Poem: "Stronger and More Resilient"
May. 10th, 2022 06:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ysabetwordsmithThis poem is spillover from the May 3, 2022 Poetry Fishbowl. It was inspired by prompts from siliconshaman, zeeth_kyrah, rix_scaedu, ng_moonmoth, and See_Also_Friend. It also fills the "Houston we have a problem." (Apollo 13) square in my 5-1-22 card for the Mixed Quotes Bingo fest. This poem has been sponsored by ng_moonmoth and fuzzyred. It belongs to the Big One thread of the Polychrome Heroics series, and follows "Constantly Tossed About," so read that one first or this won't make much sense.
Warning: This poem features the aftermath of a severe earthquake and consequent emotional upheavals. It's mostly upbeat, though, as folks make do with what they have left to help each other get by.
"Stronger and More Resilient"
[Saturday, June 4, 2016]
It had been a week since the Big One,
and everything was still a wreck.
Camp Hope was well established
in the ruins, though, and that helped.
Many of the usual professionals
were unavailable, so people had
to make do with who they had now.
Raiden was stunned at how fast
and firmly he was entangled
with his odd new family.
He was a supervillain --
it shouldn't have been
that simple -- but it was.
Here people thought of him
as a utility man, because he
made electrical things work;
he had a whole computer tent
set up and running smoothly.
Raiden checked the first aid tent
to see if they needed anything
charged up -- they had gotten
a few things from wrecked clinics.
Today Eira was sitting out front with
a small group of people getting a lesson
on first aid from the new head medic.
Dr. Rosalind Stowe had her right arm
in an old-fashioned plaster cast and
her left in an articulated brace. She
couldn't do much, but could still direct.
"Need any juice?" Raiden offered,
showing the restless blue sparks
that crawled over his skin nowadays.
"Yes!" Dr. Stowe exclaimed. "We
just got a mobile procedure lamp,
but its battery pack is dead."
"I can charge it up for you,"
Raiden said. He found it
inside the tent. It looked like
a glorified floor lamp, but it
had batteries strong enough
to last for a good eight hours.
By the time he finished refilling
the charge, his belly was growling.
"Thank you so much," Eira said
as Raiden walked past the class,
and everyone else nodded.
That was never going
to stop feeling weird.
"I'll let you know if
the salvage crews
bring in anything else
electronic," said Dr. Stowe.
Raiden wasn't holding his breath.
Camp Hope was situated right where
a formerly so-so neighborhood butted
against a dodgier one, so they weren't
getting the kind of support that went to
the erstwhile upscale parts of Rain City.
Dr. Stowe was still the only doctor
they had, and it'd be weeks before
her arms healed enough to use, if
she got back her old dexterity at all.
It was better than nothing, though.
At least Eira had calmed down now
that she had a proper supervisor.
Raiden nodded to Fubuko Moto
as he walked past her station.
"Good morning," she said.
She had become a traffic director,
because with her colorful energy
spilling from her hands, she didn't
need any lights or flags to wave,
just the reflective safety vest.
There weren't many gas cars
still working, but there were
plenty of golf carts, a couple
of horse-drawn wagons, and
throngs of walkers to guide.
"Morning," Raiden said. "I'm
heading over for breakfast."
Thanks to Sawheel, the food tent
now had a camp kitchenette set up
just outside it, although people
were still working to establish
a larger kitchen and mess hall.
Usually Billy Tin had a big pot of
hot cereal going, sometimes with
fresh fruit if the foragers had any luck.
The heinous powdered egg stuff
had been relegated to baking,
but it did make good cornbread --
especially if you could scare up
some bacon grease to spread on it.
"Morning, Billy Tin," said Raiden.
"What's on offer for breakfast today?"
"The hot cereal is buckwheat with
hunks of honeycomb scavenged from
a smashed beehive," said Billy Tin. "No
bacon, but we got strips of ham steak."
"I'll take both, thanks," Raiden said,
and Billy Tin filled a plate for him.
Raiden stuffed himself, and then he
headed toward the computer tent.
Opposite that, a command tent had
been set up with folding chairs and
tables, a presentation board with
a map, and a sandbox for terrain
that had started life as a drawer
and now showed refugee camps.
Outside the tent, March led a group
of women through self-defense training.
She had taken over the camp security,
but she wanted people to be able
to defend themselves if necessary.
Nearby, Dana had a team of tweens
making fuzz sticks while she showed
their parents how to butcher a deer.
With Rain City wrecked and many
of the people leaving, more and
more of the wildlife was creeping
in to nibble the abandoned yards.
