This drawing is kinda old but just getting around to posting it. There seems to be much bathroom talk on this blog but don't worry, I will spare you all the gory details.  

We never seem to recognize the mundane routines of our day to day, until it stares us in the face and commands utter and complete attention.

"Look at me, look at me!!"

There's been many times where I have found myself stuck on the toilet pleaing and crying to my body to, "Please get up, you can do this".  

Throughout my days I absolutely dread the Porcelain God and that nagging urge to peepee.  I would literally be in FEAR of this necessary routine. 

As my progression has evolved the style in which I rise from the toilet has evolved over time.

I remember that day in Dr. Seidel's office in 2002 when he asked me, "Can you get up and down from a seated position?" as he filled out my chart with checked boxes and notes.

"Ummm, well yea, why wouldn't I be able to?" I thought, as I arrogantly demonstrated getting up and sitting down on his office chair without a blink, without assistance, without even holding onto the arm rests. I could do this all day" I thought as I reveled in the things I could do rather than what I couldn't. At this time the list of "can't" was much shorter.

Over time this has obviously become more apparent and my getting up and down has become slower to non-existent.

I've adopted the style of using my hands, arms and legs to push myself up from a chair. Sometimes I have to literally throw my body onto a table - that I use as leverage - with my face squished onto the surface while I slowly and ever so carefully push myself up while being forced to consciously utilize every muscle available.

Even thinking about using a public bathroom has become a nightmare.  A year and a half ago I could use the public bathroom at my work. If I am familiar with a surrounding I can wiggle and create a magic routine until my body gets used to the situation. My left hand grabs the handicap bathroom rail, my right hand resting on the toilet seat pushing my body up at an angle, and as soon as I feel my hip lock, with every muscle I have left, I could push myself up slowly with an assistive and constant mutter, "Please don't fall, please don't fall."

Nowadays, going to a public bathroom alone is non-existent.  However, my home is a place I can have a little more control over and outfit to my body's changes. When we move (which we do frequently) I have to take into account every new bathroom. The size, what I can grab on, what I can lean on, etc..

My last bathroom in San Francisco was pretty small, which was a good thing, because I relied on the wall and the door that was situated right next to the toilet to assist me up.

When I first moved into that place my bathroom style was to grab the doorknob with my left hand, put my right hand on the toilet, wedge my foot in between the door and the wall which allowed me to  pull the door closed while lifting. The door was my leverage and my foot the barrier that I could use to push my against the door and use as an extra weight to push up on.

This was shortlived. The toilet was too low for me to get up by myself.  Onto plan W.

I bought a plastic toilet rise that gained me an extra 6 inches of height. This was less height for my legs to push up from. This worked for a very short time.  My wrists had gotten weaker, along with my legs, and I would find myself stuck on the toilet, alone - crying to myself and to my little Pippi in the most broken hearted sob.

I had alot of downtime to think in the bathroom. I created stories in that very quiet space imagining the bathroom tiles, the light peering through the window, the walls, as something more than what they were.

I soon put a wood stool in front of me, so I could lay my stomach on it and push my body onto it while lifting with my legs and arms. The stool acted as steady table, much like how I use my desk to assist me up. This became a tricky scenario and each time I hoped I wouldn't fall. I made it up each time by the skin of my teeth.

My latest bathroom style is this very wonderful electronic toilet lift.  I didn't know it existed.  I push a button and it propels me up towards the heavens in a very slow, yet breezy, adventure.

Weeeeee!  

It's called the Neptune Toilet Lift but there are many different versions that do the same thing. I seriously fell in love with it when it arrived in its great big cardboard box. It was like Christmas. I now need a $2500 lift to help me go to the bathroom. People don't realize how expensive it is to be disabled. And I'm not disabled due to "laziness" or one "looking for handouts" but unless you're disabled or have a disease you don't know what it's like. Private healthcare is corrupt and they won't cover a lot of things and the things they do cover they battle you on. And durable medical guard, just like big pharma, has huge markups. Not all disabled people can work nor do they have family or a spouse to help so imagine what they go through. 

I wanted to hold hands with my Neptune. I loved it that much.  It became more than a piece of equipment, yet a doorway to some independence. I personified him as "tushpush.2000".  Christmas in July, indeed. I thought I was pretty neat stuff rising and lowering in the air.  Where there is a will, there is way. Don't ever give up.