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Home / Thoughts / Other's Thoughts / Chloe's Thoughts / In the Deep End: Part 2

In the Deep End: Part 2

Written by Chloe on Monday, August 25, 2008

The continuation of my first wheelchair adventure, at a convention out of town: By day three I was well and truly stuck in the wheelchair, having been seen by more than a hundred people who knew me.

DAY 3

I wake up to a hurting body. My fingers, hands, and forearms have cuts and bruises from bumping into things, and from hauling the wheelchair in and out of the car. I need to be more careful. My left forearm muscles are sore from all the wheeling on carpet and dirt; no big deal. My back hurts. Too vain to wear a back brace during the day, I now wish that I had at least brought a heavier duty one for the night. I take off my hand splint and clench my fist. Ouch! That hurts way more than usual. It’s not from wheeling. It’s because I have been so in the moment, connected with my wheelchair, that yesterday I completely forgot to do any of the thrice daily flexion tapings that I am supposed to do to maintain function. What I’m really worried about are the signs of a fibromyalgia episode starting in my left shoulder and upper arm, despite taking extra medication in attempt to mitigate that. I thought this might happen.

My first competition is today. I have a lot of anxiety about it. In twenty years I have never seen anyone in a wheelchair enter these competitions. I’m not sure how I’m going to do this. I have visions of crawling around in the dirt.

Alright, just stop all this stupid whining! Being paraplegic is not easy. Just transfer out of bed to the wheelchair, get used to it, stop whining, and get on with things!

The wheelchair has got pretty dirty. I’m glad I’ve figured out how to get it in and out of the car without messing up my clothes. I’m also glad I remembered the fingerless gloves. They are helping keep my hands cleaner than otherwise.

So far today, four women have told me how beautiful I look. This is unusual. I don’t ever remember a day when I’ve been complimented on my appearance so much. It makes me feel good to think that I can still look attractive in a wheelchair. I wonder if people are saying this to try to cheer me up? I don’t think so, because I doubt if I actually look like I need cheering up.

I take a lemonade break. All this wheeling out in the heat is hot and thirsty work. I pull my bare thighs apart to stuff the large ice cold cup of lemonade there. I savor the experience. Most of my left thigh does not register the sensation of touch. Cold messages get through to my brain, but are transposed to a different part of my thigh. Twenty months post injury it is still a surprise. I love this. I wheel up to a table and put my lemonade down. The woman I have wheeled next to has been my friend for twenty years. We have quite a long conversation. She tells me that I look beautiful! We talk a lot about her physical ailments. I’ve noticed that women especially are doing this with me much of the time. I suppose that people must think that since I am in a wheelchair I would like to hear about their problems. I happen to be someone who loves listening to other people’s problems; I love being empathetic. However, I’m not sure that this is a general truth about people in wheelchairs. Eventually my friend and I prepare to part company. She tells me that she has never seen me look more content and comfortable.

The competition area is a problem. I find out that mud and wheelchairs is a tricky combination. I am literally stuck in the mud! I shall definitely need assistance. This isn’t cheating by the way; the rules state that competitors are required to provide a designated assistant for each competiton. I have lots of friends here, so I only have to wait a few seconds before someone volunteers to be my assistant. I don’t need to ask.

During the course of a conversation about accessibility issues, someone says "people like you", referring to me. Does he mean "cute blonde chicks", I wonder? No, "people like me" are disabled people in wheelchairs.

A woman and I see a shooting star together. She tells me to make a wish. Probably my wish is the exact opposite of what she is thinking I wished for.

DAY 4

This is about the point where I had been wondering if I would be screaming to get out of the chair. No; with all the frustrations, inaccessibilities, and batterings my body is taking, this is where I belong. The idea of just getting up and walking around has become unimaginably strange. Being oneself is a wonderfully comfortable state of being.

Today there is an alcoholics anonymous meeting scheduled among the convention activities; another one in a couple of days; not my deal. I carefully check the program for the BIID support group meeting, but I can’t find it. It must have been an oversight.

There are some things I need at the grocery store in order to take care of myself. I have been quite scared about triggering a major fibromyalgia episode from all the wheeling. If that happens I will be very incapacitated and unable to leave the hotel room. The breakfast buffet trips on all the carpet are horrendous. Despite enjoying the social interactions there, I decide to make use of the coffee maker and fridge in the room, as carpet mitigation. Milk and cookies are on the shopping list; hydrocortisone cream too. The latter is for the area between my breasts. It is starting to get irritated and itchy, with all the sweating; from wheeling outdoors most of the day in the summer heat. I hadn’t thought about various girl issues associated with wheeling. My fingernail polish takes a beating. I’m experiencing another feminine issue too, but it’s rather indelicate to mention. I’m wondering if it’s just me, or if most wheeler chicks have these problems. This is my first time wheeling in a grocery store. I figure it should be easier than in leg braces, and it is. I just can’t resist buying some incontinence items too. Although I’ve been buying them for more than three decades, this is my first time in a wheelchair.

Back in the hotel room with my supplies, I contemplate the shift in emotions that I have been experiencing: fear to intimidation to determination to confidence to joy.

At the convention site a life threatening situation occurs. Everyone around me gets up from their seats and starts running. I start wheeling… Nobody gets hurt. Everyone is rather quiet for a while afterwards as they contemplate what happened. It takes about twenty minutes for my adrenaline to calm down. I realise that it had not crossed my mind at all that I could get out of the wheelchair and run. I come to the interesting revelation that I truly would rather die in my wheelchair than save my life by getting up and running. It takes a while to sink in. This is how tight a grip BIID has over me.

DAY 5

My confidence levels are soaring. My elegance in wheeling has increased dramatically. Everything is done with smoothness and precision. My hands and arms are not so banged up. Both at the convention and at restaurants people compliment me on how nicely I handle the chair.

Back to the store for more milk and cookies: this time I need some mascara and eyebrow pencil too. The eyebrow pencil I want is out of reach. Here’s where leg braces would be handy. I just wait for an employee to come by, and I tell her what I need. On the way to the milk, the eyebrow pencil slips off my lap onto the floor. I make a grab to pick it up off the floor and miss. Alright, that would not be any easier in leg braces. I reposition the chair more appropriately and prepare to make a weight shift to get a better angle. A woman comes from behind, picks it up, and hands it to me. I thank her. Guess I need to practice this. It’s difficult because I have unusually short arms. No, seriously. It’s not particularly noticeable, but they are in fact significantly shorter than average.

There is only one accessible restroom stall at the entire convention site. Consequently I go over to that building even when there are no convention events there and it is deserted. I am alone. After doing my lipstick in the mirror, I am a little taken aback at what I see. I am looking at a beautiful woman… This is not narcissism. This is surprise. This is the first time in my entire life that I have truly felt this. It has always been a matter of insecurity for me to wonder if I am pretty enough. Now I am a radiant beauty! I understand what other people have been seeing in me. Their comments have not been out of pity. It’s not that I’m paying attention to make up, hair and clothes. They see the real me, visible for the first time on the outside…

Tags: Accessibility, Back Brace, BIID, Incontinence, Leg Braces, Paraplegic, Wheelchair