It gave the refugees something
to eat, if they could just catch it.
Inside the tent, Aalap sorted
papers faster than Raiden
could've even read them,
let alone decided where
each one of them belonged.
Jeffery stood over the sandbox,
wringing his hands and muttering
about supplies and logistics.
He might be anxious, but he
was prepared for anything,
and the people followed him.
Raiden trusted Jeffery to know
what's what, which was surprising.
"Hey, do you need anything
charged before I sit down
at the computer tent for
the day?" Raiden asked.
"Maybe," said Jeffery.
"Someone found most of
a Star Runner last night,
a mobile internet hub."
"Most of?" Raiden said.
Jeffery sighed. "It's missing
the generator, looks like
someone cannibalized it
for who-knows-what."
"Well, that's not good,"
Raiden said. "Can we
rig a battery backup?"
"Yeah, that's already done,
but the only one strong enough
to run it is already out of juice."
"That I can fix," Raiden said,
rubbing his hands together
to raise some energy.
Jeffery opened the back
of the tent to show him
a chunky box on wheels
with an antenna on top.
A mess of duct-taped wires
showed where someone
had spliced in the battery.
Raiden put his hands
on it and pushed in as
much energy as he could.
The Star Runner came to life
and a cheerful beep as it lit up.
"Thank god," said Jeffery. "We've
barely been able to get any kind of
signal since all the towers fell. This
is designed for disaster areas, so
it's entirely self-contained."
"Then why the hell would
anyone have cannibalized
emergency gear?" said Raiden.
"Imagine now a man who is deprived of
everyone he loves, and at the same time
of his house, his habits, his clothes, in short,
of everything he possesses," said Jeffery.
"He will be a hollow man, reduced to suffering
and needs, forgetful of dignity and restraint,
for he who loses all often loses himself."
Raiden looked away. He'd had
too much experience of getting
shut out like that himself.
Still, he had stepped up
after the Big One, because
he wasn't a total nutjob.
He didn't know what to do
with the aftermath, though;
it felt bizarre to have people
turning to him for help.
"Does it get any easier?"
Raiden begged, hoping
that Jeffery knew more.
"Life doesn’t get easier
or more forgiving, Raiden,"
said Jeffery. "We just get
stronger and more resilient.”
Well, that wasn't reassuring.
Raiden skittered out of the tent
before any more weirdness ensued.
Lumia walked past him on the way
to the emotional first aid tent, which had
been set up beyond the computer tent with
a little space around it for peace and privacy.
"Morning, Raiden," she said. "How are
you holding up? Do you need a lift?"
"I'm fine for now, thanks," said Raiden.
"I'll drop by later if I start feeling hinky."
That was mostly a lie -- he was still
afraid that his superpower would eat
hers if he didn't keep a grip on it --
but the tent was cozy and quiet with
several beds perfect for napping.
Right beside the computer tent,
a homeless guy named Houston
had parked his van. He lived in it, but
the back held a mechanic's workshop.
"Hey man, you got anything that needs
fixed today?" Houston asked, his smile
flashing white against dark skin.
"Not unless someone brought in
new junk this morning," said Raiden.
"I'll check when I get inside, though."
The computer tent itself had shaped up
quite well too, with rows of folding tables
and chairs to hold all of the equipment,
mostly laptops and a few desktops.
Urania was already in there,
eir blue hair reflecting the light
from the screen as ey translated
a document for two worried refugees.
The artist had just graduated from
the Cornish College of the Arts
when the earthquake had hit.
Urania spoke nine languages,
so mostly ey served as translator,
but ey also worked to make Camp Hope
as pretty and pleasing as possible
under the current circumstances.
"Oh good, you're here," ey said.
"Someone found a pocket translator,
but it doesn't work. Can you fix it?"
"Most of those need a web signal,"
Raiden pointed out. "The Big One
knocked out almost all communications."
Well, except for the supervillain stuff,
because gizmos and super-gizmos
could do a lot more than nary junk,
but he didn't say that out loud.
"Jeffery got a Star Runner, if you
can get that working," said Urania.
"Oh yeah, I just did that," said Raiden.
"Okay, I'll look at your translator."
He hurried over to his workstation.
Because Raiden tended to forget
about restocking his food supply
while he worked, Carly had set up
a countertop rack where folks could
drop off snacks to keep him fueled.
So far it held a brick of travel bread
loaded with dried fruit and nuts; as he
sat down, Fast Plant dropped off half
an avocado stuffed with canned tuna.
