I pick my wife up and her knees collapse. I feel a sharp pain somewhere low in my back as muscles and bone adjust to the unexpected strain. She laughs. It’s not a real laugh; I know that. She has no more control over it than the sudden contractions that curled her legs under her as I lifted. But I can control the flash of frustration I feel when I drop her into her wheelchair.
It’s another morning living with PLS, Primary Lateral Sclerosis. It’s another day I get to be with the woman I love more than occasional back pain, that I love more than life. Maybe I should have taken better care of myself to prepare for this. Less time tapping on a keyboard. More time at the gym. More time working out. Arnold would be able to lift her with one arm. So would The Rock.
Or maybe a technical solution. I could get a Hoyer Lift, but I don’t want one. The bathroom would have to be remodeled to accommodate it. The bed frame with the under dresser full of old photos and memorabilia from a life together would need to be replaced.
No. A mechanical device seems too clinical, and I’m OK lifting her. Really. I use a brace and I get to hug her close to me several times a day. That’s worth risking a little back pain, isn’t it?
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