Buddy, the Wheelchair Kid
All I could do was sit there, head hanging in defeat. After all I had been through, I was conquered by an enemy that I had bested millions of times before. That was when I was at my lowest. Defeated by an elevator.
When I first decided to give up my legs, I wasn’t sure what was in store for me. I didn’t know what to expect from the new situation, from myself or from others around me. However, there were two things I believed would happen through this three-day experience: I’d be frustrated, and everyone would be extremely nice to me.
I had no idea.
When I first sat in the wheelchair, my initial obstacle was mobility. The chair was clunky and stiff. I spent the first hour bumping into every single piece of furniture in my apartment. I couldn’t make turns the way I wanted, I kept messing up the angles of rolling up to things and had to reverse and try again. I had to learn to drive all over again.
My apartment was not made for what I was going through. Every space I was in was cramped. Rooms that I originally believed were sizeable were instantly shrunk down to size. I spent most of my time at home doing three-point turns and bumping into things and repeating those steps over and over just to get from one spot to another.
Cooking was one thing that I didn’t take into account when I began this journey. Preparing something as simple as a veggie burger and fries was exponentially more difficult.
For one, getting to the fridge was a mission. Pulling my chair all the way up to the refrigerator would pin me between the actual fridge and the island in the kitchen. To avoid that, I had to roll up until I was close to the fridge, but not directly next to it. I had to lean all the way forward and fold like a lawn chair, then reach out as far as I could and use the tips of my fingers to fling the door open, always causing it to hit the wall. This was when I had to thank my mom for blessing me with long arms. I might’ve starved during this if it wasn’t for her.
Then came actually making the food. I probably should’ve done all my dishes before committing to this experience, but by the time I realized that, it was too late. Nonetheless, I was able to scrub and rinse the pots I needed, place them on the stove, turn the stove on, put vegetable oil in the pots, put the burger on a pot and the fries in the other pot.
That was it.
I couldn’t actually see anything cook. I was too low. I was only able to listen to the intense sizzling. One of my brothers was there and asked if I wanted help, but of course, being the prideful son of a bitch that I am, I declined. That was my first mistake.
I decided to check on the fries. I figured that I could just lift the pot, bring it down to my level, survey the potatoes and then place them back safe and sound to continue their preparation. I was wrong again.
I reached out with my right hand, grabbed the black rubber handle and weakly attempted to lift the pot. As soon as I lifted it, the pot went off balance and I spilled a decent amount of oil right into the burner.
The flames flared up instantly and I, without even thinking about it, yelped, “Help!” My brother wasn’t much of a help though. I just sat there in a panic and waited for him to do something. For a good 23 seconds, he just stood there staring at the fire and babbling, not knowing what to do. I yelled at him to grab a towel, as to beat the flames out. Simple request, right?
Of course not.
He disappeared into my room and didn’t come back out for a solid minute. I stayed behind to watch the fire and make sure it didn’t get out of control before he returned. By the time he came back, empty-handed mind you, the flame had put itself out. When I questioned him about what the hell took him so long, he proceeded to sell me a narrative of the moral dilemma he had faced of not wanting to use a clean towel, but not being able to find a dirty one. To think I was almost burnt to a crisp; betrayed by my own phenomenal laundry habits.
Even though that was an extremely frustrating ordeal, it didn’t break me. The moment I realized that I was in store for something I didn’t sign up for, was when I wanted to watch Netflix on my television.
I grabbed my laptop, double-clicked the little red Netflix icon, scrolled endlessly through shows and movies I had zero desire to watch, continued scrolling endlessly, and finally found a movie I thought would get the job done. I started it, put it in full screen mode and rolled away to go connect my laptop to my TV.
Of course, it wasn’t going to be that simple. When I got to the TV, the HDMI chord I needed to connect my laptop to the television was absent. My first thought was to look around my room, so I did, and I found it rather quickly. It was coiled up on the floor in the corner in my room. I just sat there and stared at it like the conniving serpent it was. It stared back at me as if it knew.
Had the chord been plugged in the TV already, I would’ve been able to just plug the other end into my laptop, no problem; however, the TV was too high for me to plug the chord into it. No one was home, and no one would be for hours. So that was the first loss that I took at the hands of my new disability.
I had a tough time in my apartment, but the one day I spent on campus was another animal entirely. Just getting out of the house and getting to campus for a meeting was a task. There was no ramp, so I always needed help getting out of the door. When I did finally make it out, the struggles continued.
