I Used To Do Laundry

I wonder how long I will be able to do my own laundry. As with so many other challenges in my life, it's not actually the laundry that's the problem. It's the fire door in the hallway between me and the laundry room. That door is getting heavier, more difficult to open. The small ramps across the sill of the fire door are getting more difficult to go up.

Then there is the laundry itself. While it presents only a limited issue with respect to carrying and sorting, and while it is easy to get it into the washing machine, getting it out of the machine, all wet and twisted together, is becoming another one of those near impossibilities. There is always that last little piece in the bottom of the washer, just out of my reach, trapped as I am in my wheelchair. I've tried getting it with a grabby stick. It sort of works, sometimes, depending on the angle of the grab and my ability to contort sufficiently to get the grabby stick into the wash basin.

Doing laundry is one of those arm intensive jobs, one where I need both strength and endurance. I need the strength to pick things up. I need the endurance to fold things. I need the strength to lift the basket. I need the endurance to refill it with wet laundry from the machine. I need everything these weakened arms can give me.

The problem is they give me less and less each day. I have to do laundry today. I am fairly sure I can do it. The basket is full and up where I can just slide it into my lap. I have a bungee cord to wrap around my waist, hooking it to the basket so my hands are free to wheel up and down the hallway, to push through that fire door. It's getting close to the end of this task. Soon it will be another thing I used to do.