Reactions to my Rollator, Rambling, and a Photograph

Everybody and their mother, so to speak, were interested in my health today, including people to whom I've barely spoken, who have never asked before. I guess I should have been prepared for this reaction to my rollator, but somehow I thought people would be in their own little worlds more. I did get one heartwarming reaction last night: one of the girls in my dorm saw me and said, "CONGRATULATIONS! High five! Do you like it?" That sums up my feelings exactly, so I was rather thrilled.

Then today I was telling "John" something about it, and happened to call it my "rollator." (I'd never used that word with him before.) He asked, "What did you call it?"

"A rollator."

"Is that rollator like alligator or rollaider as in it aids you?"

*slight confusion* "...R-O-L-L-A-T-O-R."

"Oh, OK, rollator. So, like a funny little gator."

*major laughter such as only "John" can produce* "I never thought of it that way."

I think from now on I will have to call the rollator my "funny little gator".

People were most enthusiastic over the brakes, with reactions ranging from incredulity to joy. I couldn't quite figure out what the big deal was, and finally asked a girl in my English class (she probably won't come up again, but call her "Elaine"):

"What's so great about the brakes?"

"What are they...for?!"

"Well, if you let go of the rollator on any surface that's even slightly sloped, and you don't put the brakes on, it rolls away from you."

"Oh, OK. So...they aren't to slow you down?"

"Umm...no."

I was explaining this syndrome to a girl who's never asked before, and got as far as the first part of the explanation: "Ordinarily, when you step on a tack, it sends a pain signal up to your brain--"

"And that's what you have?"

Umm...*what* is what I have? I have a brain...and I have a pain signal...but something's missing here.

And my all-time favorite rollator related conversation:

"Max": "There's Sarah!...What's this shmagiggy?"

Me: "This is a rollator."

"What does it...do?"

"It's more supportive than my crutches."

"Dave": "Well that was obvious."

The fact that I will one day be better, that there are a finite number of bad days, does not make them any easier to deal with one by one. Earlier today I felt like a cheese grater was being scraped over my feet as they burned, and while it's indescribably wonderful to know I won't have to live the rest of my life that way, fear of the future just never was a big part of my emotions on a bad day. A bad day is, "I hurt like Hell, I feel like crap, I'm exhausted, and I have to make it through the day."

I guess what I'm trying to say is that my "radar" on a bad day only extends enough to plan for the next three hours. If I can't imagine tomorrow, I certainly cannot imagine three months from now.

Oh, and because this blog needs a picture (and I need to go do homework, and this is a nice note to end on), here is a picture of my mother and me after Thanksgiving dinner (censored, as always):