Review: Bookchair “just right” bookholder

You know you’re a word person when your books have more furniture than you do. Over the past few months I bought myself 2 “Bookchairs,” which have a semi-Goldilocks feel about them — I have a Medium one for paperbacks and a Large one for the computer books, but haven’t found a reason I would need the mini one.  They’re  book holders with pegs to keep your place, but they look like folding beach chairs that beat up Snoopy in Charlie Brown’s Thanksgiving. (Pardon the mixed similes.) These, however, are multicolored and nonviolent — they won’t even so much as collapse.

Note: charming wooden things that look like they were stolen from the Three Bears’ vacation or Charlie Brown’s garage are made better than a lot of the overpriced plastic crap they sell in medical catalogs. The Bookchair is made to be a single unit, with proper hinges so that you can easily fold and unfold it. When unfolded, the base of the chair has grooves to fit the support bar to create 3 different angles for the back. The pegs are more like arms, actually, screwed as to be horizontal on either side of the “seat.” Since the pegs are horizontal, you don’t have to worry so much about pulling the page around them, as you would with vertical pegs. I think they have a slight springiness in them, so that they can account for the way the pages sometimes bulge out. They fit against the pages tightly enough to hold them, but not so tightly that you can’t move the page when you need to.

Actually inserting the book is very easy — open the book to the desired page, lift it up by the top with one hand, and set it behind the pegs. If it’s a heavy book, of course, it takes me a couple of tries because my good hand is now not so good, but that’s not the chair’s fault. To turn a page, sometimes I don’t even need to adjust the right side peg — just move the page out from behind, and flick my thumb or finger to move the left side peg out of the way. Often, the left side peg will fall back into place by itself to hold the page. I don’t understand the Amazon review in which some guy complains that his wife — who, like me, is hemiplegic — can’t hold the device and turn the page at the same time. You don’t have to hold the device and turn the page at the same time. The most you need is good fine motor use of a finger or thumb on the same hand to flick a peg out of the way as you turn the page.

The only potential issue is the multi-size one, because you need to pay attention. (Why the heck did the people complaining about books not fitting order the Medium size for a hardcover math textbook?) If you mostly just read paperbacks, you should be fine with the medium size. If you read different types of books, however, you may need a larger size as well. I can’t see reading my C++ books on anything but a large Bookchair. The need for more than one might suck. However, if your large books aren’t quite so thick as that, the Standard size may be “just right” for both your paperbacks and your other books. I tried a couple book holders that seemed to be more universal, such as the Fellowes and Roberts, but they were multi-piece and rather flimsy and the pegs didn’t keep my place well enough, besides being vertical.

The Bookchair can be found on the Thinking Gifts website, though you might want to select US dollars from the drop-down so as to get the accurate price for you. You can pay with your PayPal account if you have one, which is also convenient. If you don’t want to wait for the UK shipping, you can often find them used on Amazon or eBay, where there’s a better chance that the seller might be closer (and cheaper).

The right to ask, or “noncompliance”

At the moment, I’m looking at my keyboard and wondering if I should take it with me to my orthopedist appointment next week. I figure, when we get around to discussing the RSI part of my disability, that if I’m going to tell them I’ve been trying to type a little, I should probably show them what I’ve been typing on so they don’t get the wrong idea. This seems like a logical idea to me, particularly because a one-handed ergonomic keyboard doesn’t seem to have made it onto doctors’ radars. Neither, actually, has investigation into the incidence of RSI in one-handed people compared to the vast literature on two-handed people.

However, my confidence in this idea has been usurped by more familiar feelings of nausea and unease. Thanks to my jackass of a former orthopedist, I have to evaluate any of my own actions, questions, or opinions as a potential risk. He made sure of that, because any doctor or SSI official reading my records will see his version of our last visit.