"Do you know whether or not Lumia
likes tuna?" Fast Plant asked Raiden.
"I'm heading that way after this."
"Far as I've seen, she likes all kinds
of seafood, so yeah," said Raiden.
"I don't know about avocado though."
He ate those out of hand like apples,
because they had so many calories, but
some people thought they tasted soapy.
"I'll ask her," Fast Plant said. He put
his skateboard down and zipped away.
Raiden scarfed down his avocado,
which just about filled the hole
left by charging the Star Runner.
There was a new crate of equipment
waiting for him to assess its viability.
First he checked the translator.
Fortunately, it only needed
a fresh charge, and it was
small enough to do quickly.
"Here's your pocket translator,"
Raiden said, handing it to Urania.
"Thanks," ey said. "I'll take this
to Jeffery on my next break."
Raiden went back to his work,
first sorting out the live batteries,
then charging up the dead ones.
He tested the computers, lights,
and other gadgets into "working,"
"needs repair," and "scrap."
Then Fast Plant pushed
Quinshay into the tent.
"Good luck," he said
before he darted away.
Her power wheelchair
was currently unpowered
and it made an ominous
grinding sound as it rolled.
"Damn thing broke again?"
Raiden said with sympathy.
"Yeah," Quinshay said glumly.
"Third time since I got here."
"All right, let's take a look,"
Raiden said, bending over it.
It didn't look good at all.
Raiden straightened up
with a sigh. "Battery's dead,
and it won't hold a charge
anymore. Plus I think that
something's wrong with
the wheels or the frame."
"You can't just fix it with
your superpowers like you
did before?" said Quinshay.
"Not this time, sorry," he said.
Then he stuck his head outside.
"Houston, we have a problem!"
The black man dropped his wrench
and put down the light he'd been
trying to fix, then trotted over.
"Dead battery, and I think she
needs something with more oomph
for this terrain," said Raiden. "Also,
the wheels aren't working right."
"Mind if I check it out, ma'am?"
Houston asked Quinshay.
"Go ahead," she said,
trying not to start crying.
Houston examined the chair,
then wiped his hands on a rag.
"Well, I could put in a new battery,
but Raiden's right -- you need
more power. You've also got
cracks in the wheel supports.
I can fix all that, but it's gonna
take considerable work."
"Insurance won't cover it if
it's changed," Quinshay said.
"I can't afford to lose coverage."
"If you can't open it and repair it,
you don't own it," Houston said,
shaking his head at the sad mess.
"Quinshay, think about it -- we don't
have an official wheelchair mechanic,
all we have is Houston. When is
the insurance company going to get
someone out way here to handle
this crap?" said Raiden. "Better
to do whatever it takes to get
you back in motion today."
"Maybe today, depending on
what you want and I can get,"
said Houston. "If you just want
a more powerful battery and
articulated wheels, I can do it
today, if someone can get me
a floating-deck lawnmower for
suspension parts. If you want
a tankchair, it'll take longer."
"There's gotta be lawnmowers
lying around," said Raiden.
"Nobody cares about mowing
the damn grass anymore."
"I'll take it," said Quinshay. "I
refuse to be helpless if there's
anything I can do about it."
"That's the spirit," Houston said
as he clapped her on the back.
"You wanna sit here and watch me
work, or find something else to do?"
"I don't want to laze around, but I
don't want to go too far in case you
have questions," said Quinshay.
Raiden thought for a minute.
"You were working on ethics
as a graduate student, right?"
They had chatted before, while
he was charging her old battery.
"African-American Studies and
Activism as an undergraduate,
then Cultural Studies with
a certificate in Ethics as
a graduate," she said. "I'm
halfway through my master's,
or was before the Big One."
"Pull up a seat here and
check the refugee websites
to weed out anything that
sounds too good to be true,"
said Raiden. "We just got
a Star Runner, so we should
have at least some signal."
"I can do that," said Quinshay.
"Those folding chairs, though ..."
"No problem, we got one of
solid wood here," Raiden said.
He put it next to his workstation.
"I'll get you a laptop, you can
transfer here and work by me.
Holler if you need a hand."
"That'll do," said Quinshay.
"Somebody shove this chair
over next to the wooden one."
Houston pushed her carefully,
and she made the transfer.
Then he took the wheelchair
back to his work area to fix.
Raiden found a computer with
a working mouse so Quinshay
wouldn't have to type as much,
since her hands tended to curl.
"This is great, thanks," she said,
then turned her attention to work.
