Karate master

So at last they told us we could be discharged. I wanted to get out of that nightmare palace. I had to get out of the bed and into my wheelchair.

My strong wife and a cubic nurse helped me sit up. The left leg tends to extend, and resist my struggle to sit up. My dear wife knows to bend the leg back under me.

Some people who try to help grow alarmed by the moves that you make in order to make other moves. Consider the bicyclist. In order to turn right, one must first lean left. Some people do all they can to prevent you from leaning left.

I needed to get my weight over my feet in order to stand up. I did not realize it at first, but the cubic nurse would press on my right shoulder to keep me from falling on my face on the floor. So I could never get my weight over my feet. I tried, and tried again. I would extend my right arm to get some weight beyond the tipping point. After a few tries, I noticed that the cubic nurse would block my right hand quickly and effectively each time I did so. She was really good at it. I think she had martial arts training.

I reached out to my wife several times, and the karate hand block thwarted me each time. Then I managed to grab the cubic nurse's forearm, in order to pull my weight over my feet. You'd think that the cubic nurse might then understand my goal. She peeled off my hand so fast I had no chance to pull. I began to form the theory that she did not want to be molested, which would explain why she blocked my hand each time it reached out.

She and my intelligent wife tried to lift me up on a count of three. It could not happen, because I had been prevented from getting my weight over my feet. In the spastic, failed attempt, my right hand flailed out and lifted the cubic nurse's shirt up toward her breast. She reacted extremely quickly to that, defending herself and adjusting her clothing.

She continued pushing my shoulder back, and I at last realized that this was the problem. "Don't touch me!" I slurred angrily at her. "You! Do not touch me!" She understood, and turned and left the room. I now find it amusing that she feared being touched, and that I accidentally molested her, and then wound up yelling at her the molestee, not to touch me, the molester. I like irony.

I shifted my weight forward. I could have stood up with help. But the morning nurse arrived and decided to do a transfer into the chair. As I have become less able to communicate, I have learned that although my way is the best way, it is often OK to accept the way other people want to do things.

So she clamped my knees with hers, braced herself, grabbed me under each armpit, and swung my butt into the waiting chair.

We were poised to make our escape.

My electric wheelchair broke yesterday at midday. My strong wife must push me everywhere. And last night I developed a 'pinched nerve' that makes my neck hurt on the left side. Pathetic