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OH, THE INCONVENIENCE
OF ALL THOSE CONVENIENCES
Journal of Healing – July 19, 2006
By Mary Koch

It’s come to this: Anytime I flip a switch, push a button or turn a handle, I expect nothing to happen. My mechanical-technical world is in a state of disrepair. I need 24/7 maintenance assistance almost as much as my husband requires 24/7 caregiving.

It began with that first heat spell, when our air conditioner groaned to a stop. Now it works especially reliably if the repairman is on site to fix it. He tells me he can’t fix what doesn’t appear broken.

The AC was followed in quick succession by the washer and dryer, both of which succumbed on the same day; the side doors on my husband’s van, which were mysteriously sticking in locked position, and the “shop” vacuum cleaner.

I relayed this saga to the young man I’d employed to clean out our window wells when he reported the shop vac had no suction. He nodded sympathetically and recalled a recent week when his family went through a similar series of crises: the car broke down, the dishwasher quit and the dog died.

I cast a glance at Sadie, the People Dog, who just days earlier had escaped a major coronary, not to mention fatal beating, when she nabbed a pan muffins, fresh-baked for guests, off the top of the stove and ate all dozen.

* * *

WITH SO many repairs on the agenda, I had to set priorities. I asked myself what the contingency plan was if I could not open the door to get John and his wheelchair out of the van, especially in the current 90 degree weather pattern.

Turns out, I have no Plan B. The van became Priority No. 1, and it was quickly fixed with a few deft turns of the screwdriver by the guys at Wayne’s Body Shop.

The dryer repair was equally simple. All it needed was a new fuse. The washing machine was another matter.

Laundry is a big issue for any family, but it’s especially high priority for someone with needs like my husband’s. Skin breakdown, the basic cause of Christopher Reeve’s death, is a constant threat to anyone with paralysis. One defense is scrupulous cleanliness. Everything that touches John’s skin – bedding, clothing and a small mountain of washcloths – is changed and laundered daily.

When the old washer broke down three years ago, I was determined to replace it with a no-frills, low-cost model. Once in the appliance store, I became seduced by a high-end, large-capacity, water-conserving modern marvel. The Whirlpool Calypso did just about everything but sing like Harry Belafonte.

* * *

IT WASHED superbly, until the night it just up and quit. The pump was toast. Replacing it was going to cost almost as much as that no-frills model I’d spurned three years earlier. Then I discovered, with some research on the Internet, more breakdowns are likely.

Whirlpool and Sears are settling out-of-court a class action lawsuit brought by Calypso purchasers whose machines broke down within six months after the one-year warranty ran out. I guess we can consider ourselves lucky that ours kept running for two years post-warranty.

The new, no-frills washer will be installed tomorrow.

On my office wall is a photo taken about 100 years ago of three local homesteading women cheerfully washing clothes in their backyard. They’re obviously ecstatic that they have a wringer attached to the laundry tub and no longer have to do that by hand.

At what point does our abundance of conveniences become oh, so inconvenient? I keep reminding myself, things could be worse.

After all, my computer is still wor

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