Snow Diaries, Day Five: A Twist, and Not the Good Kind

Just when I thought I was running out of ways to phrase similar versions of the same thing—“lots of snow, little mobility, eternal frustration”—the universe cursed me with actual developments to report. Developments I wish hadn’t transpired, but at least it’s fresh content (can I call this a silver lining?). This entry will nonetheless be somewhat abbreviated because today was jam-packed with plans and obligations, leaving me with little time to write and now, at the end of it, physically and emotionally drained. However, I owe it to myself, to my streak, and to the handful of readers who have persevered in slogging through my monotonous string of weather-related posts to provide the next installment of my 2026 snow saga, which has suddenly become a trial of a different nature.

In retrospect, I recognize that I probably pushed my luck yesterday. I should have contented myself with my morning trip to Shoppers Drug Mart and called it a day; instead, I went out again in the early afternoon to conduct some reconnaissance. I didn’t go far, mostly because I couldn’t, and I stuck to well-cleared stretches of sidewalk (of which there were few). I didn’t think I was overly straining my power wheelchair, although I admittedly ran it for fifteen minutes or so in the extreme cold.

In the vestibule of my building, my chair’s console beeped and displayed an error message. Something about encoder communication? I should’ve taken a picture of the screen but in my moment of panic opted to immediately restart my chair as to avoid having to camp out by the intercom. This seemed to fix the issue: the red indicator light disappeared, and my wheelchair transported me up the elevator and into my apartment without dying.

While it was tempting to move on with my life and pretend that nothing had happened, I called the mobility company’s helpline out of what I hoped was an abundance of caution. The tech asked me if I had tried turning the console off and on. Yep! Upon hearing that I had and that all was apparently now well, he told me that the error message had likely been a glitch and that I could continue using the chair without worry.

Shortly before dinner, I went out again because I guess I hadn’t learned my lesson the first two times. It was unbearably frigid and there was food to cook, so I made it speedy. Back home, I pulled up to my mailbox to check for the big package of sewing patterns I stress-bought last week. This was when my chair started moving strangely. I couldn’t be sure what was going on, but there was weird drag, almost as if something was stuck in the tires. Operating under that assumption, I drove it around a bit to try to dislodge whatever was there. Still drag, and then another error message, this one more ominous as it related to a motor-connection malfunction. This does not bode well, I thought.

The error message vanished after I confidently employed the universal remedy for technological woes (thank God for the off-on switch), but there was no use pretending that something wasn’t really, really wrong. My husband and I did a visual inspection for loose wires and saw nothing obvious, so I phoned the mobility company again and arranged for them to send someone to evaluate it. It would be $110.00—not great, but not awful—and they had an open slot today. I convinced myself that it had been the cold, a simple connection issue, or something else easily remedied with a night at room temperature. At worst, it’d take a pair of pliers. Self-talk or self-delusion? Either way, I managed to push it aside and get a decent night’s sleep.

The tech came this afternoon. It wasn’t good news.

I’ll elaborate in my next entry. I’m pretty upset but trying to hold onto what I’ve proven to myself over and over: that I can handle this. I have resources, I have much to do at home, and it’s winter; if this had to happen, it’s the right season for it. I have that huge package of sewing patterns arriving on Monday and my streak of blog posts to maintain. I have projects to work on and trips to plan. While it’s tempting to frame this as a return to jail after a single day of parole, doing so would imply that I did something wrong. I didn’t, and it’s important that I remind my self-critical brain of that. It’s also important that I remember that even if my ability to move about the community in the manner and to the extent I would like will be limited in the weeks to come, I can participate in the community from where I am—and that I’m so fortunate to have community at all.

Thanks for being part of it. If I know you in real life and you want to connect, feel free to reach out. I’ll be here, sewing, writing, occasionally moping, but more often keeping myself occupied and engaged.