Feb 132014
 

The paperback version of Rolling Back: Through a Life Disabled

The paperback version of Rolling Back: Through a Life Disabled

Rolling Back has been published in paperback and is available on Amazon for $6.99 ($6.64 for Amazon Prime members). There is also the Kindle version that costs $2.99. I have provided links to each of them below.

Writing and publishing Rolling Back as been a personally rewarding experience that I wouldn’t trade for anything. Several people have urged me to write another, and I will probably try. However I think I’m ready for a change of pace and may attempt a fiction novel next. I’d be interested to hear your thoughts.

Paperback:

Kindle:

Mar 112012
 

With an appropriate mobile arm support, I hope to some day return to creating art such as Quiet Harbor now part of the Muscular Dystrophy Association Art Collection.

Since I was diagnosed with Inclusion Body Myositis (IBM) 16 years ago, I have been stubbornly maintaining my independence. I have made use of every technical aid that I could find, beginning with canes and walkers and scooters and ultimately graduating to wheelchairs and hospital beds and overhead ceiling lifts. I started with a swing away lift in the back of van to take my scooter with me wherever I went, then bought a van with a ramp and a transfer seat, and ultimately moved to a van with an ez-lok system in the driver’s position. All these were steps to allow me to independently get around. I adapted my bathroom and my kitchen so that I can could continue to cook et cetera. I adapted my studio, even my workbench in the garage. I designed and sewed special shoes, pants, and leggings. No matter what, this disease was not going to get the better of me.

Today I am reluctantly admitting that this is one battle that ultimately I could not win. IBM is too progressive, too relentless, too untreatable. The final straw came when my right shoulder and arm became so weak that I could no longer raise my arm much above my waist. This meant that it was no longer safe for me to drive. It also meant that I could no longer chop vegetables or stir a skillet. It meant that I could no longer hold a paintbrush and create art. And worst of all, it meant that I was no longer an appropriate caregiver for my wife, whose own battle with Myotonic Muscular Dystrophy was not going well.

The first thing I did was have my van converted once again, only this time in the opposite direction. I had the passenger seat moved over into the driver’s seat position and put the ez-lok on the passenger side. This meant that I could pull into the van and lock myself in on the passenger side — provided I had found a willing driver to take me where I needed to go. Fortunately, my friends and family and neighbor have pitched in and I still have been able to get around when absolutely necessary. Perhaps more importantly, my wife, who also can’t drive and who has more medical challenges than I, could get to her various doctor appointments. When drivers aren’t available we are able to get to appointments using the accessible bus transportation called MTS access. It gets the job done, but it is certainly not a convenience. I plan an article on the general subject of bus transportation (and lack there of) soon.

But the really big change I have made is to hire caregivers for the two of us morning and night. The loss of arm strength meant that I was at great risk of being stranded when trying to use my ceiling lift to get into or out of bed or onto and off the toilet. After several close calls and more than a few minutes of hanging suspended in a very painful and awkward position, I realized I simply couldn’t go it alone anymore. It is an expensive adaptation and one that we will not be able to afford indefinitely. But for now it is getting us through each day. In future articles I will talk more about the good points of having caregivers.

I am also searching for a “mobile arm support.” The right one might restore some of the functions of my right hand and could possibly let me try to paint again.

Dec 222010
 

Rainbow north of our Rancho Bernardo home.

Rainbow north of our Rancho Bernardo home.

The New Year is often a time for reflection and introspection. So in 2010 I took this opportunity to review the highlights (ho ho) of my journey with inclusion body myositis, along with my wife’s struggle with myotonic dystrophy. This is my second annual update. Sadly, my wife’s struggle ended October 11, 2012.

1985-1995 (pre-diagnosis) stumbling while jogging, golf club flying out of hands, difficulty rising with backpack, jogging speed declining

1996 – diagnosed at UCSD Medical Center

1997 – started using walking sticks to help avoid falls

1998 – purchased scooter with elevating seat for distances more than 100 yards

purchased van with lift in rear for taking scooter along

1999 – fitted for full leg braces (KAFO) and forearm crutches

purchased Jazzy wheelchair with elevating seat

had condo modified with ramps at curb, entrances, sunken living room

replaced roman tub with roll-in shower, added roll-up counter in kitchen

bought fiberglass portable rampp

2000 – purchased raised toilet seat

purchased hand controls for van

retired on disability

gave up piano, golf, tennis, took up watercolor

2001 – became coordinator for paint out group of San Diego Watercolor Society

2002 – became Membership Director of San Diego Watercolor Society

2004 – became International Exhibition Director of San Diego Watercolor Society

purchased van with ramp and transfer seat

2005 – purchased Pride lift chair

became Technology Director of San Diego Watercolor Society

began making hooks and dressing sticks

purchased grabbers (six)

Beth erroneously diagnosed with ALS by local Centre for Healthcare neurologist

(two months later) Beth correctly diagnosed with myotonic muscular dystrophy by MDA neurologist

acquired Permobil C500 (Medicare) for Mike

purchased Jazzy 1103 wheelchair for Beth

2006 – purchased Biobidet

became President San Diego Watercolor Society

purchased single story home in Rancho Bernardo (San Dego)

added 200 feet of outside sidewalks for wheelchair access to yard

added ADA bathroom (elevated toilet with bidet, low-lip shower, roll-under sink, room for wheelchair)

acquired hospital bed (Medicare)

2007 – began using shelf liners to lift legs

began purchasing wheelchair pants from USA Jeans

2008 – purchased ceiling lifts for bedroom and bathroom

2009 – purchased rechargeable wine opener

2010 – purchased iPad for drawing, games, voice recognition, etc.

purchased automatic can opener, jar opener

purchased computerized sewing machine (no foot pedal)

made belly bag, art apron, cooking apron, robe, work table, sliding pad

2011 – Lost ability to make horizontal transfers and began using overhead Waverly Glen lift.

