Mr. Toad's Wild Ride

While in the process of putting my wheelchair bound son back to bed following a bathroom break, we heard, "Help!  Help!"  As I placed my son on the edge of his bed, leaving him holding onto a standing grab bar, we heard more desperate pleas emanating from my husband's bedroom.  "Help!  Help!"
"Coming!  I'm coming as fast as I can!"  I yelled.  I rushed down the hall.

I entered the room to see my husband's wheelchair doing "donuts" in the space by his bed.

Terry lay on his bed, witnessing the mayhem, yelling frantically, "It's doing it by itself!"

In a split second, it was clear what had happened.  As Terry had climbed into bed from his electric chair, he threw the blanket that had been covering him aside.  The blanket caught on the wheelchair control joystick and draped around the front of the arm rest.  As often happens, Terry left his chair in drive mode and forgot to turn it off.  The blanket's weight pulled the joystick to the side and, with the wrap around the arm rest, slightly forward.  That kicked in the drive.  The chair jumped into action, circling, while dragging the blanket.  With each rotation, the blanket became tighter and tighter.  The blanket edge, firmly wrapped on the control stick, drove the chair into a wild ride.  The remainder of the blanket that dragged on the floor collected Terry's discarded clothes.

As the wheelchair circled, so it's right side was near me, my hand darted out to the toggle switch and turned the monster off.  In the same instant, I thought this was Mr. Toad's Wild Ride, brought about by my husband.  Terry looked confused as to what had happened.  I explained that he had forgotten to turn the chair off, before he climbed into bed.  Then, with throwing the blanket to the side, the scene was set.  He remained convinced the chair was possessed, with a mind of it's own.  I couldn't help but laugh at the small disaster he caused.

It was typical Terry.

Singing Soprano with a Push-up Bra

Years ago, our adult son Andy (wheelchair bound) and I worked out a way for me to assist him in the bathroom, yet let him to retain his privacy and dignity.  Recently he regained strength and the ability to be slightly more independent.  One night he didn't wait for me for full bathroom assistance, but still needed help pulling up his clothes.  This is where things went awry.

Positioned to his side by his back, I pulled up his underwear and pajamas in one strong swift motion.  He immediately began making high pitched noises, released his grip on a grab bar, and began pointing, as best as he could, down.  Looking at the side of his hip, I saw that his pants were not at his waist all the way around, but angled down sharply from the back to the front.  They seemed to be caught on something in the front.  I was puzzled by what was causing the problem... then it hit me.

I slide my thumbs down, beneath the the waistbands on the sides, and pulled straight forward.  Instantly his clothes popped free from the front obstruction and up to his waist.  Chuckling, I asked him, "Was it caught on the jewels or the pickle?"

"Both!" he exclaimed, with a little irritation.

I burst into laughter, as an image of a push-up bra entered my brain... a push-up bra with slightly different contents more appropriate to a male.

When his care giver arrived in the morning, I told him while he and my husband sing alto, we discovered Andy could sing soprano.