Put simply, he told me there was nothing wrong and I should use my hand as I normally would. That didn’t feel right, because I sure felt something, even on good days. [I found out later that in addition to the RSI and hypermobility, I had ligament sprains.] Sometimes it was pain; others it was the inability to make a fist reliably. I asked him, then, whether the symptoms wouldn’t just come back that much faster. I can’t convey the tone of our exchange, but I know I was stammering and losing eye contact from confusion. I couldn’t understand why he didn’t at least refer me to someone who had the means to be more thorough — I was thinking, “Now what? Do I see a specialist, a neurologist, or what, here?” But I never got a chance to ask him that, because in the space of me lowering my eyes away from him and waiting a second for the words, he spoke in the way that you speak to a bratty child asking “Are we there yet?” One third incredulous, one third amused, and one third exasperated, he said, “[Hand2Mouth], that’s it! I’m done. What more do you want?” When I opened my mouth to ask about the referral, he threw up his hands, shook his head, left the room and closed the door.

Naturally, I requested my records in preparation for finding a 2nd opinion. Tellingly, my x-rays were not included. When I read the doctor’s notes, I found that he’d essentially covered his ass, saying that he’d found nothing out of the ordinary and portraying me as a hypochondriac, accusing me of being uninterested in recovery through physical therapy because I was stubborn. Hey, Doc, there’s a big difference between “normal use” and learning how to use my only hand in such a way that I don’t rupture anything. You said nothing about the latter. He also said he’d never left the room when I was asking a question. Split hairs much — he left the room as I was taking the breath between words to ask the question.

My 2nd opinion went much better, and the assistant dictated his notes in front of me. I don’t know if that was common practice or whether he just thought I was a troublemaker it’d be safer to appease, but I liked it. I also had concrete diagnoses, and was given a couple of tools to help. I’ve gotten better in the year since, though I do still have problems. Even so, the new doctor obviously knows what he’s doing. So I don’t know why I’m still afraid.

It’s true that I’ve often had to figure things out myself. I didn’t have an IEP or get accommodations when I was growing up, and I researched and gradually acquired my assistive technology myself because I wasn’t aware there were programs to help me. I even bought my own splint and glove instead of using what the new doctor gave me — I wasn’t able to fasten the doctor-issued ones myself. But that doesn’t mean I think I can do everything. I’m afraid that any assertiveness on my part is going to be taken as noncompliance, and thus I won’t be taken seriously. I know this fear will pass, but all the same it’s entirely unpleasant while it lasts.

We have that right though — to refuse treatment we don’t think is working, to advocate for ourselves, to choose what we think will work. If you have to ask questions to get it, so be it.

FrogPad, RSI and me — OW!!!

Holy God, I’m stupid. I am making this declaration after swallowing more Aleve than I’ve had to for quite some time. The thing is, I decided to be adventurous and borrow a friend’s FrogPad. I knew it wasn’t inherently ergonomic because of its flat shape, but my friend said it helped her with her RSI. What I wasn’t thinking was that my friend is two-handed, and her RSI is mouse related. Therefore, she gets to use her one hand on the keyboard and the other on the mouse, reducing her workload. Totally different situations. A one-handed keyboard for a one-handed person is different from one-handed keyboard designed for two-handed people, no matter what buzzwords the advertisements may use. (Human anthropology, anyone?) Tellingly, one of the slogans is “What would you do with your free hand?” I can appreciate the dual marketing technique in an attempt to mainstream things, but there are certain situations in which someone with a disability might still need a well thought out, more specialized product. This little gimmick wasn’t for me.

My RSI (which is not my sole physical problem, but it’s a big one) affects the only hand I can use. Because of the FrogPad key combinations, I was working this hand to death, even typing very slowly with the keypad propped up. Hell, I was even using shorthand, and still! Never mind that technically “you only need two fingers” — be that as it may, everything I had was aching. Ergo, I was in pain very shortly. I can appreciate the small footprint, but it’s not worth it — I’ll carry my keyboard over my shoulder gladly for as long as I’m able to use it. If by any chance you have RSI in your one functional hand, either stick to voice, find a keyboard that was actually designed for a one-handed person, use Dvorak, or even strap a typing stick to your hand to spare your fingers. Don’t overwork them.

