V. H. King's Ink

The most immediate need I have is obtaining an electric wheelchair. 

Those babies aren’t cheap, let me tell you.  Even the “affordable” ones are likely to cost you at least two grand.  The model I’m looking out costs about double that.  Thankfully, I’ve been able to save up a chunk of change toward that end.  My current fundraising goal is to raise $2500 to cover the expenses. 

You might be tempted to offer suggestions about insurance, Medicare/Medicaid, and other programs.  While I’m grateful for the intention to help, I’m going to be rude and say don’t tell me what to do.  In kinder words, what I’m really asking you to do is trust me.  Trust that I know my needs.  Trust that I will manage these funds effectively.  Trust that I will invest in my health and well-being without taking shortcuts.  It might be harder to raise the funds this way, but I have a feeling it will be worth it. 

If you want to read through all the tech-specs of the wheelchair, feel free.  I have my heart set on this particular model—and specifically, on the turquoise finish.  It’s so pretty!  Purple would have been my first choice, but I have a purple walker that I currently use most often to assist with my mobility. My second choice would have been dark blue, and I have a manual wheelchair that color too. So I thought I’d expand my selection!  And in case you’re wondering why I need any of these mobility aids, I’ll ask you this:

Does standing for less than a minute leave you aching for hours afterwards?

I can stand, I can walk—and against every advisable notion, I can run.  I can do these things, but not without consequence.  The thing about ME/CFS is that the consequences don’t always show up right away.  On my worse days, such as when I’m in a flare, the effort to get down the stairs is monumental.  The repercussions are immediate—everything hurts until I lay back down, and despite me laying down for hours afterwards, I will likely still be in a lot of pain. 

How much is a lot? 

Think of a 13 on a scale of 1 to 10.  That usually means whatever I was doing while I was up and moving about felt like a 15.  The scale “doesn’t go that high”, but does my body know that?  Nope.  Nor does my body care.  The fatigue and ache from such a simple activity can be relentless.

But not every day is a flare, so why do I need a wheelchair?  To alleviate the daily exertion that pushes me closer to a flare, for one.  To preserve as much energy as I can by minimizing the time I’m on my feet, for another.  Even sitting up takes its toll on me, regardless of whether or not I am standing.  So there will bad days where it will even be a challenge to use my wheelchair. 

A powered wheelchair won’t fix everything, but it does give me more opportunities.

It gives me the flexibility to get outside and enjoy fresh air—something I have desperately missed in recent years.  This model in particular is the lightest I have found for an affordable* price.  (Affordable here meaning feasible with targeted fundraising efforts.)  The weight of the wheelchair crucial, because it means I won’t always have to have someone else with me in order to use my chair outside of my living space. 

Additionally, I won’t be confined to places within riding distance of where I live.  Do I daydream of driving somewhere, unloading my wheelchair, and cruising around—say to shop for birthday presents or enjoy scenic parks with my family?  Yes.  I absolutely do dream of that—and I’m asking for your help so that dream can come true. 

And you might be asking—if you can lift a wheelchair, do you really need one? 

Again, I am asking for your trust in this.  And if your conscious keeps you from donating, I am very much okay with that.  There are more ways to support me than just through funding.  At the same time, I understand that not everyone will be interested in supporting me.  For those who have and will continue to show up for me, I extend my deepest gratitude.