The new view, a chair view
My maternal grandmother used a wheelchair for most of my life.
She had Multiple Sclerosis that progressed to the point of no longer having the use of her legs. Until recently, I believed that this part of my childhood gave me a stronger sense of awareness of people who needed to use wheelchairs and how they interact in the world.
Sure, I know how to steer a wheelchair and navigate someone through average spaces that most able-bodied people take for granted, and I am vigilant in looking out for obstacles that may cause harm or discomfort to the person I’m pushing.
After a recent health issue, I am now, temporarily — knock on wood — using a wheelchair for a large amount of movement throughout my days. I have come to realize that I really do not know much at all about what being in a wheelchair is like.
I am 5-foot-7 when standing, but the second I sit down in a wheelchair, I find my line of sight now consists of seeing doorknobs and handles, bottoms of windows, crotches, and butts. This is not the easiest height or view to adjust to quickly.
The things I used to be able to access easily have become hard to reach. For example, the water fountain in the dayroom has caused filling my bottle to become a battle; the base of the fountain hits the arms of my chair when I reach out to the filtered spout at the back.
The Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) compliance height is good enough; however, nobody seems to consider the incline in front of the window. I have one hand on the button for water and the other to hold the paper cup, but I need a third hand to hold the wheel steady and keep me from rolling backwards.
Yes, there are hand brakes on the wheels, but if you haven’t been in a wheelchair before, this is not your first thought. It wasn’t mine, at least. Plus, I must be able to roll quickly because the person in front of or behind me in line usually leans around or over me, trying to get their own water. I have begun to use my elbows like Draymond Green, deflectors to keep from being bumped by someone’s hip or butt, or have their jacket or purse hit me in the face as they lean around me.
Did you know that someone walking into your wheelchair is your fault? Again, this is not the easiest height or view to adjust to quickly.
Much of the time, it feels like I am suddenly invisible.
The other day, I heard someone asking if anyone had seen me. I thought she was joking because she was standing just to the side of me. I waved my hand, saying her name. She looked down and was genuinely surprised to see me so close to her. I still don’t know why — she has pushed me to class more than once. I guess maybe that’s why people walk into my wheelchair: they don’t see me.
Feeling vulnerable is another situation I am trying to overcome. It can become overwhelming to need a wheelchair to just get a short distance, or to realize I should have brought the wheelchair with me across the dayroom for what used to be a mindless, rapid walk.
While grateful for help, asking to be pushed somewhere can become frustrating. When someone is pushing me, I have no idea or any real say in what they are doing. I have had some unusual adventures this way.
Many people do not realize that dirt and gravel are not ideal surfaces for wheelchairs to be used on. If someone asks me where to go, that does not mean that they are going to take me directly where I say or at all.
Sometimes waiting for assistance is especially long as the number of assigned job positions and their hours have been reduced. I get myself wherever I can whenever I can, but I am left to wait if I can’t make the trip myself.