Raiden pulled off a good hunk of
travel bread and ate it to refuel.
Camp Hope might be weird,
but he was pretty sure it was
also stronger and more resilient
than Rain City had ever been.
He maybe kind of liked that.
* * *
Notes:
This poem is long, so its character, setting, and content notes appear separately.
siliconshaman, zeeth_kyrah, rix_scaedu, ng_moonmoth, and See_Also_Friend. It also fills the "Houston we have a problem." (Apollo 13) square in my 5-1-22 card for the Mixed Quotes Bingo fest. This poem has been sponsored by ng_moonmoth and fuzzyred. It belongs to the Big One thread of the Polychrome Heroics series, and follows "Constantly Tossed About," so read that one first or this won't make much sense.Warning: This poem features the aftermath of a severe earthquake and consequent emotional upheavals. It's mostly upbeat, though, as folks make do with what they have left to help each other get by.
"Stronger and More Resilient"
[Saturday, June 4, 2016]
It had been a week since the Big One,
and everything was still a wreck.
Camp Hope was well established
in the ruins, though, and that helped.
Many of the usual professionals
were unavailable, so people had
to make do with who they had now.
Raiden was stunned at how fast
and firmly he was entangled
with his odd new family.
He was a supervillain --
it shouldn't have been
that simple -- but it was.
Here people thought of him
as a utility man, because he
made electrical things work;
he had a whole computer tent
set up and running smoothly.
Raiden checked the first aid tent
to see if they needed anything
charged up -- they had gotten
a few things from wrecked clinics.
Today Eira was sitting out front with
a small group of people getting a lesson
on first aid from the new head medic.
Dr. Rosalind Stowe had her right arm
in an old-fashioned plaster cast and
her left in an articulated brace. She
couldn't do much, but could still direct.
"Need any juice?" Raiden offered,
showing the restless blue sparks
that crawled over his skin nowadays.
"Yes!" Dr. Stowe exclaimed. "We
just got a mobile procedure lamp,
but its battery pack is dead."
"I can charge it up for you,"
Raiden said. He found it
inside the tent. It looked like
a glorified floor lamp, but it
had batteries strong enough
to last for a good eight hours.
By the time he finished refilling
the charge, his belly was growling.
"Thank you so much," Eira said
as Raiden walked past the class,
and everyone else nodded.
That was never going
to stop feeling weird.
"I'll let you know if
the salvage crews
bring in anything else
electronic," said Dr. Stowe.
Raiden wasn't holding his breath.
Camp Hope was situated right where
a formerly so-so neighborhood butted
against a dodgier one, so they weren't
getting the kind of support that went to
the erstwhile upscale parts of Rain City.
Dr. Stowe was still the only doctor
they had, and it'd be weeks before
her arms healed enough to use, if
she got back her old dexterity at all.
It was better than nothing, though.
At least Eira had calmed down now
that she had a proper supervisor.
Raiden nodded to Fubuko Moto
as he walked past her station.
"Good morning," she said.
She had become a traffic director,
because with her colorful energy
spilling from her hands, she didn't
need any lights or flags to wave,
just the reflective safety vest.
There weren't many gas cars
still working, but there were
plenty of golf carts, a couple
of horse-drawn wagons, and
throngs of walkers to guide.
"Morning," Raiden said. "I'm
heading over for breakfast."
Thanks to Sawheel, the food tent
now had a camp kitchenette set up
just outside it, although people
were still working to establish
a larger kitchen and mess hall.
Usually Billy Tin had a big pot of
hot cereal going, sometimes with
fresh fruit if the foragers had any luck.
The heinous powdered egg stuff
had been relegated to baking,
but it did make good cornbread --
especially if you could scare up
some bacon grease to spread on it.
"Morning, Billy Tin," said Raiden.
"What's on offer for breakfast today?"
"The hot cereal is buckwheat with
hunks of honeycomb scavenged from
a smashed beehive," said Billy Tin. "No
bacon, but we got strips of ham steak."
"I'll take both, thanks," Raiden said,
and Billy Tin filled a plate for him.
Raiden stuffed himself, and then he
headed toward the computer tent.
Opposite that, a command tent had
been set up with folding chairs and
tables, a presentation board with
a map, and a sandbox for terrain
that had started life as a drawer
and now showed refugee camps.
Outside the tent, March led a group
of women through self-defense training.
She had taken over the camp security,
but she wanted people to be able
to defend themselves if necessary.
Nearby, Dana had a team of tweens
making fuzz sticks while she showed
their parents how to butcher a deer.
