By Heidi Johnson Wright
My pain and
limited mobility made getting up from chairs or desks really tough. I often had
to rock back and forth to get enough momentum to stand. I strained hard,
holding my breath in the process. For a few seconds, my brain was deprived of
oxygen to the point where everything around me got fuzzy and faint, making me
feel like a spray paint huffer.
The rest of
my high school years included multiple surgeries, rehabs, temporary
parent-approved wheelchair use and striving to get back on my feet. It was an
ongoing cycle of pain, shame and struggle to become mobile enough to go to
college.
I bought into
my parents’ belief that using a wheelchair equated with tragedy and failure. It
was all I knew. And when they moved me into my college dorm room
during freshman week, I was a teary-eyed, nervous wreck. I was uncertain how
much walking I would have to do each day.
What if the
walking was simply too much? What if I had a flare or sudden pain that kept me
off my feet? What if I missed too many classes and flunked out? My anxiety
ratcheted up so much that I was vomiting each morning and crying every day. Finally,
my parents woke up to the reality of my situation.
After
freshman year winter break, I returned to school with a very basic Everest
& Jennings sling-seat power wheelchair. My parents made it clear that I
must walk whenever possible. They felt certain that if I used a chair even part
of the time, I would grow lazy and stop walking altogether.
Serialized from New Mobility Magazine Digital
http://newmobility.unitedspinal.org/NM_Mar_18/#?page=34
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