I remember my father once telling me, “It’s dangerous to live.” What he meant was that life is full of risks and dangers and that if we are constantly worried about those risks and dangers, then we’re not really living.
I’ve often recounted this quote whenever a therapist overplayed the safety card with Ben—you know, when they say it wouldn’t be safe to transfer Ben into his walker or some other piece of equipment. In those situations, I always countered that unless we gave Ben the opportunity to try a new activity, he would never learn the skills.
Recently, we acquired a new walker for Ben—a dynamic Pacer from Rifton. This piece of equipment is amazing. After the first few trials, Ben was catching on. We were excited about seeing him return to the days where he would move effortlessly in his walker in any setting.
A few days ago, I was making some small adjustments to his new walker when I heard a “thud” come from the bathroom. Ben was in there with his caregiver. For a split second, my eyes widened, my heart stopped and my mind raced to believing that sickening sound was Ben’s body crashing to the floor after having rolled off the massage table. That is always a risk, of course, however small, since it’s dangerous to live.