Days of My Life

After a brief hibernation, I’m back and today’s topic– self destruction. Well, not really, but I’m having childhood flashbacks of the “Self Destruction” video. Disclaimer: This is going to be long. I’m really discussing that favorite childhood toy, Big Wheels!! Remember that one? Everyone on my street wanted to be friends with the kids who had the Big Wheels. Couldn’t wait to run to their houses and fight for “turns” to ride the Big Wheel until someone yelled, “Time’s up!! It’s my chance!” And of course, there was the fight that ensued when someone wouldn’t get up and the offended party began a trivial pursuit of the culprit after the words, “Get up! You’ve been on it longer than anybody else!” Then, the owner always stepped in with the power play of “Nobody’s riding it if you’re gonna fight. *whispering* Come on, _______, let’s go on ______ St. and ride by ourselves.” Those were the days, but my how things change.

Almost two years ago now, I got the chance to have my very own set of Big Wheels, but to my dismay, no one asked to play with me or ride on my Big Wheels. Maybe because I’m a full grown woman and must have looked crazy navigating my wheels. That had to be it. Because there’s no way you can convince me that no one wanted to play with my Big Wheels because there were four wheels instead of the customary three. And there’s no way you can convince me it’s because my Big Wheels were made of chrome instead of the colorful plastic of my youth. Unh-unh. That couldn’t have been it. Maybe it was because my Big Wheels had another name that made people turn away when they looked at me as though they were ashamed or look at me too long. Maybe it’s because my Big Wheels were also called a wheelchair. One of the best experiences of my life has been the opportunity to gain a different perspective and live my life in my own wheels.

I got my wheels due to a freak accident that broke my foot, or at least the doctors thought it was broken at the time. Typically, a broken bone doesn’t take more than 6-8 weeks to heal. Sometimes therapy is necessary after a cast comes off for strength, but the healing process is relatively quick, especially with younger people. That didn’t happen for me. I could not stand, and I could not walk. I was in just as much pain as before the cast was set. I was referred to therapy, and after a few weeks of therapy and a second opinion by an orthopedic specialist, my doctor threw up his hands and discharged me. He couldn’t explain it and said there was nothing else he could do.

By the time the cast came off, I rarely used the crutches due to underarm nerve pain and remained house bound. When I visited the doctors, I used the hospital wheelchairs for transport. I remained in therapy for almost 9 months. The physician who oversaw my therapy did not give up. Though, after months, I still showed no improvement. One website likened the pain of what I was eventually diagnosed with as being worse than that of cancer, so you can imagine that my doctors tried any number of pain meds. In addition to the constant pain, I had excrutiating muscle spasms, loss of feeling, numbness, and sometimes my foot felt like ice on the outside while my body told me it was burning up. Through it all, my doctor did not want me to get a wheelchair but to keep trying to put weight on my foot with the help of my crutches. Now, let’s.be.for.REAL! Can you imagine trying to go everywhere you have to go in the course of a day on crutches alone? They just aren’t intended for long term use. I admired his zeal to see me improve, but I had to trade in the sticks for a shiny chair. I craved the independence that I knew my wheels would bring, and it was after I got them that I got my diagnosis: incurable neurological damage that only could be treated (has a name but that’s irrelevant).

So few people who were close to me even knew what I was going through, and how in the world could I tell them that? Most of my friends spoke to me almost every week by phone, and I never told them. They never asked because it has never been unusual for me not to be around due to my schedule. I knew I’d have to face everyone eventually in my new wheels, and that was hard. It was hard because my vanity had already been assaulted by tremendous weight gain, but my wheels just brought extra attention that I did not want. I do not doubt that my friends would not have cared one bit, other than being concerned, about my wheels. But it was the public that I had to deal with.

The young lady whom I now only refer to as my sister took care of me, and we went all over the place with my wheels. Each place we went, I would be greeted with stares or looks of pity. When transacting business, clerks and others always addressed my sister and never me. I loved it when my sister would say, “You can tell/ask her, she’s sitting right there.” One older lady broke down and cried at the mere sight of consistently seeing me use my crutches in a place that we both frequented every week. My youth and my wheels were too much of a contradiction for her, and though she may have thought her tears a comfort, it wasn’t much of a comfort to have to comfort her while I was the one wheeling. I can’t explain the frustration of wheeling up a ramp only to find that the handicap doors don’t work because well-abled people have broken them through unnecessary overuse. And I can’t forget about my favorite, having to journey across a long parking lot because someone who can actually walk (usu. someone transporting someone else with front door drop off) has taken a reserved spot that I desperately needed. Then there are those who have no handicap hanger or tag and just take the spots as their just due. And can I ever forget about the icey days when salt or gravel was too much of a bother for some store or establishment?

Kicker: Let me tell you. Men just aren’t attracted to girls riding Big Wheels after childhood. The whole time I was using crutches or my wheelchair, one guy approached me. That was a significant decline for me, one that “punked” my own attitude of having sometimes judged people based on what was on the outside. I got a serious reality check when I went from flyy girl to roller girl. I learned so much about me and other people. My wheels dropped the “b” from my “-itchy.” And it needed to go.

Concerning my illness, my spirits were always high, but dealing with people who don’t understand the disabled can be tough. I admit that I was once one of those, but the lessons I’ve learned have made me free. I hope they make you think about how you deal with the disabled. Many of you don’t know it, but you deal with the disabled every day because a feeble mind is far worse than a feeble body. But let me ask you about the physical disabilities. How do you look (or do you) at the disabled? Would you ever date someone who’s disabled? Would you stay with them if they ended up that way after you met them without a disability? Don’t worry about WWJD? What Would YOU Do? Too pensive to reply? I know how you feel?

(I use past tense because I walk everyday now, and I use no crutches or a cane. I thank Jesus for it. How did that happen? I like to think it’s because I learned exactly what God intended, but that’s a story for another post.)

As always, especially after this long post that I hope you got to the end of,
Just my thoughts
NLC