In my Foundational Physical Therapy Interventions course, we were each assigned a wheelchair to utilize for mobility for a 24-hour period. We were then expected to write a 2-3 page paper reflecting on the experience. This assignment was to give us a *glimpse* into the life of a person who uses a wheelchair. I am in no way, shape, or form claiming to know what life is like as a wheelchair user, and I intend no disrespect to anyone. I am publishing this paper with permission from the course director.
“What happened?” “Are you okay?” “I’m so sorry!” “Let me know if you need any help!” “Good luck with everything.”
If I had dollar for every time I heard one of these phrases in the past 24 hours, I’d probably be able to pay a good chunk of my Duke tuition. I hate being the center of attention. I hate asking for help. I hate feeling like a burden. But being in a wheelchair for 24 hours made me have to deal with every one of these aversions. OH! And how could I forget? I also totaled my car. Yeah, I know, what are the odds I get into a car accident the day before my 24-hour wheelchair assignment? Talk about a double whammy.
Here I am, in a wheelchair, and also without any personal form of transportation. I have to explain how the accident happened. I have to explain that the accident was my fault. I have to explain that I’m not in the wheelchair because of the accident. I have to explain that this is only for a school assignment.
I constantly felt like I was trying to make other people feel better about my situation. So they wouldn’t pity me. So they wouldn’t continue to pry. So they wouldn’t apologize. This is probably exactly how someone who actually uses a wheelchair feels every single day. And I couldn’t even handle it for 24 hours.
I couldn’t have anticipated the emotional rollercoaster that this assignment would have me on. Of course I expected the experience to be challenging, but in a more superficial way. I already knew that my apartment, and a lot of Durham, wasn’t wheelchair accessible. I already knew that certain things were going to be hard. I already knew that I was going to need help. But there were a lot of things that I wasn’t prepared for.
I didn’t expect to be so winded after wheeling myself from the parking deck to the classroom. I didn’t expect my arms to be sore. I didn’t expect the stares. I didn’t expect to actually have to rely so heavily on other people.
“Wow, that girl is really struggling!”, I heard a group of kids say and laugh as I admittedly struggled to make it to the student wellness building for one of my two appointments during this 24-hour period. My second appointment was at 8:30 am, and I had class at 9:10.
That morning I woke up an hour and a half before my alarm. I was anxious, and worried about how I was going to logistically make it to my appointment, to school, and then back home. I looked up the Duke bus routes; none of them would get me where I needed to be. I looked up Lyft and Uber promo codes. I also looked to see if they had any wheelchair accessible vehicles. I really didn’t want to have to explain to a driver that I didn’t actually need the wheelchair, and that it was just for a school assignment.
Thankfully, my Big Sib (a 2nd year student) offered to drop me off at my appointment. The catch: she could only drop me off at 7:30 and she couldn’t pick me up afterward. She had an MSK practical to get to, and I totally understood. She helped me unpack the wheelchair from the car and she was on her way. The student wellness center doesn’t open until 8:00 though, so I expected to have to sit outside until they opened. Luckily the building was unlocked. I wheeled myself up the steep hill, having to stop and take many breaks, as my forearm extensors were on fire. Someone notices me struggling, once again, but this person actually offers to help. “Do you want a push up the hill?”
YES PLEASE!
“No, I’m okay but thank you!”. He walks into the building but is obviously still concerned and watching me. He pushes the automatic door button and waits for me to safely make it inside. He makes a comment about how inaccessible campus is. He is really nice, and we go our separate ways.
Finally, I’m alone again.
As I make it to the front door, I remember that I still have to find a way to class. I already let my professor know that I was going to be a few minutes late because of my appointment, but this was before the accident and the wheelchair. I accepted the fact that I was probably going to have to have an awkward Uber/Lyft experience.
It’s not the end of the world.
For my sake my appointment ended early. It was only 8:48, maybe I could catch a classmate on their way to school. I remembered that a friend texted me 20 minutes earlier: “Let me know if you need a ride today 😊”. I text her, asking if she had left for school yet. She calls me immediately, and I explain my situation. I can tell she is hesitant to pick me up, which I get. She doesn’t want to be late to class. I assure her that I already spoke to the professor, and that he should be okay with her being late since she is with me.
When I finally got to class, my professor came up to me and asked if I was okay. I assumed he was referring to my doctor’s appointment, and the wheelchair. Then I realized that he probably knew about my car accident. Two of my other professors knew about it, so of course he also knew. I instinctively said yes. Inside I was screaming though. I so badly wanted to say no. To tell the truth. To let myself be vulnerable for just a minute.
No, I’m not okay. I don’t have a car anymore. I’m in this wheelchair. I have to relive my accident every single time someone asks about it.
But it was only 9:30. I was at school. Everyone was already looking at me because I was late, in the wheelchair, and unintentionally making a lot of noise trying to get into the classroom.
I can’t break down right now.
We had a team application to work on. My eyes got really wet, my face got hot, and my heart rate skyrocketed. This was the first time I thought I was going to have a panic attack in the month I’ve been on Prozac. Thankfully my professor walked away before he could notice, I think. Less than 3 hours left in the chair.
I can do this.
My independence and pride were tested during those 24 hours. I honestly forgot that I wasn’t actually confined to the chair, because it felt like I was. I avoided interacting with people if I could. I didn’t want to ask for help—I wanted to do everything on my own. But this was impossible. I needed a lot of help and that’s okay.
I am grateful to be alive and healthy. I am grateful for my support system and being surrounded by so many people that care about me. I am grateful for help. I am grateful for this assignment. And in a weird way, I am grateful for my car accident. I don’t think I would have gotten this much out of this assignment if it weren’t for it. I learned a lot about myself, I got a peek into the life of a person who uses a wheelchair, and I am certain that I will be a better Physical Therapist in the future because of this experience.
Leave a Reply