Well, folks, I officially graduated to “mostly unsupervised” this week. Tuesday marked my first real solo day, and let me tell you, it was…an experience. Let’s just say my wheelchair and I are still in the “awkward first date” phase of our relationship. We’re not quite dancing smoothly together yet.

And picture this: I managed to get myself trapped in my lazy boy. Yes, you read that right. I’m not entirely sure how it happened, but suddenly I was a prisoner of plush, unable to escape the clutches of reclining comfort. Then there were the tennis balls. My walker seems to have developed a vendetta against them, launching them across the room not once, but *twice*. And who needs hands when you have a wheelchair? I accidentally opened a kitchen drawer with my wheel – talk about multi-tasking! Oh, and I capped it all off (pun intended) by knocking the cap off the rolling table leg. It was a day of triumphs and tribulations, mostly the latter.

Occupational therapy was scheduled for “noonish,” so the ever-amazing Samantha swooped in to wrangle the fur babies. Finnegan got a luxurious paddock break, and Albus got a much-needed potty excursion. During my OT session, we discussed goals, but the big kahuna – an actual shower – is on hold until I’m weight-bearing again. Apparently, my bathroom is anti-wheelchair, and the three or four steps required to reach the shower are currently off-limits. Sigh.

To top it all off, Dave seems to be juggling a million things at once. I’m starting to worry about the toll this whole situation is taking on him. He’s a trooper, but even superheroes need a break.

Wednesday brought a visit from Allie, the visiting nurse, who checked my vitals. While she was doing that, Samantha took Albus for a stroll around the property. Meanwhile, Finnegan has decided his new favorite game is to deposit his beloved armadillo toy *behind* my wheelchair. It’s incredibly sweet, but not exactly conducive to smooth navigation.

Then came the real drama. Samantha offered to have Andy push me down the ramp for some much-needed outdoor time. I happily accepted, and they returned around 2:30 to get me. As Andy approached the front screen door, Finnegan completely lost his mind. He went full-on berserker, positioning himself *under* the wheelchair between my feet, growling and snarling at Andy like he was a cartoon villain come to life. 

I’ve always suspected Finnegan would protect me if the situation called for it, but this was a whole new level of intensity. It was so shocking to see from my sweet, gentle boy that it really threw me for a loop. Samantha managed to calm him down enough for Andy to safely get me outside, and she hung out with me for a bit.

Later, after Samantha left, my phone decided to stage a dramatic death scene, leaving me off-grid for a good 30 minutes until Dave arrived. And just to add a cherry on top, I accidentally pinched Albus’ paw with the wheelchair while backing up in the hallway right before bed. (He’s totally fine, thankfully!) The chaos distracted me enough to forget my bedtime meds. Let’s just say Wednesday was a *day*.

I woke up at 2:30 AM, completely unable to sleep. My wheelchair was a mere five steps away, which, in my current state, may as well be on the moon. After 90 minutes of tossing and turning, I finally gave up and tried to figure out how to get to it, thereby waking Dave. My hero fetched the wheelchair, and I relocated to the living room, promptly trapping myself again by leaving the walker behind. Seriously, I hate this situation.

Dave, being the amazing human he is, brought all my “accessories” (walker, etc.) out when he woke up, made me coffee and breakfast, and then headed off to work. After finishing my first cup, I decided to attempt making my own coffee. It was a Herculean effort involving strategic maneuvering and a whole lot of determination, but I did it! I successfully made a cup of coffee and transported it in my lap to the table. Victory! A tiny, caffeinated victory, but a victory nonetheless!

Samantha checked in and took care of the pups, and after she left, I settled in for an afternoon in the lazy boy, chatting with friends and watching TV. By 7:30pm, I was completely exhausted and ready for bed.

Dave, who was understandably concerned about me transporting an open cup of hot coffee in my lap, has ordered me a travel mug. Practical? Absolutely. But I also have a favorite mug, a gift from my husband. It’s matte black, oversized, and has a skull in the bottom. It even has a matching skull spoon! You see, I have a thing for Death Wish coffee, which has a skull logo, so he coordinated my mug with my coffee choice. Adorable, right?

So, I’ve decided I’m willing to transport *two* different mugs. The travel mug for safety, and my beloved skull mug for pure, unadulterated coffee enjoyment. Because sometimes, even in the midst of wheelchair chaos, a girl just needs her favorite mug.

Stay tuned for more tales from the wheelchair chronicles! And wish me luck – I’m determined to conquer this whole “home alone” thing, one cup of coffee (and one near-disaster) at a time.

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Recovery Story,