Just Roll with It

“ You’ll be stuck in a gutter and no one will find you!” My mother warned me a long time ago when I told her I want to ride a motorcycle. It wasn’t a motorcycle, but my sorry ass was stuck just the same and I hope my mommy had a good laugh up in heaven.

Ten years post stroke, I did not anticipate the need for a mobility scooter. I even celebrated not needing a wheelchair at all a few months after leaving rehab. But healing is not linear. Sometimes it is a damn funnel cloud that sucks us in and spits us out in broken pieces and we are left to figure out how to patch up our broken pieces all over again.

As difficult as it was to admit the need for one, I also knew the freedom and relief a scooter would offer. A friend generously gave me her old one as she had upgraded to a newer model. I would just need a new battery.

My long time neighbor/ bestie/sister from another mother Tammy and I waited patiently for the battery to arrive, making plans about the shenanigans we’d get up to once I get rolling. I’ve been staying indoors most of the spring and summer as walking has become almost torturous.

Our little box of freedom arrived last Friday and I quickly sent Tammy a text. I opened the garage door blasting Bon Jovi’s “Dead or Alive” as soon as Tammy arrived. The scooter was parked behind my son’s Harley, looking like a small, battered but bejeweled step child.

We installed the battery with the help of Youtube of course. Confession: every

time I come across blue and red wires, I go into bomb squad mode. Will we be blown to kingdom come or will Keanu get to keep driving the bus?

Anyway, the batteries were changed, the engine turned on and it worked! High fives and hugs, water bottles filled, hats donned and we were set. Off to the Asian Market about a half a mile away from my house. Safe, close and convenient.

With a hearty “Let’s roll!” Tammy and I made our way down the sidewalk. At 3 mph. a turtle might’ve flipped me off for blocking traffic. We reminisced about days when we used to take our children the same route to go to 7-11, the two of us running to keep up with four of them either on bikes or Razor scooters. Here we were, the kids now grown, still hanging out except I'm now on a scooter. Life is full of changes and challenges.

“Oh crap!” Tammy, who does not cuss, ( I really don’t how we’ve been friends for 20 plus years) said as we reached the end of the curb. It did not have a ramp for the scooter. We had to go to the nearest driveway.

Ever so cautiously, still learning to maneuver and control the little machine, I rolled off the curb slowly and got stuck in the gutter.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” I mumbled, as Tammy laughed as a real bestie would.

Not even five minutes into our first great adventure. I was already in the gutter. She tried to push, I gave it power. It would not move. We laughed. And laughed. I tried putting it on reverse. Nothing.

A nice man in a Honda stopped. “Can I help you ladies?” he offered.

“No thank you. We got this.” Tammy said, wiping off a tear of mirth from her cheek.

He drove off slowly, probably thinking why I haven’t gotten off the damn scooter which would have made it easier to push.

When I finally stood up (duh), we were easily able to roll it onto the street. Since it was still summer break and there were only a few cars on the side street, we stayed off the sidewalk. And merrily we rolled along.

Until we reached the cross walk on the main road. I stopped, waited for the light then… nothing. The scooter would not move. The market was within our sights. As if mocking me, the scooter emitted a series of beeps. Oh damn, did I trigger an explosive? I felt sweat crawl down my back, the afternoon sun had reached maximum intensity.

“Motherfucker!” I say as a jacked up pick-up truck sped past us, trying to beat the light spewing carbon monoxide, dust, and toxic masculinity.

“I’ll walk back home and get the Subaru. Let’s push this thing under the shade.” Tammy said.

We pushed the little engine that wouldn’t across the street. The newly installed ADA friendly ramp with its bright yellow bumps, still smelled of fresh cement and plastic. Caution tape still strewn around.

One more test, I turned my ride back on, the battery showed a full charge. I sat back down gingerly, pressed go. It moved! We high fived, then punched the air with a “Whoop! Whoop!” Not six feet later, it stopped.

“Goddamnit!” I yelled. The curtains on the corner house quickly shut.

“Do you think this is still under dealer warranty?" I asked, as we pushed the sad little machine under a shady tree. I looked at the peeling paint, well-loved seat and worn handle and shook my head.

It might be a lemon, but it is bejeweled.

“Berna, you’ve been given a lemon.” Tammy retorted. I wondered what the passing cars were thinking when they saw two grown women laughing their heads off on the sidewalk in the middle of the afternoon.

Tammy walked back to her house while I waited under the shade and contemplated my life. I had so many plans now I had the scooter. I wouldn’t need to ask my family for rides all the time, I could take county transit and do stuff by myself! It will be safer and easier to take the train to San Francisco! I can join bookstore crawls! I can roll out and go across the street to the park to get some fresh air.

This backslide really threw me for a loop, I thought I was doing all the right things for my recovery, going to the gym, stretching, walking and staying in shape. The vortex of a downward spiral was about to pull me in when Tammy pulled up. We loaded the scooter in the back of the car, the two minute drive to the Asian market was quiet.

I have surgery coming up in a couple of months to straighten up my left foot which would help me with my balance and gait. I won’t be able to go salsa dancing or wear stilettos, but at least be able to stand for longer than one minute without feeling like a Weeble-Wooble. Or others would be able to tell the difference between drunk me or sober me. I might still need a scooter even with the surgery. So I am on a search for a replacement.

The universe has a wild sense of humor. I was thinking of ways to end this post when I received a call from the hospital. They have a surgery date in the books. Yikes!

I want to say something bright, hopeful and positive. The truth is I am fucking scared. I am scared that the result will be worse than what I started with. I am scared that I would be in more pain. But I believe it is a risk worth taking. I miss going out for walks, I miss going up and down steps without fear of breaking my neck. I won’t miss being out of breath standing in front of the stove making dinner. Or walking from the bathroom to the living room.

I am hoping for some relief.

If I ever get into trouble, I probably will be with Tammy.