This week I finally bit the bullet and had to give in and admit that I'm no longer safe to climb the stairs, basically I had three options. 1 move from my lovely four-bedroom house that I'm proud of and worked hard to get. 2 continue struggling on the stairs knowing that one day I would inevitably fall. 3 install a pesky stairlift.
Having already upped my life insurance I have finally given in and admitted that a stairlift is the only real option, don't get me wrong, stair and chair lifts are a great device but when you finally admit to needing one and having one installed it's like admitting another thing that you can no longer do, i.e. my stair climbing days are numbered, on top of this you are also giving in to the fact that you are getting older and less capable as the years to by, another hard thing to admit.
However as a tetraplegic wheelchair user with a severe spinal injury from the age of 17 and told on day one that I would never walk and then fighting just short of a year with eight hours a day full-on physiotherapy to prove the medical world wrong I am proud as well as grateful that I managed to tackle stairs as well as walk; albeit short distances up until the ripe old age of 52; as they keep telling me, it was major achievement but it doesn't make it any easier when this bleating one eyed monster assists you up the wooden hill.