RSI? One handed? Avoid Lilly Walters’ writing

I have an ironic sense of humor, but I’m finding it harder to laugh about this article placement. At first I was bemused, but now I’m just irritated. What in the hell is an article by Lilly Walters doing on RSI awareness websites? As someone whose musculoskeletal problems have been further complicated by RSI in my good hand, I don’t find it funny. Do these people not read the submissions before they post them? Walters is entitled to her opinions, certainly, but from an informational standpoint, her opinions are nothing but counterproductive when applied to RSI and its risk factors, especially for a one handed person. Walters may have a right hand and two of her left fingers, but she has no clue. I want to outline some points. Please bear with me to the end of this post.

Walters begins her article by saying, “Those of us in rehabilitation therapy help children and adults with disabilities enhance their lives, increase their independence and productivity.”

First of all — WALTERS IS NOT AN OCCUPATIONAL THERAPIST, OR ANY MEDICAL PROFESSIONAL WHATSOEVER. SHE IS A FACE PAINTER. Just look on any of her home pages. In addition, her first sentence is plagiarized from the mission statement of rehabtool.com.  Misrepresenting yourself just to sell a $50 typing manual is just a little bit unethical. So is shilling your self published books on Amazon. (So, arguably, is buying nearly every single web domain related to one handed typing. “Fanatical” is more of a word for that though, I think.)

Second, how could anyone even buy her false credential? If you were a true member of the helping professions and had ever seen someone struggling with injury, you would NOT say the following: “In our world of terrific technologies, we happily embrace the new alternatives. But there is something glaringly wrong in that circle of embrace for the one hand typist.” You would also not say this: “If one hand has good usage, then, although harder on the hands, the standard one hand QWERTY is perhaps the best choice.”  What occupational therapist would encourage you to do something that they know presents high risk?  (And who would be so melodramatic about it?)

Also, while therapists do begin by suggesting the least complicated solution and working up from there if more accommodation is needed, I don’t think any therapist would ever outright condemn assistive technology as “glaringly wrong.” They understand the importance of prevention now. They would be more likely to promote caution and steadiness — I doubt they would egg you on by demanding that you be “the fastest, most competent person.” While competency is certainly necessary, the competitiveness implied by the emphasis on speed is certainly not. ACCURACY AND COMFORT ARE MORE IMPORTANT THAN SPEED. Walters may type 40 to 80 words per minute, but her manual borders on illiterate, as does her website. Typos don’t help your credibility, and it helps to know the difference between “dominant” and “dominate.” She spells Dvorak as “Dvoark” all over the place, which makes me think of aardvarks. If you’re going to badmouth something you haven’t tried, have the courtesy to spell it right.

Walters blows her cover here, and her reasoning is specious to boot. Her evangelism for QWERTY and condemnation of anything else seems rooted in several things. Foremost, she needs to push her typing manual, of course. I can only assume that’s why she lies that Dvorak cannot be found in the workplace.  Hello — get administrative rights and activate the Dvorak layout in your OS.  One-handed keyboards are portable; you will find them in the workplace if you bring them with you. Then, judging by the number of times the word “normal” is written “NORMAL” in both her manual and her many websites, as well as her declaration of “smug pride” that she doesn’t need any adaptive equipment, she’s very insecure about herself. She’s afraid of being different. That’s why she’s willing to tell you to risk your hand — she’s projecting her fear of looking different on to you by saying, “Selecting an alternative keyboard makes the user feel apart from their peer group.”

Don’t put words in my mouth — I’ll do whatever I have to to keep my remaining hand function, and I’m indebted to the Maltron and other technology for helping me do that. I was able to work with my peers in a library because I had the equipment to do so. If I didn’t have my keyboard or Dragon NaturallySpeaking, I wouldn’t have been able to do my internship. In fact, I received many compliments on my keyboard. My assistive technology enables me to be included — it doesn’t isolate me in the slightest, thanks very much.

