The Whiz-a-Ma-Bob
by Floriana Hall
Bob, my husband of 62 years, has always had a keen sense of humor. Since he has been in the nursing home unable to walk or transfer himself after a fall last September, the guffaws and laugh-out-loud laughter have been magnified and enjoyed by all.
However, along with the good days, there have been days when he is cranky if he is uncomfortable. Last week was one to remember with a chuckle. Bob was complaining constantly that he was hurting while sitting so long in the wheelchair. Now, this wheel chair was one that he could move easily without too much strain on his weak arms and legs. I was so proud of him that he could finally get around by himself to buy a candy bar or soda.
You see, I have spinal stenosis and am not allowed to lift anything heavier than a gallon of milk and Bob weighs 225 pounds. To see Bob actually use his arms and legs instead of asking an aide or nurse to help us was such a boon to our problem.
After listening to Bob grumble and bitch nonstop about feeling uncomfortable in the wheelchair, the occupational therapists decided to order a new wheelchair for him. Most of them enjoy Bob and his joking and do try to please him. They want all their patients to be contented.
The new wheelchair arrived and when I saw it, I thought, “What a monstrosity.” It was much larger than the previous one and when they helped Bob into it, he immediately felt more uncomfortable. The wheels were farther behind, it was tilted back and there was an obstruction about the size of a cantaloupe between his legs. We did not know what it was, but it made him feel trapped.
Bob loves to smoke cigars every day out in the court yard. He always said he wants to be like George Burns and live to be 100. An aide put him in the sun and we both enjoyed the warm sunshine and 80 degree weather, unusual for May, while he smoked. I sat a distance away from the wafting puffs. Two aides walked by and Bob asked them if they could remove the obstruction but after trying, they were unable to loosen it. A familiar and kind OT walked by and started to laugh about the situation and Bob’s fussing. She tried to unhook the barrier but gave up, also.
After twenty minutes, it was time to go back indoors. Bob continued to fuss the whole time about how he hated the new wheelchair. I encouraged him to try to move it but he could not seem to do that. I hurried to get help to take him back into the care home. When the young and sweet occupational therapist who ordered the wheelchair arrived on the scene, Bob said to her “Please take this Whiz-a-ma-bob out of my way, I cannot move.” We all started laughing out loud at this crazy situation, but she at last figured out how to remove it by loosening some screws. She wheeled Bob down the hall and into the therapy room.
In the therapy room, Bob never was able to have therapy because the whole time there was spent removing the obstacle and trying to adjust the wheelchair to Bob’s needs. That did not happen. They decided that this set of wheels was not suitable for him.
Bob and I breathed a sigh of relief. The next day, his therapy was spent trying to make him more at ease in the old familiar wheel chair. The OT took it apart and it was like a jigsaw puzzle to put back together, and a difficult one at that but she finally solved it.
