Why I Don't Walk
When i started this blog, the theme indicated that the journey I’m on was intended to lead to my walking with a prosthesis. That is no longer the case. I have no current intention of walking. That may change, of course; intentions are constantly changing, and I could go back to that goal. For the time being, however, my goals have shifted.
For some time now, I have had to answer the question, “Why don’t you use a prosthesis?” The question is asked in many different tones, with many different unspoken sub-texts, although I seldom hear it asked as simple curiosity.
My answer to that question has changed over the years. At first it was, “I can’t afford it, and I don’t have insurance yet.” Then, when I got the first prosthesis, and it didn’t fit properly, that was my answer. Then when I decided to try again, I just didn’t “get” the process. I had been in my wheelchairs (manual and power) for so long that I was accustomed to them, and I felt as though my stumbling efforts to walk were taking me backwards. Patience has never been among my stronger character traits, especially patience with myself.
I have given the answer that my visual impairment impedes my walking, and to a degree that is true. Because my right eye is totally blind, I have no depth perception. A dark bar across the sidewalk might be a shadow, a hose, or just a different color of concrete. If I make the wrong decision, I could either trip over the hose I thought was a shadow, or misstep because I thought a shadow was a hose. Of course, I knew within myself that that was still just an excuse, and I could overcome that fear if I really put my mind to it.
Yes, fear played a part in my hesitation. I hate falling. No. I dread falling. I have always hated falling, even when I had two legs. I would not run, or even walk rapidly, downhill. I had fallen numerous times, with little effect each time, but I still hated and feared it. And now, with only one leg, the fear was even greater. It was not so much the fall itself I feared, but the process of getting back up again. It’s embarrassing to “trip over nothing” and tumble to the ground, but it is even more humiliating to have to ask others to help me up afterwards. It is especially mortifying to have to call for paramedics to come and lift me back to my chair; I would hate to think what it would be like with a prosthesis to deal with. I’m sure I would be even more terrified to try to set off again after such an incident.
I learned, however, that when I repeated my reasons, they were dismissed as mere excuses, and my well-meaning friends would try to counter them with arguments such as, “You just have to give it time,” or, “Well, if you worked at it harder, you wouldn’t fall.” I knew all those answers; I said them to myself many times, and I scolded myself for being lazy or unreasonably fearful. And yet, I did not want to put that heavy piece of machinery on my leg and try not to drag it along behind me. Some soul-searching was in order.
After a lot of self-examination and questioning of my motives and reasoning, I reached an unanswerable conclusion:
I DON’T WALK BECAUSE I DON’T WANT TO.
I get around just fine in my wheelchairs. For short distances and within my home, my manual chair is just fine. In fact, I have proven that I can go 5 kilometers in that chair. I wouldn’t do that every day, but I do go out for long “strolls” just to keep my strength and endurance up (and to keep in shape for the next 5K I enter). When I visited Walt Disney World with my brother and his family, he joked that he had a hard time keeping up with me. I have a wonderful chair, and the company that sold it to me takes very good care of it to keep it in tune for me to get the best performance from it.
When I want to go out and about farther afield, I get into my power chair. My “wheelchair guys” also take care of me with this chair. I get pretty good “mileage” with the chair, going as far as 5 miles before my battery charge indicator starts dropping. I hang a large canvas bag on the back of the seat and go shopping on my days off, trekking to the closest mall or taking the bus to other shopping areas.
I do occasionally find myself wishing that being in the wheelchair didn’t make me “short.” I generally “fly under the radar,” so to speak, as I am below eye level for most adults. Most of the time it’s not a big deal, but when I’m in a place like Disneyland, where most of the people are tourists, I have to make allowances for the fact that they are rubbernecking, far more interested in the scenery or where they want to be than in who or what is between them and their objective.
Most of my friends have only known me since I’ve become an amputee, and they are so accustomed to seeing me on wheels that they might not recognize me if I were to appear on two legs. They are so accepting of the wheelchair that they sometimes forget that I can’t go up or down steps. I readily forgive the lapse, as it illustrates one of my favorite sayings:
Don’t love me because of my disability;
Don’t love me in spite of my disability;
Love me with my disability.
D. Elizabeth Robinson
May 28, 2017
