Glimpsing Disability — Part 2
After a racquetball injury left me fending for myself on one leg—hobbling around on a four-wheeled walker—the plants on my porch blew over, dirt spilling out of pots. But I couldn’t bend or lift. The cat box needed tending—in the basement. Couldn’t cope with stairs.
I did manage to wash dishes, with two knees on the walker (brakes secure!) but had to rest frequently. It was exhausting.
I learned the one-legged shower. I have a walk-in shower stall, but it has a lip to step over—no easy feat for one foot. Now I understand those modern showers where there is no stall at all—just a drain in the bathroom floor. Brilliant! At least I had grab bars to help with the elevation change.
But this was a temporary state for me. Still, at some point, it could represent a way of life, as it does for 16% of Arkansas adults, according to the CDC. And 14% suffer from cognitive disabilities.
I watched my mother’s gradual decline from Alzheimer’s disease. The shower lip wasn’t a problem but convincing her to take a shower at all was a chore. There’s apparently a sensory component to Alzheimer’s that makes showers uncomfortable. But she couldn’t climb into our bathtub, and we couldn’t easily remodel our home to provide her a walk-in tub.
And, of course, she needed round-the-clock supervision to be sure she didn’t put a metal spoon in the microwave and start a fire or wander into the woods. We relied on Area Agency on Aging to supply us with aides to stay with Mom while we had brief respites. But according to NPR, the need for home health and personal care aides will increase nearly 37 percent by 2028. And there is already a shortage.
When my husband died, I couldn’t manage Mom alone, so she moved to an assisted living facility. She hated it for a week, and then loved it—unable to remember ever living with me. She had her own small apartment, three meals a day, and staff on-call 24/7. But she had the savings to pay for it. Not everybody does.
My brief battle with acute physical disability and my years of caring for Mom left me wondering how communities will fare as the population ages. Especially those at high risk for social isolation. A lot of us here in Carroll County live rurally, where we can’t even see our neighbors.
A 2022 map depicting the risk of social isolation in the US by county suggests that Carroll County is not the worst place to be. That makes some sense to me. Eureka Springs seems to be a place where folks look out for other folks.
The county has a senior center, food banks, meals on wheels, Area Agency on Aging, among other resources. Probably not enough to go around—especially as the number of needy goes up—but there are worse places to be (like some of the states I used to live in. Louisiana, Mississippi, and New Mexico look pretty dark on the map. But so do some other Arkansas counties.)
Able-bodied youth can’t really imagine being old. Can’t imagine losing hearing, eyesight, or physical strength. So generally speaking, it’s up to us old folks to demand what we need. Good thing we currently comprise a large voting bloc. (Hopefully, our votes will help the less-than-elderly who find themselves in differently abled bodies. Bulging cracked sidewalks, public stairs without ramps or elevators, and lack of in-home assistance are not problems merely for old folks.)
And if you haven’t played racquetball in twenty years —don’t!