Something was lost and now is found

Mom and I bundled up yesterday and went out to retrace my walk to the cemetery on the day before. A cover had fallen off my chair, and we wanted to find it.

I totally blame myself for the loss. I had seen the screw was loose but kept forgetting to tighten it.

Turned out to be a quick trip -- the cover was lying in the gutter at the first intersection we came to.

St. Anthony is one saint with a solid track record. More often than not, I find what I lost, so kudos to him. Not like Bartholomew or Dymphna, patrons against neurological disorders, although to be fair I am not sure what Bartholomew's tie to neurology is and Dymphana is more about mental illness.

I find myself blaming myself more for things that happen to me like losing the cover to the chair. To be more accurate, I find myself blaming Friedreich's ataxia.

When I made that list of problems with my wheelchair, I went down it and said to myself: "OK, this broke when I did that. That broke when I did this." It didn't occur to me that a wheelchair ought to be sturdy enough to handle what I dish out.

Certainly I do this with myself. No matter what hurts or how, I usually decide it is because of FA and ignore it as best I can. Because I can't rely on Bartholomew and Dymphana (at least not yet. I am hoping that after this public dressing-down, they hook me up.)