My apartment complex has a shuttle that transports students to and from campus. In the past, I’d seen shuttles with ramps on the back to accommodate students in wheelchairs, so I assumed this shuttle would too.
It didn’t. I had to scramble to find an alternative ride, which I eventually did; however, getting into the car was just another frustration on top of everything else.
I had to use upper body strength to lift myself up onto the arm of the wheelchair and then onto the back seat of the car. That was the easy part, however.
As I sat in the car, I waited for my friend to fold up my chair and toss it into the trunk. After waiting for a while and listening to him struggle, I turned to see him give up. He came back around to my side of the car with fresh sweat on his brow. He just looked at me like I was just supposed to know what he had just gone through. I suggested he try to make it fit in the back seat next to me, so he did, and it actually fit…
… at my expense.
I spent the ride there wedged against the door by my own chair. One of the wheels had me by the neck and all I could do was silently deal with it. The one thing that was supposed to make things easier, was doing a lot more of the opposite.
I was already pretty late to my meeting by the time I got to campus, but of course my bad luck streak was far from over.
I rolled all the way up to the building, and I was broken just by what I saw through the sliding glass door. The elevator.
It wasn’t the elevator that had me shook necessarily. It was what was next to it.
Posted on the right side of the elevator was a white piece of paper with the words “Out of order” handwritten in big, menacing red letters. The words were taunting me. They poked at fun at my situation.
That was the moment I felt all was lost. That was the first time I truly felt bad for myself. All I could do was sit there with my head in my lap. There was no other way I could get up to the second floor, and I was already late.
I still don’t fully grasp what happened next. After about five minutes of despair, my savior came. A maintenance man came and promptly got the elevator working again. I don’t know if I just got lucky or if someone saw me and sent help, but either way, I was grateful that I was able to catch the end of my meeting.
After taking care of business, I decided to head over to the marketplace and get a sub sandwich. Just like everything else, that was far from smooth sailing. I rolled over to the marketplace, where there’s no automatic sliding glass door. I expected people to gladly want to help me out, but that’s not how it went.
There was approximately 15 people sitting in the area and all but one ignored me struggling to open the door on my own. Most of them pretended not to notice me while some just side-eyed and whispered. The one person who did help was a friend of mine so that doesn’t even count.
I felt so ashamed. It stuck with me all day and I couldn’t let it go. I just knew for a fact that I would’ve helped and been happy to do it. It just disappointed me that humanity once again fell short of my expectations.
By the time I made it to the sub shop, I was nice and annoyed. However, things didn’t get better. I waited in line for ten minutes and when I finally got to the front, I was made invisible by a rack of chips blocking me.
The lady at the counter proceeded to ask the person behind me what they wanted, and the guy responded by making a nervous face and gesturing towards me with his head as if he didn’t want to look at me. When the employee realized, she looked down at me in surprise and proceeded to tell me, “Sorry! I didn’t see you down there buddy.”
Is this what I was now reduced to? Buddy, the invisible wheelchair kid? To make things worse, I couldn’t even see over the counter to properly choose my toppings. So, the lady behind the counter sat there and read off every topping to me like I was a child. I was completely over the whole experience at that point.
Despite a large majority of the experience was negative, there was some good that came out of it. Wherever I went, I had somewhere to sit.
That’s it.
Not being able to walk was not fun at all. The simplest of tasks were multiplied by a thousand. Instead of being nice to me, most people just acted like they didn’t see me and ignored a lot of my struggles.
Getting out of the chair was surreal. Standing on the floor wasn’t the same at all. My legs were numb, and a weird sensation shot up through my legs. It was like electricity, but it didn’t hurt. It was unlike anything I had ever felt before.
The conclusion of my experience was bittersweet. I was elated to have my full mobility returned, but I also felt bad. I felt shitty because there were students and others that wouldn’t have that moment of elation. Being in a wheelchair wasn’t just something done for an experience. It’s their life.
Even though I’ll never know how they truly feel, I’ve grown a certain amount of empathy for people with disabilities. I vow to do all I can to help them if I see they need it. I plan on appreciating all of the little things, because those little things are what make my life everything it is.
Whenever I walk by an out of order elevator, and am blessed enough to just take the stairs, I’ll be grateful. Whenever I open a door and walk in without even giving it a second thought, I’ll be appreciative. I’ll be humbled for all of those who can’t do those things as easily and effortlessly. I’ll cherish my blessings for every Buddy out there.
That’s just how I roll.
