Hydro, independence and dignity linked when disabled
I’m not what you’d call an early riser. I’m up by nine and that gives my husband Ron a couple of hours to do work around the house before I need his help. But this morning was different. The little white slip of paper from Horizon Utilities announcing that there would be a power interruption in our neighbourhood from 9 a.m. for a period of six hours got me up early. A tree was being felled in the neighbourhood and hydro lines ran through it.
There were things that needed to be done before the power went off. The first thing to consider was that my electric bed wouldn’t work to sit me upright as my muscles aren’t strong enough to do it on my own. And the noise machine used to drown out morning sounds wouldn’t work either. Thankfully we have skylights in our home so almost every room is bright during the day unless there’s a snowfall. It’s easy to confuse the utilities we take for granted. I had to stop and think: will there be water? Sure there will, but after a while it won’t be hot. Will the toilet still flush? Yes, but the automatic bidet/toilet seat I use because my hands are too weak to take care of my personal hygiene won’t. It has a computer in it. I revert back to good old T-paper. How about putting on makeup? All those big fat Albert bulbs above my huge mirror are useless. So much for straight eyeliner.
Because Ron has helped me get dressed for so many years, we can almost do it with our eyes closed so that came off without a hitch. As I drove my scooter into the kitchen, I noticed the little zero had disappeared and only the decimal is flashing on our carbon monoxide detector plugged into the wall. It wasn’t working. When the power went off at 9 a.m. Ron and I both noted that our smoke detectors kept bleeping for maybe two or three minutes just to tell us
ACCESS NIAGARA
there was something amiss.
The people who service our security alarm system called. Was everything alright? We should’ve told them beforehand.
Once in the kitchen I took note that there was no egg in a pot on the stove. If I want anything cooked like toast or a soft-boiled egg, too bad, but that was no hardship for one day.
As I sat by the counter eating I noticed how very still the house was ... no radios, whirring and buzzing, no furnace fan running. I could hear my heart beating. You can sense, almost feel, stillness.
Ron cracked the kitchen window and I could hear the traffic up on Louth Street, a cardinal chirping away in a nearby pine and a train crossing near the station, its wheels clickety-clacking through the intersection near Ridley College.
After breakfast, I brushed my teeth and there was still some power left in our rechargeable electric toothbrush but I wondered for how long. I recalled the days when I used a manual toothbrush and, because my hands are so weak, could barely manage.
Normally, I roll into the office on my scooter, touch the computer mouse, click on email and watch (mostly junk) pieces of email appear and then deal with the few that need attention. That day my computer was dark.
Have you ever taken stock of how much we depend on electricity for all our communication devices and appliances, and, in my case, even independence and dignity? Batteries? Without the ability to charge the battery pack for my scooter I would be back to being pushed in a manual wheelchair.
Adamant that I was going to get some work done, I plugged away under the skylight in my office at some jobs I’ve been putting off while preoccupied by the computer. At exactly 2:15, I was jolted by a mighty burp that told me the house was back in action, back to what we call normal. And, there was one less tree in the neighborhood. Perhaps all that quiet was a fitting requiem for it but also a reminder of how much we depend on hydro.