Oh those wheelchairs

One of the reasons Lucy is a crabby girl.

One of the hundreds that I am.

 

 

 

Mark insisted we go for blood work today since he is golfing Friday.  Parking and then going inside to get a wheelchair, back to car for her, back inside, is a hassle because of the design of this idiotic medical center.  Handicapped parking (or any other) is no where near the entrance made to be more grand than functional.  They were packed and as much as I am indecisive, my husband is impatient.  But we stayed.  Until we found out that the doctor failed to sign the orders.  Back to the car, to the doctors, back to the clinic.  Still packed.  I chose the wheelchair with less width since I was scraping the door frames last time.  Much better.  As we sat waiting to be called, I told Carole to put the foot rests down.  No.  She didn't want to because she always lifts her feet or dangles them from those very short chubby legs.  I said, put the damn foot rests down.  No.  I couldn't reach them from the position of my seat so I reached over with her cane to push the flippers down.  Unfortunately, it slipped off and, well, let's just say she had more color in her face than I've seen in weeks.  And I started that laugh again that should never be done in public.  It's not loud, it just creates a very unattractive face scrunch that scares small children followed by a low snort.  Then she started.  And we hear our names being called so I unlock the wheel and start pushing the chair.  If I would have unlocked both wheels, she would not have done a semi circle and hit into the magazine table.  Now the scrunch is severe, squinting my eyes almost shut, causing me to misjudge the door.  We made it home safely, but needed to change our pants.

 

 

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