The Joy of Wheelchairs
Nine months after surgery, I suggested to my husband, Tom, that it was time to find a new home for my wheelchair. He paused. “Are you sure?” Then he quickly added, “not that I don’t think the surgery was successful.” I understood. I also found it hard to let go of something that had brought so much joy in a difficult time.
My wheelchair was a head-turner: it had a strong, sleek design in a shiny deep maroon with go-anywhere bicycle tires. It was a “RoughRider” made by the non-profit organization Whirlwind Wheelchair International. The website explains:
“Whirlwind chairs are super-durable and capable on almost any terrain and use parts and materials that are readily available throughout the developing world.
A functional wheelchair designed for the challenges of its environment is a tool that enhances the rider’s ability to participate in family, social and economic activities.”
RoughRider is used in areas devastated by natural disasters and war-related destruction where people have lost some of their function and the geography has been made more difficult to navigate. Here’s a video of RoughRider in action. Be prepared to be moved.
Before I got Wheels (our name for the wheelchair), my life had become increasingly isolated and lonely. My medical condition affected my body’s ability to generate energy and to tolerate standing up. I didn’t have the energy to walk with friends. I couldn’t travel if I wasn’t sure I would be able to sit or lie down whenever needed. I didn’t have the energy to enjoy outside activities. Wheels changed all of that. Wheels gave me freedom and connection. I shared some stories in Snapshots of a Chronic Illness. Here are a few more glimpses.
Tom, Axel (our beloved German Shepherd), and I headed over to the small island across from our place on the Haw River in Saxapahaw, North Carolina. It is one of our favorite trails with fun dips and curves in the path. When we wheeled up to the beach area, I thought it was to allow Axel some playtime in the water. Tom pulled out a blanket and unstrapped the low beach chairs he had carried on his back. After I was seated, he retrieved his computer and a small box from the pouch on Wheels. Tom proposed to me with accompanying powerpoint slides. We married four months later.
Shortly after getting Wheels, my friend, Angela, arranged a walk with a group of women at a nearby greenway. The intention was that they would take turns pushing the wheelchair. However, Amber, a firefighter and cross fit trainer, had that covered. Even with the additional load (me), we led the group, including uphill. I could hear the laughter and chatter behind me. We arrived at a spot on the greenway with benches overlooking the creek. We gathered. We talked. We lingered. And off we went again.
Picture the beauty of Colorado outdoors. Bouquets of wildflowers among the rocks. Stunning contrasts in textures and colors against an outstretched blue sky. Winding paths among the boulders. Tom and I met his brother, Ken, at a park near his home on the outskirts of Denver. It was a heart-pounding trail if you were pushing a wheelchair. They took turns, each going to their limits in cardiovascular exercise. We were bunched up together on the trail which made it easy to carry on a three-way conversation. I’m too much of a feminist to have princess fantasies, but I can’t deny that I enjoyed being the center of attention of these two wonderful men.
From Colorado, I flew by myself directly to South Carolina for a medical appointment. An airlines assistant met me at the ticket counter to wheel me to my gate. The Denver airport gives plenty of opportunity to get to know someone. As the assistant expertly maneuvered me onto the elevator and created a path for me through security, a packed tram, and endless corridors, I learned some of his story. He is an immigrant from Ethiopia. In Ethiopia, he had been a leader in a school system. Because of intense outbreaks of fighting, refugees had fled to his town and enrollment in his schools surged well beyond capacity. The influx of displaced families with so many needs made it hard, but he was committed to making the schools a place of safety and hope. Moving to the United States, the only job he could get was as a gas station clerk. His job as a disability assistant was a step up. I wish it had taken longer to get to the gate.
Given my experience, I am dismayed at how wheelchairs are depicted in our society. Take this poster:
No wonder some people looked at me with pity when they saw me in my wheelchair. It is a shame. It is an ableist view that imagines that life must hardly be worth living if you don’t have all of your physical and mental capabilities. Ableism suggests that the goal of life is to be on your own. Ableism pretends that we are not interdependent. We all are. The intimate connection I had with Tom as he wheeled me demonstrates the sweet delight of embracing that interdependence.
Tom saw this discomfort in other people as a challenge. In his words, he saw that we could “raise the magic quotient” in the world if people could be more comfortable and even joyful at the opportunities to interact with people in wheelchairs. On the trails and sidewalks, Tom would make sure to greet everyone we saw. They would see us laughing and talking and they would smile back. Tom even bought me a purple plastic wand kind of thing with a small hand at the end. He thought I could use it to direct him, and it would amuse others. That was a step beyond me.
Even without my full engagement in his initiative, I believe Tom was successful. Consider the time we took a stroll with a beach wheelchair. These have fat balloon tires to roll easily over the sand. Axel was on the top of his game, proudly leading the entourage on the strand of beach, between the bank of lounge chairs and the encroaching waves. I held Axel’s leash and sat high like I was on a parade float. Tom waived and responded to curious onlookers. We saw a number of people pull out their phones. I’m just going to assume it was because they wanted to pass on a little magic.
The rest of my story with Wheels is largely told in the Whirlwind Wheelchair annual newsletter (December 27, 2022):
“A former customer, Ann McColl of North Carolina, happily found that she no longer needed her RoughRider after a successful spinal surgery [Cervical Cranial Fusion]. Ann wanted to donate her chair to someone who wanted to get out into the woods like she had. In November, Whirlwind had received a request from a young man, Adam [last name omitted] in Knoxville Tennessee, with a spinal cord injury at T2 with multiple spinal screws, whose current wheelchair was falling apart and unsafe to use. He said he was outdoors a lot and needed a more durable wheelchair in order to have an active everyday life but could not afford to purchase a RoughRider wheelchair because he was on a fixed, poverty income. We immediately contacted Ann and she was willing to box up her RoughRider wheelchair for Adam and Whirlwind paid the shipping for the RoughRider wheelchair to arrive at Adam’s home.”
Nowadays, I am able to walk. I love moseying alongside Axel in the woods, letting him sniff the leaves and underbrush as long as he wants, making last minute decisions together of whether we will take a detour to the creek to throw some sticks. During these quiet walks, I sometimes wonder how members of my online patient community are doing. I remember one member who wrote about wishing that one day she would feel well enough to sit in the sunshine in her wheelchair. I hope this has happened for her. I can imagine her shifting from her bed into her wheelchair, maybe with the help of a friend, who would then wheel her gently down the hallway, around the corner, and open the door to the outside. Taking in the view, she might tell her friend where she wants to sit to capture just the right angle of the sun. Once settled, perhaps she would just close her eyes. Feel the warmth on her face and arms. Take deep breaths. Listen to the birds. Maybe a dog barking. That would be joy, too.
If these articles are interesting and helpful to you, I invite you to follow and to request email notification of new articles. (two green buttons next to each other at the end of the article.) In my health journey, the initial article was shortly after my miracle surgery, titled Snapshots of a Chronic Illness. My next piece is a reflection on this year of recovery, ___Selah___. This is the third article. I will be publishing at least a couple more in this particular series related to my chronic illness and what I have learned from the experience.
