Poppin' a wheelie with Mama (or, Mama hold onnn!!)

We are finally home. After waiting most of yesterday afternoon for the new equipment to be delivered, they finally got her discharged----at 4:15.  Mama was sitting in that chair, scowling, looking at the clock, staring at the door, waiting to bust out so she could go to the retirement party.  Every now and again she'd revise her plans for getting ready. "I could just go home, put some deo on and wash my face," became "I could just put some deo on," which then became "You could drive into the Atherton basement...."  She was bound and determined, regardless of the fact that the person who would be pushing her reeked of b.o., was wearing a highly inappropriate shirt a-la craig, and was really, really, really coke zero deprived.   Anyway, we got her into the car, which is becoming problematic because the buckket seats are too deep and she can't sit back far enough to swing her legs in.  She ends up being half slumped and on her right butt cheek.  It's not unsafe or painful, just awkward and uncomfortable.  Maybe a draw sheet could work.  Anyway, we got home at 5 and she tried to use the walker from the car to the front door, but got too tired.  So, out came the new wheelchair!  However, no one told me that you can't even go over little bumps straight on.  Mama bought popped out of the wheelchair when I rammed her over the lip in the cement on the porch.  Ooopsies.  We both started cracking up.  Then it happened again when we tried to get onto the carpet.  Like I've said before, cancer has its moments of hilarity and fun.  I'm tempted to take her out today and whip her up and down some curbs, too!