30 July 2010

I've had an odd, slightly surreal, mildly worrying, very exciting day. Yes, yes, I know I'm so easily pleased, but today really has been a day of extraordinary events.

I went for my assessment for a powered wheelchair. I had never imagined myself in any sort of wheelchair, far less a powered one. I really couldn't see myself as an escapee from the Darby and Joan Club, far less as some kind of Davros or Blofeld character, but there you are.

In the end, it was a pretty amazing experience. I seem to have passed, and all I need now is somewhere to live that is suitable.

Which brings me on to the most exciting part of the day. I have got used to finding zilch of any use on the housing list each week. I've been told not to bid for anything that's not explicitly identified as accessible, or suitable to be converted. Yesterday, there was a veritable orgy of suitable properties. Ok, not that many, but several - which counts as a orgy compared to the usual barren wasteland.

I have bid on a bungalow - yes, a bungalow, not a ground floor flat - that has a garden, a wet room and a fully adapted kitchen. It even has a ceiling hoist in the bedroom, which creates all manner of curious possibilities. And it is near to all of my family. I am presently number 2 out of 107 bidders, so I will at least have a good shout at getting it.

But here's the rub to all this. Once I have a home that is suitable for an indoor/outdoor (or outdoor/indoor) chair - there is a difference, apparently - will it result in my life becoming so much easier that I lose the need to struggle? Will I become less mobile independently simply because I am more mechanically mobile? Will my leg muscles atrophy or will the possibilities in my life expand exponentially?

Time will tell, I guess, but it's a time of great uncertainty as well as almost limitless possibilities. It has the feeling of the old Chinese curse: "May you live in interesting times".

27 July 2010

Since I last wrote, life continues to be interesting.

The in-situ foley catheter (I think is the term) has gone and I had a brief period of TWOC – no, not ‘taking without consent’, as I believe is the vernacular for joy-riding, but ‘trial without catheter’. And a trial it was. I was hoping against hope that my ability to pee would miraculously return, but that would truly have been the triumph of hope over expectation. All that happened was that my bladder filled, as I drank the prescribed litre of cold water and a hot drink (medium latte, since you ask), but not so much as a drip from the other end.

On the plus side, I still have control over my bladder. I haven’t regressed to childhood, I don’t wet the bed or suffer the indignity of finding myself with warm damp trousers.
Actually, there is no negative, besides having to remember to take catheters with me – which is a mild impediment to spontaneity. Otherwise, I can now pee when I please. So long as I can find somewhere convenient to dispose of the waste, that is.

So the wonderful urology nurse showed me how to self-catheterise (remarkably easy) and arranged for a supply to be delivered to me. It just occurred to me as to whether more people have seen my penis for professional reasons (no, not that profession) or for fun. I’ve lost count, on both scores, but it may be a close-run thing.

On the even more plus side, my sex life seems to have greater possibilities since the foley catheter was removed. Although I was told by the MS nurse that I could indulge in intercourse with it in, I didn’t. I did try to masturbate, but found that it produced a degree of blood in the collection bag and no orgasm. So, whilst it was an interesting experience, even enjoyable, it wasn’t great. Now though, since self-catheterising, I seem to have less trouble getting and maintaining an erection, even when wearing a condom.

All in all, I continue to be a happy bunny!