I sent the rented wheelchair back on Thursday. Since I’m not supposed to sit anymore, it seemed pointless to be spending $40 a month on a chair. Besides, I don’t need it anymore. The surgery, while not 100% successful (at least not yet – there are probably still some improvements coming) has increased my ability to walk without excruciating pain. (There’s still pain, but it’s not excruciating.)
It was an illuminating experience, being in a wheelchair and experiencing the world from that perspective.
One thing I learned is that most people are enormously respectful of the chair, but not so much of the person in it. By that, I mean people always held doors open and yielded the right of way and did whatever they could to make things easier for the chair. But quite a few people treated me like I was invisible. They avoided eye contact and direct interaction with me. They talked to GC, who was pushing the chair, rather than me. In the checkout line at Loblaws, for example, I handed my money to the cashier, and she returned the change to GC.
I didn’t take it personally. I assumed people were uncomfortable with me because they didn’t know why I was in the chair or what to expect from me. All they knew was that there was something wrong with me, and they didn’t feel secure in their own ability to deal with whatever it might be. Perhaps they thought I was mentally challenged, or incapable of carrying on a conversation. Much easier to avoid any potential awkwardness by dealing with GC, who appeared to be normal.
There were no doubt plenty of people who treated me the same way they treat every other stranger, by ignoring me as completely as possible, and it had nothing whatsoever to do with the wheelchair.
Not everybody ignored me, of course. There were people at the other end of the spectrum who smiled at me and made a point of talking to me because I was in a wheelchair. (Most of these people were quite nice, although a couple bordered on condescendingly nice, talking to me like I was a child.)
Speaking of children, small children tended to find me much more interesting than usual, now that I was at their eye level. They were no doubt intrigued at the sight of a grown-up in a stroller. Mostly they just stared, wordlessly. I didn’t mind.
(It’s possible that many of the grown-ups who avoided eye contact did so because, as children, they were admonished not to stare at people with disabilities.)
One thing I never did while I had the wheelchair was venture out into the world by myself. I wanted to, but I was intimidated. I wanted to wheel myself down the street and get on the #14 and go downtown. But I didn’t. The first hurdle was the bus. Some of them have those ramps so you can wheel yourself onto the bus. But then you have to fold the front seat up and lock yourself in, and I didn’t know how it worked and didn’t want to be all conspicuous while I tried to figure it out. And then you have to sit at the front of the bus facing backwards, which is an intimidating prospect for someone who just wants to blend into the crowd.
Beyond the bus, there’s the mechanics of working the wheelchair and navigating curbs and construction zones and trying to get in and out of stores and restaurants, most of which probably aren’t accessible, and the embarrassment of getting stuck in potholes and the pain of blisters on my hands, and so on.
Bottom line is I didn’t have the guts. I would hope if I were ever confined to a wheelchair on a long-term or permanent basis, I wouldn’t be my own biggest obstacle.
Anyway, goodbye wheelchair, and thank you for all your help.
A few years ago a friend I had made on the Internet came to town and we decided to go out to supper for our first meeting – I was absolutely stunned at the number of places we couldn’t go because of things like discovering that while the front door of most restaurants are wheel chair accessible the washrooms are not.
Ultimately we ended up in Gatineau because the only places we could find in Ottawa that were truly wheel chair accessible were fast food joints.
On how kids are raised, I always encouraged my children, and now my grand children, to interact with people in wheel chairs exactly as they would anyone else, and even ask why they are there – never once did someone ever glare at us or say anything like can’t you teach that kid some manners
When I was doing my undergrad in Peterborough, my best friend at university was a woman with CP – she had to use crutches and had a few mannerisms that were typical of individuals with CP.
Anyhow, it was really eye-opening to spend time with her, especially in public. I became really aware of how inaccessible public places were, and how people treat you SO differently. It made ME uncomfortable how people acted around her, since they often treated me like I was her caretaker or helper or something. I mean, in a lot of ways I DID help her out, but it wasn’t like we had a formal agreement or anything! We had a lot of laughs at other peoples’ expense. The best part was, she used to swear like a sailor, dropping f-bombs all the time. I think she did it on purpose, especially when people would talk condescendingly to her. It was great to see their reactions!
Anyhow, congrats on this milestone! It must feel great.
It is really interesting to observe how others handle difference. About being invisible – my friend Betty who is almost 80 says she feels invisible because she is an old person. And you’re right – a lot of it is all about what people are used to or familiar with. Kids ARE used to seeing other kids being rolled around on wheels. Keep observing! The more people talk about difference, the less different it is!
Congrats, Zoom. I know that’s one relationship you’re not sorry to have end.
When Mud Mama turned seven, one of the guests at her birthday party was a little girl who had several disabilities including a hearing loss requiring large aids and a hand whose thumb was actually a toe grafted on. Mud Mama’s younger brother was four and he was fascinated by this little girl and spent the whole party asking her questions about her various interesting differences. She seemed to appreciate his interest.
I was working with a colleague from out of town who is a paraplegic following a climbing accident. My boss and I took him to the NAC for lunch. The National Art Centre. Publicly funded… NOT wheelchair accessible… he could use his crutches, which he brought everywhere. He said unfortunately it happened a lot.
As for talking with people with disabilities, it’s hard. People are afraid to offend. So they look away.
“Much easier to avoid any potential awkwardness by dealing with GC, who appeared to be normal.” BWAH-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA…..goes to show how deceiving appearances can be, eh?
XUP: never too shy to say what we’re all thinking ;0)
I was kind of thinking that too. Who wants to be normal anyway?
What’s normal? Sounds like a boring concept.
Congrats on getting rid of the chair. Hope Duncan did not have too much trouble losing it in the nap rotation.
“but for the grace of god” is easier there-going than here-coming; some suffering is less visibly evident (the not-see party), so even the kids don’t know what to do; zoom we know the perspective will stay when the wheels are gone!
I have another month or two to go in this chair – broken femur. Did you notice how all the good kid stuff is right at eye level in the stores? Now I understand the constant “can I have”s. And, just because a door has a wheelchair accessible sign and an automatic door opener, it may still have a 2 inch lip that is impossible to roll over. I have to get out of the chair and drag it over.
Glad you are walking again. I cna’t wait!!