And Now to Bed . . . ?

With the clock nearing 10 o'clock last night, I told myself, "It's time for bed." As I got ready to retire for the night, my bowels said, "Not so fast, Bucko, we've got some business to take care of." Once my big butt was out of the wheelchair and properly positioned on the commode, I got to work on one of the crossword puzzles stashed nearby. Twenty minutes later, the puzzle was done, and the bowels hadn't done shit. For the next fifteen minutes, the bowels received my undivided attention. I might as well have done another crossword puzzle.

Satisfied with their little joke, the bowels were now quiet. My gut now undisturbed and my eyelids getting heavy, the time had come to get off the pot and into bed. That would require getting myself from the commode to the wheelchair, and that proved to be a problem. Getting my arse off the commode wasn't difficult, getting it on to the chair was another story.

I gripped the chair's armrests, pulled myself toward the wheelchair, got my backside off the toilet, and pivoted in order to get the butt aligned with the chair. Alas, my legs were not up to the task. As soon as the old gluteus maximus got between the toilet and the chair, the legs faltered, and the butt began sinking. My arms, getting absolutely no help from the legs, were not able to stop my slow descent to the floor, and, as a result, I got wedged between the toilet and the wheelchair. On the plus side, I was able to reach the chair's controls and move it back. When I did, I ended up lying on my side, with my head against the laundry hamper. Once I got my legs sorta untangled and sorta stretched out, and my pants up far enough to avoid embarrassing myself and others, I was about as comfortable as I could be given the circumstances.

I pressed the button on the I've-fallen-and-can't-get-up pendant Covenant Woods gives each resident. In a few moments, John, the night security guy, was in the apartment, standing over me and assessing my plight. Given the lack of space in the small bathroom and my inability to be of any help, he opted to call for EMTs to get me back in the wheelchair. 

Ten minutes later, there was a knock on the door and four EMTs entered my humble abode. One came in the bathroom to take look and figure out the best way to get me off the floor and back on to the wheelchair. "Here, hold on to my arms," he said. He got a hold of me as best he could, and with me clutching his arms, he lifted me off the floor. A second EMT came in the bathroom to help, and then a third. It was a struggle, but they managed to get me back on the chair. They asked me several times if I was hurt (I wasn't) and if I needed any more help (I didn't). I thanked them for their help, and they went on their way.

They were hardly out the door when I started asking myself if I had been too hasty when I told them I didn't need additional help. But I managed to get up from the wheelchair and on to the bed without incident.