With Rain City wrecked and many
of the people leaving, more and
more of the wildlife was creeping
in to nibble the abandoned yards.
It gave the refugees something
to eat, if they could just catch it.
Inside the tent, Aalap sorted
papers faster than Raiden
could've even read them,
let alone decided where
each one of them belonged.
Jeffery stood over the sandbox,
wringing his hands and muttering
about supplies and logistics.
He might be anxious, but he
was prepared for anything,
and the people followed him.
Raiden trusted Jeffery to know
what's what, which was surprising.
"Hey, do you need anything
charged before I sit down
at the computer tent for
the day?" Raiden asked.
"Maybe," said Jeffery.
"Someone found most of
a Star Runner last night,
a mobile internet hub."
"Most of?" Raiden said.
Jeffery sighed. "It's missing
the generator, looks like
someone cannibalized it
for who-knows-what."
"Well, that's not good,"
Raiden said. "Can we
rig a battery backup?"
"Yeah, that's already done,
but the only one strong enough
to run it is already out of juice."
"That I can fix," Raiden said,
rubbing his hands together
to raise some energy.
Jeffery opened the back
of the tent to show him
a chunky box on wheels
with an antenna on top.
A mess of duct-taped wires
showed where someone
had spliced in the battery.
Raiden put his hands
on it and pushed in as
much energy as he could.
The Star Runner came to life
and a cheerful beep as it lit up.
"Thank god," said Jeffery. "We've
barely been able to get any kind of
signal since all the towers fell. This
is designed for disaster areas, so
it's entirely self-contained."
"Then why the hell would
anyone have cannibalized
emergency gear?" said Raiden.
"Imagine now a man who is deprived of
everyone he loves, and at the same time
of his house, his habits, his clothes, in short,
of everything he possesses," said Jeffery.
"He will be a hollow man, reduced to suffering
and needs, forgetful of dignity and restraint,
for he who loses all often loses himself."
Raiden looked away. He'd had
too much experience of getting
shut out like that himself.
Still, he had stepped up
after the Big One, because
he wasn't a total nutjob.
He didn't know what to do
with the aftermath, though;
it felt bizarre to have people
turning to him for help.
"Does it get any easier?"
Raiden begged, hoping
that Jeffery knew more.
"Life doesn’t get easier
or more forgiving, Raiden,"
said Jeffery. "We just get
stronger and more resilient.”
Well, that wasn't reassuring.
Raiden skittered out of the tent
before any more weirdness ensued.
Lumia walked past him on the way
to the emotional first aid tent, which had
been set up beyond the computer tent with
a little space around it for peace and privacy.
"Morning, Raiden," she said. "How are
you holding up? Do you need a lift?"
"I'm fine for now, thanks," said Raiden.
"I'll drop by later if I start feeling hinky."
That was mostly a lie -- he was still
afraid that his superpower would eat
hers if he didn't keep a grip on it --
but the tent was cozy and quiet with
several beds perfect for napping.
Right beside the computer tent,
a homeless guy named Houston
had parked his van. He lived in it, but
the back held a mechanic's workshop.
"Hey man, you got anything that needs
fixed today?" Houston asked, his smile
flashing white against dark skin.
"Not unless someone brought in
new junk this morning," said Raiden.
"I'll check when I get inside, though."
The computer tent itself had shaped up
quite well too, with rows of folding tables
and chairs to hold all of the equipment,
mostly laptops and a few desktops.
Urania was already in there,
eir blue hair reflecting the light
from the screen as ey translated
a document for two worried refugees.
The artist had just graduated from
the Cornish College of the Arts
when the earthquake had hit.
Urania spoke nine languages,
so mostly ey served as translator,
but ey also worked to make Camp Hope
as pretty and pleasing as possible
under the current circumstances.
"Oh good, you're here," ey said.
"Someone found a pocket translator,
but it doesn't work. Can you fix it?"
"Most of those need a web signal,"
Raiden pointed out. "The Big One
knocked out almost all communications."
Well, except for the supervillain stuff,
because gizmos and super-gizmos
could do a lot more than nary junk,
but he didn't say that out loud.
"Jeffery got a Star Runner, if you
can get that working," said Urania.
"Oh yeah, I just did that," said Raiden.
"Okay, I'll look at your translator."
He hurried over to his workstation.
Because Raiden tended to forget
about restocking his food supply
while he worked, Carly had set up
a countertop rack where folks could
drop off snacks to keep him fueled.
