Going out is like a jailbreak

I rarely venture out anymore. When I do, it hurts, but it's also exhilarating, like a jailbreak.

Going out requires packing for an expedition: 

- Pillows: 2 orthopedic wedge cushions to give me the best angle, one thin but sturdy cushion to protect against hard seats, and one great all-around mushy pillow that helps modify any chair. I stash all of my pillows into my oversized, lightweight black pillow bag ... black, which I hope will attract less attention.

- My handicapped parking tag in bold stop-sign red that I hook over the rearview mirror even when I'm not parked in a handicapped spot. I wonder why I do that. Maybe it's a play for sympathy from the traffic officer who might decide to go ticket someone else's car, or the vandal who might break someone else's window.

- My choice of crutches or canes. I use the bulky black lobster-claw crutches when I anticipate long walks through the mall, or when I need to convince a new doctor that I'm serious. The hand-crafted wooden alligator-handle cane is my favorite for short stops. My polished walnut fish-handled cane is for dress-up. When was the last time I dressed up? Can't recall.

- A 7-compartment pill box tucked into my purse, which is flat and lightweight, with a broad shoulder strap that I wear across my chest vs. on the shoulder.

Confession: Second to the stupid pain, the most difficult part of the ordeal is moving this body ... maneuvering this heavy, unwieldy, and clumsy body up and down stairs and in and out of cars. Sometimes I can feel the flesh of my thighs or belly move, and I feel a rush of nausea.