Homes

In effort to build my writing muscle, and more importantly bring some much needed consistency to The Wheel Deal I have given myself the goal to post once a week. However nothing has really “happened” that would actually be interesting to read about.  The majority of my daily activities this week have pertained to the task of deep cleaning our apartment so we pass our bi-annual apartment inspection.  So as I sit here scouring my daily activities I realize that the illusive topic is glaring me in the face: Casa de David and Emily.  Humdrum as it may sound our living accommodations are actually very apropos to The Wheel Deal, for it is the most accessible place I have ever lived.  The places I have called “home” have all been very different.   Let’s start from the beginning…

The home my parents brought me to as a newborn was a relic from Lincoln’s administration, and where I would live until I left for college.  That’s right; I’m talking a house 150 years old and still not finished.  My parents purchased it a few years before I appeared.  My dad claimed that it would be a 20 year project, it’s going on 25+ and I heard last night that work is being done in the kitchen.  To say that our old house wasn’t made for a kid in a wheelchair is an understatement, but I loved it and my parents modified it as much as they could to give me my independence.  I shared an upstairs room with my older sister till I had major surgery when I was five years old.  That year was also the Great New York State Remodel. My service coordinator was able to secure us funding for work to be done to make a downstairs bedroom and bathroom for me.  However when the proposal writer came to draft up the work that needed to be done they saw other things that just had to be “fixed for my independence”.  Essentially a small scale remodel turned into a giant kafuffle.  As some may know state agencies take the lowest bid, which usually means the shoddiest work, as was the case with the “Hardly Working” construction company.  This contractor was horrible, taking short-cuts left and right (my mother could, and has, gone on for hours about his guy’s craziness).  Luckily my dad is a real Jack of All Trades; a contractor, electrician, plumber, and anything else you can think of – he can do it all.  Despite working a full time engineering job, a part time maintenance job, and being a husband and father of three he would come home from whatever job he was doing, rip out the shoddy work and make it right.

After a long year of house renovations (all of which I believe were a divine distraction for my parents so they didn’t have time to dwell on the huge metal device screwed into my leg) the New York State funded remodel was complete.  I had a bedroom I could wheel into and an attached bathroom.  Also part of that plan was a ramp to our back door.  Eventually my dad added onto the ramp and extended it to our pool deck.  He customized a two tier design so I could park my chair on the lower level and then transfer to the upper level that allowed me to get into our above ground pool independently.  Our kitchen had two under the counter cut-outs so I could wheel under the sink and part of the counter.  On paper (in the eyes of the state) that seems very accommodating however the kitchen really needed to work for the able bodied people I lived with, so the counters were forehead level with me. Never the less I appreciated the thought.  When I became a teenager my dad rearranged some cabinets to make room for a six foot long piece of counter that was a good working height for me.  By that point in my life it was appropriate for me to be able to reach some part of the kitchen – after all I needed access to the microwave, George Foreman grill, and most importantly the coffee maker.  Also in my teenage years we had a handicap button installed for our door so it was easier for me to get in and out.

It was a pretty sweet deal for me.  I had access to the parts of the house I needed to, but it was a little weird not going upstairs or downstairs in the basement much.  I’m not exactly sure when the last time I went upstairs was actually.  When I visited the college I went to for the first time as a high school senior they didn’t have an accessible female dorm room.  However before I officially  decided to go there they had already started ripping apart a room to make it accessible. Throughout my four years I shared a newly remodeled suite (two dorm rooms with a shared bathroom) with the floor’s resident advisor.  Due to the fact that I had two wheelchairs (my manual and power) I needed some extra room, so I never had a roommate. Honestly dorm life (both socially and physically) was pretty great for me.  I loved my room, it was huge compared to my room at home and I arranged it in a way that left me with enough space to donuts in both my chairs.

Like a lot of post-grads I moved back in with my parents after college, where I stayed until I got married.  David had moved from Nashville to his hometown in Ohio several months before we got married and was trying to find us a place.  Unfortunately his search came up empty.  Finding a wheelchair accessible place in our price range was impossible.  He was able to get us on a waiting list at a building that is classified as senior living, but we qualified because I am physically disabled.  After the wedding we crashed with my in-laws.  Their house was incredibly wheelchair friendly (it’s like it was designed for me) once you got inside.  There are two decent sized steps to get in which with any impairment is sort of a pain. Thankfully for two and a half months David and my new family were able to help me and my chair up and down. Always looking for the silver lining I was able to find several benefits of living with my in-laws right after we got married.  Aside from it simply being a roof over our heads it gave me an incredible chance to bond with my new family.  You’d be hard pressed to find an opportunity to bond with your 14 year old brother-in-law, but casually playing video games Saturday morning before everyone wakes up doesn’t seem “weird” or forced at all.  Also having been used to living with parents I feel like it made the transition to Ohio easier for me. 

However sharing a twin sized bed gets old after awhile, even if you are newlyweds and don’t mind being snuggly haha.  We knew it was temporary and were very motivated to find our own place.  In the end of June we got a call saying our name was the top of the waiting list and there was a wheelchair accessible apartment available.  Our ideal situation was actually happening.  We were able to move in the second weekend in July.  Although it is sometimes strange going from a house to a one bedroom apartment we are so happy to have our own place, especially one that works so well for me.  Our lease was even changed a bit to accommodate my van.  Technically there are no reserved spots, yet I have one – there’s even a sign!  The counters in the kitchen are slightly lower than average which means I can sort of reach them, and I can pull under the sink to do dishes.  The open floor plan allows me space to set up a low work table between the kitchen and living room.  I practically live on this table: it’s my prep kitchen, office, craft room, and breakfast area.  It has been great to be able to make this our own with our stuff, furniture that works for me.  Well accept our 70’s couch that I sink into.  David actually has had to lift me out of it.

Along with my parking spot we got 25+ surrogate grandparents.  We are the youngest residents of the building by a solid 40 years.  It’s an extremely community oriented environment, with nightly activities and

even field trips sometimes.  There are few buildings where you have building wide carry-in dinners as often as we do.  It has been a hoot getting to know the characters we live with.  Lots of fodder for a collection of short stories I think.  At times it can be a little frustrating living with dozens of retirees, or living in a building that receives government funding.  However our apartments are nice, and when you considered the reasonable rent we really can’t complain. I needed to remind myself of that truth this week as I deep cleaned our apartment.  We are subject to bi-annual apartment checks where they check for cleanliness, maintenance issues, and possible liability problems.  If there’s something I’m not keen on its strangers coming into your home and picking it apart, but I understand why they need to do it.  Sometimes I forget that we are not the average resident here; we’re young and well educated.  At the end of the day I am extremely grateful to live here in my fully accessible apartment.  It’s a great feeling to be able to go in and out with relative ease and for the first time I can “keep house” independently. Although as I believe most wives think, the sight of my husband doing the dishes is pretty great.