So far it held a brick of travel bread
loaded with dried fruit and nuts; as he
sat down, Fast Plant dropped off half
an avocado stuffed with canned tuna.
"Do you know whether or not Lumia
likes tuna?" Fast Plant asked Raiden.
"I'm heading that way after this."
"Far as I've seen, she likes all kinds
of seafood, so yeah," said Raiden.
"I don't know about avocado though."
He ate those out of hand like apples,
because they had so many calories, but
some people thought they tasted soapy.
"I'll ask her," Fast Plant said. He put
his skateboard down and zipped away.
Raiden scarfed down his avocado,
which just about filled the hole
left by charging the Star Runner.
There was a new crate of equipment
waiting for him to assess its viability.
First he checked the translator.
Fortunately, it only needed
a fresh charge, and it was
small enough to do quickly.
"Here's your pocket translator,"
Raiden said, handing it to Urania.
"Thanks," ey said. "I'll take this
to Jeffery on my next break."
Raiden went back to his work,
first sorting out the live batteries,
then charging up the dead ones.
He tested the computers, lights,
and other gadgets into "working,"
"needs repair," and "scrap."
Then Fast Plant pushed
Quinshay into the tent.
"Good luck," he said
before he darted away.
Her power wheelchair
was currently unpowered
and it made an ominous
grinding sound as it rolled.
"Damn thing broke again?"
Raiden said with sympathy.
"Yeah," Quinshay said glumly.
"Third time since I got here."
"All right, let's take a look,"
Raiden said, bending over it.
It didn't look good at all.
Raiden straightened up
with a sigh. "Battery's dead,
and it won't hold a charge
anymore. Plus I think that
something's wrong with
the wheels or the frame."
"You can't just fix it with
your superpowers like you
did before?" said Quinshay.
"Not this time, sorry," he said.
Then he stuck his head outside.
"Houston, we have a problem!"
The black man dropped his wrench
and put down the light he'd been
trying to fix, then trotted over.
"Dead battery, and I think she
needs something with more oomph
for this terrain," said Raiden. "Also,
the wheels aren't working right."
"Mind if I check it out, ma'am?"
Houston asked Quinshay.
"Go ahead," she said,
trying not to start crying.
Houston examined the chair,
then wiped his hands on a rag.
"Well, I could put in a new battery,
but Raiden's right -- you need
more power. You've also got
cracks in the wheel supports.
I can fix all that, but it's gonna
take considerable work."
"Insurance won't cover it if
it's changed," Quinshay said.
"I can't afford to lose coverage."
"If you can't open it and repair it,
you don't own it," Houston said,
shaking his head at the sad mess.
"Quinshay, think about it -- we don't
have an official wheelchair mechanic,
all we have is Houston. When is
the insurance company going to get
someone out way here to handle
this crap?" said Raiden. "Better
to do whatever it takes to get
you back in motion today."
"Maybe today, depending on
what you want and I can get,"
said Houston. "If you just want
a more powerful battery and
articulated wheels, I can do it
today, if someone can get me
a floating-deck lawnmower for
suspension parts. If you want
a tankchair, it'll take longer."
"There's gotta be lawnmowers
lying around," said Raiden.
"Nobody cares about mowing
the damn grass anymore."
"I'll take it," said Quinshay. "I
refuse to be helpless if there's
anything I can do about it."
"That's the spirit," Houston said
as he clapped her on the back.
"You wanna sit here and watch me
work, or find something else to do?"
"I don't want to laze around, but I
don't want to go too far in case you
have questions," said Quinshay.
Raiden thought for a minute.
"You were working on ethics
as a graduate student, right?"
They had chatted before, while
he was charging her old battery.
"African-American Studies and
Activism as an undergraduate,
then Cultural Studies with
a certificate in Ethics as
a graduate," she said. "I'm
halfway through my master's,
or was before the Big One."
"Pull up a seat here and
check the refugee websites
to weed out anything that
sounds too good to be true,"
said Raiden. "We just got
a Star Runner, so we should
have at least some signal."
"I can do that," said Quinshay.
"Those folding chairs, though ..."
"No problem, we got one of
solid wood here," Raiden said.
He put it next to his workstation.
"I'll get you a laptop, you can
transfer here and work by me.
Holler if you need a hand."
"That'll do," said Quinshay.
"Somebody shove this chair
over next to the wooden one."
Houston pushed her carefully,
and she made the transfer.
Then he took the wheelchair
back to his work area to fix.
Raiden found a computer with
a working mouse so Quinshay
wouldn't have to type as much,
since her hands tended to curl.
