My first car was a dark blue 1966 Ford Mustang that I drove at record speeds even though I could barely see over the steering wheel. I still remember when the speed limit changed to 55-miles per hour on federal highways in 1973, and when I sat in long gas lines during the late 1970s...waiting to say “fill her up.”

In one of his first speeches, President Jimmy Carter warned, “We must not be selfish or timid if we hope to have a decent world for our children and grandchildren.” I began to wonder about the world my future children and grandchildren would live in when the speedometer read over 55. “We simply must balance our demand for energy with our rapidly shrinking resources. By acting now, we can control our future instead of letting the future control us.”  I’m reminded of these events often as I “plug-in” my hybrid.

Everyone has favorite stories about their first transportation, whether it’s about the jobs they had to pay for their new wheels, playing “grease monkey” by rebuilding and fixing up their jalopies, or celebrating the stares of parade onlookers with a quick smile and wave. Of course, there are also stories about the lemons...those vehicles that helped give used car salesmen their reputations.

Today I’m sitting in my new wheels outside the large brick building. I smile at the onlookers and give a nod of my head. “Are you ready to go in?” My son asks as he approaches. Again, I nod my head. I’m no longer in the driver’s seat. Pushing the button, the door slowly opens, and he takes control of my wheelchair. We go into the building for my first appointment with the orthopedic surgeon.

He confirms the need for surgery on my right ankle due to a trimalleolar fracture. Out loud I repeat the words I uttered in the emergency room several nights before, “My goodness, this is a major inconvenience,” and in my head, other words are screaming about the pain, about driving, going to work, and living my life. Selfishness washes over me as I think about what happened and my commitments; I have my job, weekends with my grandson, and a business meeting in Toronto in two weeks.  

It truly was an accident; I was at my nephew’s house celebrating his son’s twelfth birthday, and just as I was reaching out to my two-year-old grandson and trying to avoid two little girls sitting on the steps, I fell. I heard the breaks; I felt the pain.

This is the first time I’ve used a wheelchair. It took some getting used to and I’ve been pretty uncomfortable, but I’ve been blessed to have a wheelchair posse of friends to help me.

After surgery, I managed to get the doctors to agree to let me go on my business trip; I had no idea how I would manage, but I was confident and stubborn. I called the airline and hotel to make travel arrangements to accommodate my handicap. Surprisingly, getting to Toronto wasn’t an issue; the airlines arranged for someone to wheel me to the gate and transfers, and I had help the entire journey...all the way to the doorman opening the hotel door and getting my bags out of the taxi.

I called the hotel to book handicap accommodations, but my experience wasn’t pleasant. It took two of us to get the wheelchair over the door frame, there was no room to get into the room comfortably with the wheelchair, and the handrails in the bathtub were unavailable to me in my condition. The room was not the best for accessibility...I made due.

Thank goodness the people at my conference were extremely helpful; I can’t imagine how I would have navigated the trip on my own. I guess I would have been stuck in the room or would have missed out on a lot of the adventure, as well as the meetings, of course, I would have missed out on building new friendships and lasting memories as well.

Getting home wasn’t as easy: even though I called ahead to make arrangements and arrived early at the airport, the wheelchair accommodations were not available on time. I waited near the wall. When I went through security, I was randomly selected for emptying my bags, turning on my electronic devices (all of which had dead batteries and need recharging), and being patted down in the open. People stared. I plugged in my devices to prove they would work, and I packed my bags. This happened twice, in Toronto and again in Vancouver. The woman assigned to me to wheel me to the gate said she had to go on break. She left me in the security area, so as I’m being searched, my connecting flight was boarding. Thankfully, I made the flight. I was transferred to the special boarding wheelchair and brought to my seat. It occurred to me that my ability to use the restroom was at the mercy of others and I’d have to wait.

So this new wheelchair experience has given me a new perspective on what it’s like to be limited and need modifications, services, and help; I’m so appreciative of all the help I’ve received. I appreciate my wheelchair posse, both on the conference trip to Toronto and the one here at home getting me to doctors’ appointments and physical therapy, making meals and bringing groceries, as well as helping with medical supplies, furniture, and prayers.

The experience has opened my eyes to some of life’s ironies, juxtapositions, and cruel realities. I don’t think I have really noticed accommodations such as ramps, rails, automatic door buttons before even though they have always been there; I just hadn’t noticed them before. I think I will now recognize the places that need accommodations or need to improve access for all because I have become more aware of my surroundings; I have had to “think” through how I’ll manage and move from place to place like I’ve never done before.

There are several other things I hope I’ve learned from this experience. I’ve learned how difficult it is for me to ask for help, but also, that many caring folks sincerely want to help, but don’t know how without me telling them what I need.

I’ve learned how some people look down on people in a wheelchair. I hope I never forget the man at my conference that was so rude and unhappy to be sitting next to me in my wheelchair. Several times he came within inches of backing into my leg when he would stand and turn his back on me. I politely asked him to please be aware of how close he was getting, he replied sharply, “You watch your space and I’ll watch mine.” Some people are not comfortable with others being different.

I’m surprised by the number of times people didn’t hold the door open even when they saw me in the chair, and I’m grateful to all that did. I guess I expected young children to stare, but I wasn’t prepared for all the adults that looked at me for extended lengths of time. I answered the most common questions, “What did you do to your leg?” and “How did you break your leg?” more times than I care to remember.

The most challenging of my wheelchair experience was remaining calm and positive while dealing with the pain, my inept steering and maneuvering skills, and my personal frustrations in trying to handle everyday situations and challenges. Some very common everyday actions became difficult or even impossible to complete on my own.

Well, my wheels have changed again. I’m now in more control of a metallic blue walker. My balance isn’t great and I’m having trouble putting weight on my right foot, but I’m determined to find my stride again. My hands are calloused, my arms are sore, my shoulders and neck ache, and plantar fasciitis is flaring up in both feet, but I’m standing...and I’m moving. Soon, I won’t need a “spotter” to help me in and out of my own house. I won’t need a driver to take me to appointments, shopping, or work.

And soon, I’ll be giving up these wheels, too. Thanks to a friend, I’ll be exchanging the walker for a bronze-colored cane; it leans patiently against the wall waiting for me. The other lesson I’m recognizing from this experience is acknowledging my resilience, my tenacity, and my ability to make progress...my walking isn’t perfect or at top speed, but I am moving forward; I’m overcoming this obstacle with small calculated steps...I’m working to make things better...in the same way I walk through life in each moment...progress, not perfection.