I Don’t Like Admitting I Can’t Do Things

I guess I have to learn to, though

Photo by julien Tromeur on Unsplash

I’m reasonably new to the idea of being partially disabled. Yes, I’ve had arthritis for over a decade now, but I live my life in a way that it doesn’t bother me too much.

Which is to say, I ignore it most of the time and find workarounds for the things I can’t do.

Living this way keeps me in cozy denial. I can imagine that I could do something if I had to, but I don’t have to so I don’t ever prove myself wrong. I was content in my dream world.

Until reality came crashing through the door, as it tends to do.

My son needed me to look after my granddaughter for three weeks, so of course I said I would. It’s been a long time since I looked after a child full- time, but I figured it would be more fun than anything else.

At first, it was great. She’s four and played independently a lot so she didn’t need me inserting myself into whatever game she’d created. Whenever she’d ask me to play with her, though, I’d join her.

But as the days wore on, so did my knees.

Down onto the floor to play, get up to make some food, back down on the floor, up to get a tray of water for water play, down to build cities with blocks, up to use the bathroom, and so on.

After a week I was stiff, sore, and increasingly irritable.

I probably would have been fine, if this babysitting didn’t also coincide with daylight savings time. As it was, I was getting up over an hour earlier than normal so I could pick my granddaughter up and take her to my place. With the change in time, I was getting up over two hours before my circadian rhythm deemed appropriate.

Plus, I caught a flu. Or perhaps a cold. Maybe it was Covid. All I know is that it smacked me down and made the hours drag by. I ate cold medicine like candy. It took the edge off, but not much else.

So there I was — sick, tired, and sore — but still trying to make sure my granddaughter had a good time while she was with me. Inevitably, the point came where I had to tell her that no, I couldn’t get down on the floor to play. She just moved too fast for me. If I got on the floor, she’d want to move to a different section of the floor, maybe even another room.

It was a big enough feat to get down there and be able to sit reasonably comfortably, never mind scooting hither and yon.

It was hard to see the disappointment on her face, coupled with confusion. She couldn’t understand why my knees and back didn’t work like hers. After all, she could tuck her ankle behind her head if she wanted to, or roll down a hill and bounce right back up. In her world, body parts don’t ache from merely getting down onto the floor over and over and over and over again.

I didn’t want her to see me as someone who has limited mobility. I didn’t want her to think of her Gramma Bean as someone who couldn’t do stuff.

Nevertheless, I’ll have to get used to it as much as she’ll have to get used to people with different abilities.

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