Sewed pants that velcroed around me after being lowered onto them.

Hired part time caregiver for showers ( no longer safe to do on my own).

Lost ability to drive, began relying on the bus.

Hired second caregiver and greatly expanded their hours to daily as Beth also needed help.

2012 – Beth began hallucinating.

Moved both of us to assisted living and put home up for rent.

Beth died of respiratory failure due to myotonic muscular dystrophy.

Lost most strength in arms, began using mobile arm support.

Oct 202010
 

Mike and Beth outside Michael Talbart Advertising in San Diego.

My wife and I were photographed by my business partner, Tal Smith, before we closed Michael Talbart Advertising. Those who know me might recognize the changes Inclusion Body Myositis had made in my appearance.

The last two years of the 20th century also marked the end of my ability to function physically well enough to earn a living. Since my diagnosis in 1996, I had been getting along pretty well by using braces and forearm crutches. However in 1999, it became obvious that I needed to “graduate” to a scooter or wheelchair. I have always been of the philosophy that I should take advantage of any technology available, so I wound up with one of each – a Pride Legend Scooter and a Jazzy Wheelchair, both with elevating seats. I also purchased a van with a lift in the rear that would swing out and pick up my scooter and deposit it in the back. Then I would walk around to the front, hanging onto the van, and get into the driver seat. But as time went by, this process became more and more precarious, and I took some pretty bad falls in parking lots.

I also noticed that my advertising clients were evidencing discomfort when I would show up for meetings, as I was very limited in my mobility and they had to make considerable accommodations. The last straw was when a client had to lift me from my seat at lunch and then pick me up again when I fell in the restaurant parking lot (no martinis involved). I think that up until this point I had felt that my inclusion body myositis was just going to be a distraction and not a truly life-changing illness. But now I could see that it was going to continue to take away my ability to get around and to carry out the normal activities of daily living. I was also finding it more difficult to write, since my fingers were rapidly weakening. So, I reluctantly informed my business partner that we were going to need to close the business and that I was going to retire on disability.

My wife and I decided that we should travel as much as possible while I was still able. That turned out to be a very good decision since today I am unable to travel outside of San Diego County because I can’t be far from my custom bathroom and hospital bed. (Of course, if you’re going to be “stuck” somewhere, San Diego is a pretty nice place to be.)

Our travels introduced us to the difficulties facing those who rely on scooters or wheelchairs for mobility when they travel. We would reserve hotel rooms and request that they be handicap accessible only to learn that the room had been given to able-bodied people instead. If we complained, they would try to ship us off to another hotel in a much less convenient location simply to comply with the ADA regulations. More often than not, we would just rearrange the furniture in the non-accessible room and install a portable elevated toilet seat in the bathroom. Perhaps the worst offender was the Mandalay Bay in Las Vegas. First they refused to help us get our luggage from the front entrance to the lobby, causing me to break my foot when I tried to do it myself. Then they put us in a room for hearing impaired and said that that was the only kind of “handicap” room available in their hotel. We haven’t been back to Las Vegas since.

I’m happy to report that San Diego is blessed with scores of accessible hotels, restaurants, attractions and transportation. I’ll be reporting on many of these in the future.

Sep 092010
 

My wife seated on a small three wheel scooter

My wife shopping for her first scooter.


When is it time for a scooter (or wheelchair)?

From the moment I was diagnosed, I have had a simple philosophy about using the various mobility aids that are available to us. I say use them all if they make your life better or safer! I know there are those who feel like using a scooter is “giving up”. But it is important to realize when pride is getting in the way of your future lifestyle. I have seen people trying to walk whose leg muscles are so weak that their knee joints are bending backwards at almost a 45° angle. For me, after I had made several trips to urgent care and come away with casts and bandages, I realized that walking was an adventure I couldn’t afford.

Unfortunately, Medicare doesn’t have a very enlightened attitude about the mobility needs of the disabled. They have always operated on the philosophy that if you were able to get from the bed to the toilet, you didn’t need any more help. Fortunately for me, I was not yet on Medicare when I decided to get a scooter and I was able to write a convincing letter to my insurance company explaining that it would save them a lot of money to get me a scooter so that I would stop falling and breaking things. Amazingly enough, it worked.

Once I had my scooter, a three wheel model (more about that in a later post) it was as though a whole new world had opened for me. I loved taking it for drives around the neighborhood, to the stores, to the library, to the post office. Once again I was able to get out and enjoy the fresh air. As my weakness progressed, a new challenge emerged: how could I take my scooter with me on driving trips, such as on vacation? Fortunately, there was a solution for that as well, although it wasn’t inexpensive.

The same mobility store that sold me a scooter also carried vans that had been modified. The most expensive type are those which have a ramp that automatically deploys so that you can drive right up inside, but I wasn’t in need of that just yet. Instead I purchased a used Plymouth minivan that had a swing-out lift in the rear. With that I could pick up the scooter and place it in the rear of the van and then carefully walk around to the driver side and get in. This worked for several years, until I got too weak in the legs to safely maneuver around the outside of the van. Two serious falls occurred during this process and that told me I was ready for the next level of van.

But before that, I had also reached another milestone–I was outgrowing my scooter and ready to graduate to a wheelchair. In the next article, I will talk about some of the differences between scooters and wheelchairs and some of the many decisions that need to be made when you select one.