Sauna Routine with a Wheelchair

Steam pooled like sunlight you could breathe.

Bumbly tipped back in a lightweight chair—no batteries, no motors, no electronics at all—just quiet bearings and brushed rims warm under his paws. Beside him, Zippy reclined on a beach bed, one wing over her eyes. They both exhaled tiny white puffs that drifted up and disappeared. Between them, two bright smoothies sweated down the glasses—lime and mango, straws ready.

“People think wheels and saunas don’t mix,” Bumbly murmured.

“They do,” Zippy said, nudging the little table closer. “We bring the manual chair, keep sessions short, cool down outside, sip, breathe.”

The cedar cabin waited in the background, door propped and a low ramp making the threshold a non-event. Inside, they’d done five calm minutes; now the deck gave them breeze and birdsong. No cables to worry about, no switches—just the chair’s clean geometry and Bumbly’s comfort calling the pace. If transferring felt good, they used a steady hand and a slow count. If not, the chair stayed, towel folded, warmth arriving anyway.

A breeze stirred the eucalyptus; one leaf, heart-shaped, winked like it knew.

“See?” Zippy said, watching new curls of breath rise. “Access isn’t an exception. It’s how we say yes.”

Bumbly touched his straw to hers. “To yes. To heat that welcomes every body—wheels included, electronics not allowed.”