This article does not belong on RSI websites that under any other circumstances would be advocating ergonomic keyboards like Maltron or layouts such as Dvorak, as well as speech recognition. I think the picture of Walters’ typing manual says it all: a hovering one armed Superman in a business suit and slick cheesy smile, supporting his entire weight on his fingertips, which are apparently resting on a flat QWERTY keyboard. If that posture isn’t asking for RSI, I don’t know what is.

Review: The grail of one handed keyboards: Maltron

In the ergonomic keyboard market, one handed people are totally ignored, despite the fact that we have an even greater chance of developing RSI. After being diagnosed with numerous cumulative injuries in my good hand, which were most likely exacerbated by having to type on a standard QWERTY keyboard with it, I relied exclusively on Dragon NaturallySpeaking to access my computer. It’s a beautiful program, and I still use it for intense computer sessions be they Web browsing or 20 page papers. However, there are times and places when using your voice is not possible, or certain applications at work are not voice accessible. So what do you do, with every “split” or “natural” keyboard completely useless to you?

If you can, you save up your money until you can buy a Maltron single-handed keyboard — literally the only ergonomic full keyboard in the world for a one handed person. It was designed in 1977 by Stephen Hobday of Great Britain, and its layout was researched and invented by Lillian Malt, an expert on reading patterns. I can best describe it as the two-handed person’s contoured ergonomic keyboard, cut in half. The layout is obviously different from the two-handed Maltron; the frequency of keys for one hand will be different than for two.

The five home keys are Space ATEH on the right hand, from thumb to pinky finger. The home row in full is Space UISATEHN. Compare this with one hand on a QWERTY keyboard: FGHJ. See how far you have to stretch to get the other letters? Not so good. I fell in love with the frequency of use layout rather quickly; it’s even better than right-handed Dvorak. I confess, though — not being a “texter” — using my thumb for U and I took some getting used to, and to avoid stress I sometimes move over and use my index finger instead. If you have a larger hand span, this might not be a problem for you.

But the layout is only half of it; if it were just that, it would be just another Dvorak. The design is the other half. Not only are the keys compacted, but they are arranged in columns around the curved shape — not staggered — and the columns are recessed according to finger length, reducing the stretching required. The keyboard has a very slight slope to it, so you can rest your hand naturally on the keys without having to turn your arm to make your fingers meet them. Best of all, the keys are Cherry MX switches, which are incredibly gentle to type on — you barely have to press the key half way to generate a character. This doesn’t mean the keys are mushy or hypersensitive; you do have to make a purposeful movement, just a very slight one. After pounding on membrane/rubber dome keyboards, it’s seriously like laying your fingers on pillows.

They’ve pretty much thought of everything. Turn off Sticky Keys in your accessibility options; Maltron built it into the keyboard. The right-hand Shift, located in the thumb group, “latches,” releasing after the next key is pressed. The left-hand Shift is in the top right corner of the numeric keypad, and it locks — you have to press it again to deactivate it. I find the left-hand shift useful for selecting text, or typing in caps with punctuation. It is also useful if you use the tab key to navigate links and miss your mark; press left-hand Shift and tab backwards to your heart’s content. The left-hand control and left-hand Alt lock also, which is useful for executing a series of keyboard shortcuts or — a pleasant surprise — entering the codes for special characters. A red button by the function keys puts you in “numbers mode,” which means you can use the letter keys to enter numbers if you wish instead of the numeric keypad or the regular number keys above the letters. (Note: if you use Mouse Keys, you’ll need to deactivate that for it to work.)

In all, I’m thrilled that I found this keyboard, and impressed that Malt and Hobday troubled themselves to research one-handed data entry as well as two-handed, providing a lifesaver in what other companies would consider just a “niche market” and not worth their time or investment. This keyboard has returned a very important aspect of language to me: muscle memory. Sometimes when I think of words, I think of them in the way my fingers move to type them, and that pattern becomes the word. A mnemonic device, I guess. I can “feel” words again, and that’s worth everything.