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Like a kick in the teeth
Written by Sean on Monday, February 11, 2008
On my way from work earlier this evening, I stopped at the local mall for a couple errands, as I often do. After my shopping was done, I headed back to the car, and had an overwhelming "attack of BIID". It incapacitated me for a while.
Ok, so some detractor of my writings will say I’m just whinging again. So be it. I never claimed to be a cheerleader and this blog is as much about sharing "profound" thoughts with others, as it is for me a way to journal and be able to read what was going on in my mind at such and such a time.
So, back to the topic at hand. I opened the car door and pulled my chair closer to the seat. I got myself ready to transfer, locked the wheels of my chair. Put my keys on the floor in front of the driver’s seat. I picked up my right leg from the legrest of my wheelchair and put it on the ground. I was about to pick my left leg and do the same, and it hit me.
It hit me like a ton of bricks
I’m not paralysed…
No, I’m not paralysed. It really shouldn’t have surprised me, it’s not a Revelation. I don’t physically need to use this wheelchair. I don’t actually need to use my hands to move my legs around. But I do. I could very well just use a wheelchair and "cheat" for the rest like many people do. But no, it’s part of who and what I am, I move my legs with my arms and hands. I do pressure relief so my ass doesn’t get too sore by lifting myself pushing my hands on the wheels, rather than standing up or using my legs to lift myself up. I do these things as if I was paralysed. Not for anyone else’s benefit, because most of the time, people aren’t looking.
But tonight, I stopped mid-way through moving my legs. It was like a kick in the teeth. Like a stab in the gut with a hot poker. I’m not paralysed. And I was overwhelmed by the need, the longing to be so. I just sat there, staring at my legs, sitting on the edge of my seat. My eyes watered up, got teary, but I didn’t cry. No, I didn’t cry because I haven’t really cried in years, even when I want to, need to, I’m just dry inside.
I sat there, devoid of energy. Disconnected from the world. The world around me was fuzzy ’round the edges. People were walking by in the parking lot, and I saw them, as if they were in another world, separated from mine by a diaphanous veil. The only reality, the only tangible thing was that I sat there, and I was not paralysed. Eventually, I finished my transfer. I picked up my left leg, and moved it off the footplate. I positionned myself and transferred to the driver’s seat. I took my chair apart and loaded it in the car, just as I have done countless times, and will likely do for the rest of my life.
There are two questions remaining:
- How long is that life going to be?
- Will I remain able-bodied for the rest of that life?
And life goes on. And on, and on.
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3 Comments
It just hit me, and so I typed your page into my browser…
Know, you are not alone.
3 On 12 February, 2008, Claire said:
Sean, Marie is right, this is your space to write about what you’re feeling and experiencing. There are those of us who appreciate you taking the time to write about these painful moments and anguished thoughts, because we, too, experience them. We’re glad you’re there to put our feelings to words when we can’t.
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1 On 11 February, 2008, Marie said:
Meh. This is your blog and if people don’t want to read “whines” then they can go elsewhere.