So Long, RollerBoy

OK, so you know this about me from my last post: I don’t like crutches. Well, luckily for me, I have had some freedom from my crutches. No not because I can walk. (Not that much freedom!) But thanks to my friend Deb and my podiatrist, I learned that I could rent this very bizarre and amusing (and wonderful!) little alternative mode of transport that I’ve been using, along with the crutches, for lo these last 5 weeks. I affectionately (and let me tell you, I do have a lot of love for this thing) call it RollerBoy, but it’s actually called RollerAid. It’s a knee-walker! (Isn’t that something to do with Navajos and WWII? you say. No, sillies, not code talker, but knee walker.)

This is a little contraption that gets you from place to place without using the dreaded crutches. I also call it my trike, and it’s light years beyond crutches. It’s kind of a cross between a kid’s scooter and a tricycle. Foot-powered! It’s like a large tricycle from when you were, maybe, 5 or 6. Not the teeny tiny one you had at 3 or 4. Remember the giant one? We had a big brown one that we used to ride pell mell up and down the block, rocking from side to side, daring it to fall over. And when we weren’t riding it, there was still fun to be had; we would turn it upside down and stand it on its handlebars and seat, then turn the pedals and pretend like we were making ice cream to sell. Anyone else do that? OK, I’m getting off track here. The point I was making is that RollerBoy is like that trike, complete with handlebars and a basket. Mine is shiny red and even has hand brakes! Where the seat would be, there’s a very soft, very padded cushion. So you stand next to the thing, put the knee of your bad leg on the pad, and push yourself along with your good leg. (Now, please forgive me for being judgmental about legs, but I think it’s safe in this situation to designate good and bad leg. I’m counting on you to figure which is which. Although, come to think of it, my “bad” leg is so much slimmer now that I haven’t used it, that I really like it better. So maybe this isn’t so clear after all.) Anyway, that’s the knee-walker in a nutshell.

It can’t replace the crutches completely, of course. Remember the stairs? Well, RollerBoy doesn’t do stairs. Or, really, any surface too bumpy or uneven. Or too slanted… I almost fell off one day when I was soaring down a slanted sidewalk. Thank heavens for those hand brakes.

Anyway, it’s a lifesaver! If the RollerAid people ever want me to be in a commercial or do a testimonial, I’m their gal. Because, guess what? Not only does it make it so much easier to get around (I’ve actually had to slow myself down a few times to match the pace of my fellow bi-peds), but it solves that major downer of the crutches: I can carry things! And not only in my hands, but in the handy little basket. So hallelujah, I can carry my Diet Dr. Pepper (uh, if my naturopath is reading this, I meant to say my bottle of water), I can load and unload the dishwasher (well, maybe it’s not all good), I can do kitchen stuff, I can carry my book from room to room. The psychological lift this little trike has given me is tremendous.

But I’m in a new stage now. As of this week, I’ve made it past the NWB stage (for all you two-legged walkers, that’s Non-Weight Bearing). I can walk! Not fancy-free, mind you; I still have the giant boot and will for a while more, but I can walk with one crutch, on the boot. Woohoo!

All good news! Except that it means it’s time to say sayonara to my new friend. So long to RollerBoy. And I’m actually finding myself reluctant to return the little guy. No joke. You just can’t imagine how easy (and a little fun, too) it is to get on that thing and zip from my desk to the bathroom or zip from one end of the kitchen to the other to get something. There’s this odd sense of freedom when you ride this little trike. Maybe it’s what kids feel the first time they ride a bike. Going so much faster than usual, gliding along like you’re on ice, the (very tiny) breeze in your face. It really feels like that!

I considered keeping it for another week, “just in case.” Ridiculous, I know. Just in case of what? Nothing, other than the bizarre emotional attachment I’ve developed to it. It’s become my security blanket, what I turn to when the crutches are just getting me down. It was such a glimmer of light when I was so overwhelmed at the thought of not walking for over a month. But if I want to keep learning lessons from this little opportunity that life has given me, in particular showing strength while facing adversity, it’s time. Time to say good bye to RollerBoy.

Once again, I take a deep breath, make the call, and bravely tell Sheila—my RollerAid representative—that her little trike is coming home to roost.

Maybe I’ll take it out for a spin around the block tonight for one last wild ride.