"This is great, thanks," she said,
then turned her attention to work.
Raiden pulled off a good hunk of
travel bread and ate it to refuel.
Camp Hope might be weird,
but he was pretty sure it was
also stronger and more resilient
than Rain City had ever been.
He maybe kind of liked that.
* * *
Notes:
This poem is long, so its character, setting, and content notes appear separately.
(no subject)
Date: 2022-05-11 12:28 am (UTC)There's a reason our household backup-backup is to have a slightly-modded manual chair. (Backup-backup b/c person is not self-mobile w/o a powered chair.)
I know someone else who has an electric-something and a manual chair.
Thoughts
Date: 2022-05-11 01:03 am (UTC)Some of them are little better than that even with power, if they're not on a perfectly smooth surface. I've gone shopping with a user. The fucking chair had to be manually horsed over EVERY threshold. >_< Small cracks in pavement, gravel, etc. would stop it too. Others are more robust, but the wilderness powerchairs cost as much as a car. Granted T-America has better health care than here, but those still aren't what I'd call widely accessible.
>> There's a reason our household backup-backup is to have a slightly-modded manual chair. (Backup-backup b/c person is not self-mobile w/o a powered chair.) <<
It's important to have a comfortable manual chair as backup. A standard-issue one is bad and likely to injure people if used more than briefly.
>> I know someone else who has an electric-something and a manual chair.<<
Very sensible.
I mean, look at Simon, he has several manuals. An everyday chair that's kind of sporty, a hardcore wilderness chair, a beach chair custom-built by genius relatives, and a racing chair. At least. His backup model may be a more typical everyday chair from earlier. And they rented a bunch of dancing wheelchairs for the wedding so folks could try them out. Shiv is actually quite good on wheels.
Re: Thoughts
Date: 2022-05-11 01:24 am (UTC)For a second there I thought you meant me.. (my given name is the same) and fuck knows if I'd been even slightly less lucky I would've needed a chair. (cracked three of my lumbar vertebrae as a teen plus Eular-danlos which could lead to a blown disc anytime.)
Swear to god though, having seen the crap they sell as wheelchairs and the price they go for, I would build my own darn chair and probably do a better job of it! How they get away with charging the price of a new car for something that's barely better than a medieval bath chair I do not know!
Re: Thoughts
Date: 2022-05-11 01:51 am (UTC)There's a lot of plans online for modded wheelchairs, bikes, etc.
Re: Thoughts
Date: 2022-05-11 01:53 am (UTC)Blacksmithing, metal work and Briccolarge. I'm responsible for some of those plans online, at least a couple of the ebike ones. Wheelchair can't be all that much more complicated..
Re: Thoughts
Date: 2022-05-11 02:01 am (UTC)https://www.engineeringforchange.org/wp-content/uploads/2014/06/LFC_specs.jpg
Re: Thoughts
Date: 2022-05-11 02:04 am (UTC)I also saw an attatchment that could turn a manual chair into a handtrike.
And there are shopping cart and stroller attatchments, too.
Re: Thoughts
Date: 2022-05-11 01:57 am (UTC)A shitty hospital-type manual wheelchair goes for $100-300 and isn't worth even that. An everyday or sport style manual that is actually worth using ranges $1,000-3,000. Power wheelchairs start around $1,500 and go up, so I would expect a decent one to cost several thousand dollars. *ponder* Oh wait, Simon had one of those too, for better cargo capacity, until someone pushed it and him into a puddle. 0_o
>> I would build my own darn chair and probably do a better job of it! <<
Multiple people have done this because wheelchairs were unaffordable or simply wouldn't do the desired job. This led to, among other things, PVC/balloon tire manual beach chairs, lever manual wheelchairs built from bicycle parts, and electric tankchairs. The latter can be equipped with arsenal including flamethrowers. I really want to write a supervillain in a wheelchair with a flamethrower.
>> How they get away with charging the price of a new car for something that's barely better than a medieval bath chair I do not know! <<
It's the high-end ones that actually restore a lot of functionality that command car-level prices, like tankchairs. Imagine if this level of accommodation was readily available to anyone who wanted it, how many lives that would save.
Re: Thoughts
Date: 2022-05-11 02:18 am (UTC)Shop thrift stores for old medical stuff like that. It might be ****-y stuff, but at least it approaches being affordable.
Also, estate sales. And if your clearing out unused stuff, please consider donating it.
(Y'all can see the budget I'm working with here.)
>>I really want to write a supervillain in a wheelchair with a flamethrower.<<
Also how to legally/ethically disarm someone from their own body?
