First of all, this post is about my arse. So there, trigger warning or whatever.
In my condition, and many others, it is vitally important to take care of your skin. Being unable to move takes your skin from something that you don’t think about to something you’re forever worrying about. Being so important, any unwanted marks are disastrous. Currently, I have 2 little red patches perched perfectly astride my crack, meaning I am confined to my bed. In fact, it’s not just to my bed, I have to be completely on a side, so as to keep the pressure off the redness and allow it to heal. This may not sound so bad, but bare in mind that being in bed = no independence. I have to ask for everything from food and drink to my ipad charger or my earphones. God forbid I drop the call button, and have to wait for someone to come by so i can beg assistance. The staff are fantastic and don’t mind doing these things, but that’s not the point. What is, is the fact that I’m disabled now, and every bit of independence is vital to my sanity.
Being in a wheelchair does not mean I’m disabled. I’m classed as disabled because part of my body no longer works. I make up for that (or try to) by being in a wheelchair. When that option is taken away, and I am confined to a bed, and my independence is taken away, it’s torture. Now; this is nobody’s fault, and I am blaming nobody, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be upset by this. If I’m honest, it’s awful. Being stuck in bed due to illness and recovery from my crash is one thing, but pressure sores are another world entirely; one I wish I didn’t have to worry about.
So far, this is probably the most mentally taxing part of my journey. The crash I can deal with, the horrors of ITU are settling but this, well it’s brutal. This is by no means a cry for help, but honesty is the point of this blog. I’ve had my link to the world removed, the wheels have come off (pun intended) and the worst part is the healing takes time. Which means I could end up like this for days, weeks even if I’m particularly unlucky.
Thankfully, I am allowed one short hour’s respite, and my arse will once again be united with the seat of my wheelchair. It’s my grandma’s birthday so I’m off for a meal. I’ll savour each sweet moment of freedom, and then return to my fortress of solitude until the red-ass-syndrome subsides.