Thursday, June 06, 2013

Dealing With Enemies Within

Thursday June 6, 2013

Best friends in life

WHEEL POWER
By ANTHONY THANASAYAN


A reassuring word and canine companionship go a long way when one is down.

AS A disability advocate who has been using a wheelchair since I was a boy of 10 years old (I’ll be 53 in November), life to me doesn’t necessarily end when you are in a wheelchair.

On the contrary, it could very well signal the beginning of many new and even wonderful things to come. But something like that can only really happen if a disabled person has access to the right kind of support at all times – whether that godsend help comes from human beings or other creatures on this planet.

Recently, I found myself up against a series of pressure sores that had suddenly popped up in various parts of my body.

If left untreated, these little demons in the flesh – often a bane for wheelchair-users – can easily become deadly if an infection sets in. I have quite a few friends who have died of it.

Pressure sores frequently appear in parts of the body where one has no sensation at all.

In my case, I was frantically nursing four of them – one on my right toe, the other on the sole of my left foot, and the remainder on my buttocks. And finding them especially in parts of your body that you didn’t realise were there in the first place (because of paralysis) is worse than looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack.

That is why doctors always advise people like us to use a mirror daily to look out for any signs of skin breaks in our vulnerable spots.

Fortunately for me, I have ample access to the most sophisticated “technology” available today that scientists in Western countries are using to sniff out various forms of cancer – a dog’s nose.

I have four assistance and therapy dogs at home that naturally and instantaneously provide me with such a service – two German Shepherds, one Doberman and a Shetland Sheepdog.

They literally have a nose for everything. From detecting unwanted bugs (ecology-friendly ones) to zeroing in on pressure sores, my dogs alert me about them even before they actually appear.

In fact, my Shetland named Reba saved one of my legs from being amputated. She fussed over a sore spot until I noticed it and rushed to the hospital.

The doctors who performed surgery on it solemnly told me that had I got to them any later, they would have had no choice but to remove the entire leg. The thing about pressure sores is to get them treated sooner rather than later.

Finding a doctor or nurse with an excellent bedside manner who will encourage you is also critical, rather than one who lectures you on “Why did you allow a pressure sore to happen in the first place?”.

Negative advice like this never helps. It only makes the sufferer feel worse and much less in control of a situation.

Imagine going to a dentist and being told off for having bad teeth. Would you go back to that dentist again?
I met a specialist once with just the right attitude. He told me: “Once you get this pressure sore healed, wait for the next one, treat it promptly and get on with life.”

The statement above is more empowering. It acknowledges a few very important things:

> All of us are human and will make mistakes. In the case of wheelchair users, it isn’t possible to lie in bed all day and take the pressure off the troubled parts of our bodies all the time.

> Life in a wheelchair isn’t always easy.

> The right attitude is needed in living positively and taking care of yourself with the best of your abilities and with the support you have around you.

In my case, my best non-disabled pal Andrew Martin was able to help me with my daily dressings and to get the necessary medication – and meals; and good doctors to give me helpful advice during the various stages of my recovery. (I’m down to only two wounds now.)

And who can forget the contribution of my four-footed friends? Depression can easily set in when one is in bleak situations.

My special canines kept me in a cheery and victorious mood all day. They helped me to stop worrying about my wounds and to start letting time heal the sores.

Last week, it was Zhar the Doberman’s turn to visit the veterinarian. Instead of staying cooped up at home, a young volunteer accompanied us on our appointment.

At the vet’s, Zhar and I stole a few moments to walk around the block and get some fresh air. It was a much-needed break for Zhar, too, as he is terrified of needles!

I felt so proud walking my Doberman, and receiving smiles from passers-by on foot and in their cars.
I also felt quite triumphant over everything even though I knew there were sinister “enemies” within that I still needed to deal with.

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