>>It's the high-end ones that actually restore a lot of functionality...<<
Hmmm, like how we'd have to pay to filter water in space, but ecosystems do it for free.
On a more mundane note, it is a pain in the somewhere, trying to figure out how to make stuff wheelchair-accessible when you can't actually modify the building.
You shouldn't need to do advanced physics to get someone to their front door. Aaargh!
>>Imagine if this level of accommodation was readily available to anyone who wanted it, how many lives that would save.<<
I know at least one case where easier access to trained-qualified childcare would have saved a lot of sanity, including mine.
(Not my kids, in either the literal or extended-clan sense. I was Closest-Thing-We've-Got-to-Extended-Clan, for a time.)
Re: Thoughts
Date: 2022-05-11 02:38 am (UTC)Related, I've scored junker bikes, fixed 'em up enough to run, and had people delighted to take them.
Decent secondhand, at least $40. New $70-100 at the cheap end. Junker bikes - $10 at a yard sale, or occasionally free on a curb.
Yes, I do have quality standards. Working brakes, everything I can do is suitably cleaned, greased, etc and the tires/tubes have to hold air. I'll try to add headlights and taillights, too.
While I usually can't afford to replace working parts ($40 for a new set of tires/tubes?), I can make sure they work. And I've included repair notes on my giveaway/donation bikes, too.
Even a junker-looking bike that runs beats walking several miles.
Re: Thoughts
Date: 2022-05-11 01:48 am (UTC)Still better than having to push someone on said surface all day...or (in our case) wait for someone else to push you around all day.
>>A standard-issue one...<<
The one we have is being modded for nonstandard needs. And the person who is using it will be very particular about comfort...but yeah, it would be good to test it before a crisis.
>>Very sensible.<<
I've noticed the electric may be easier for long distance, but the manual may be easier for riding in non-modded cars.
Never asked, and don't use 'em myself, so...
Re: Thoughts
Date: 2022-05-11 02:05 am (UTC)True if and only if someone is available to help when it jams. The problem is that a snitty powerchair seems to provide mobility right until it doesn't. It's like riding a fucking mule.
>>The one we have is being modded for nonstandard needs. And the person who is using it will be very particular about comfort...but yeah, it would be good to test it before a crisis.<<
Definitely test it first, while alternate supplies are available.
>>I've noticed the electric may be easier for long distance, but the manual may be easier for riding in non-modded cars.<<
Prevailingly true. However, I'll give credit for one thing: some powerchairs come apart so they can easily be stowed in ordinary vehicles. If the person has some mobility, this is an excellent option.
>> Never asked, and don't use 'em myself, so... <<
It's well worth testing the thing yourself. You get a different perspective that way.
Re: Thoughts
Date: 2022-05-11 02:29 am (UTC)Medical care requires near 24/7 presence of another person, at least on the same floor of the same building.
>>Definitely test it first, while alternate supplies are available.<<
I can use my persuasion skills, but I am not the ultimate decider.
>>Prevailingly true. However, I'll give credit for one thing: some powerchairs come apart so they can easily be stowed in ordinary vehicles. If the person has some mobility, this is an excellent option.<<
That situation, person had some mobility, but (I think) minimal choice in adaptive equipment.
My impression is that it was a take what you can get/afford situation.
I do believe their current situation has improved, so yay!
>>It's well worth testing the thing yourself.<<
It wouldn't hurt to play around with the manual one sometime. It's not, like, 'claimed' enough to feel wierd.
Borrowing someone's everyday chair, that would feel weird to me.
Re: why it's important to keep the floor clean for a manual user
Date: 2022-05-14 05:50 pm (UTC)Then I had the bright idea to: "Hey Mike -- let me show you something? Take hold of this walker like you're using it and go into the bathroom." He hit about 4 different things that had been left in the path. He finally got the point and I got a clear path the remainder of the time.
Re: why it's important to keep the floor clean for a manual user
Date: 2022-05-14 06:15 pm (UTC)If you say "clear path" then most people will think of what it takes for them to get through, because they don't have a reference for anything else. If you say "X inches of floor space with nothing on the floor" then they can take a measuring tape and check the width. Going through the space with an adaptive device is an effective kinetic option, if have equipment that someone can borrow.
If someone asks me about clearance, I ask them for a measurement so I can walk through the house with a yardstick or tape measure. Eyeballing it isn't going to work.
(no subject)
Date: 2022-05-11 01:43 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2023-01-22 05:45 pm (UTC)