremely unfair that this should happen so quickly (the consultant speculated that the batteries might have been faulty to begin with and assured me that they’ll be covered under warranty, but still). Second, I’ve had to limit my outings, which is discouraging and annoying, even if I have plenty of around-the-apartment activities to fill the gap and have arguably accomplished more of them than I would’ve under more typical circumstances. Third, it’s taken so much work to inch closer to resolving this still-unresolved problem. I get that my restricted mobility doesn’t equal the mobility company’s emergency. It’s discouraging regardless. I’m still waiting.

This is probably a good place to end this rant about a major drain of my proverbial battery. Perhaps I should thank the accessibility gods that this is currently target #1 of my griping; better an irritating-but-resolvable issue than its close second, the global crisis over which I have limited control and won’t get into for the time being lest this post become an even lengthier diatribe.

And with that, dear friends, I’ll hit “publish” and return to my emotional-support sewing, resting safe within the four walls of my apartment, averting my gaze from my traitor of a power chair, and taking a half-hour break from obsessively toggling from one news source to another.