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A LOOK BEYOND MY WHEELCHAIR
By Breindy H.
Courtesy of Family First Magazine
Can you swing your legs over the edge of the bed and stand up? I can’t. My staff needs to help me do all of those basic things.
I am a twenty-five –year-old woman with quadriplegic cerebral palsy. That means that all four of my limbs usually do not comply with my brain’s commands. How does that make me different? If you want to grab something, your brain instantly receives a message, and then your hand instantly reaches forward. When I need to get something, I need to use my mouth to ask for help.
When you sat down to breakfast this morning, did you think about how easy it was to feed yourself? Eating meals, for me, is like playing a game of basketball. I dribble, dribble, dribble with the spoon, working hard to keep my hand steady, and then try to dunk the food into my mouth, working creatively to coordinate my movements.
Did I get it in? No, not this time. The simple act of eating can be a religious experience: before every spoonful, I say, “Hashem please guide this bite into my mouth.” When viewing this spectacle, some people ask me, “Why do you bother? It would be so much easier and neater if someone else fed you.” I tell them that life is not at all about ease and cleanliness. Life is about overcoming challenges.
If I leave the house in my specially designed motorized wheelchair, I have to carefully plan my route. But even when I’m very careful, things can still go wrong. For example, a few days ago, I went to an eyewear store to buy a new string for my glasses. On that street, there’s a “no parking” sign where the sidewalk dips down to accommodate wheelchairs. But someone parked there anyway. I’m sure he had a good reason, or maybe he wasn’t thinking. Either way, that was my only access to the store. Now I was stuck. In the end, I threaded my wheelchair between two cars, narrowly avoiding denting them both. Then my staff had to lift my very heavy wheelchair (remember, it’s a motorized machine) onto the sidewalk. I can imagine that when everyone you know is healthy and strong, it can be hard to consider what life is for handicapped people, and how that effects all of the little details in day-to-day life.
When you’re in my position, you have to rely on others--all the time. You quickly learn what gratitude really means. Where would I be without the people who taught me how to communicate? I am so grateful to those who take the time to listen to me: they know that, when I ask for something, I really need it. I am lucky enough to have friends whose vision is not restricted--they see my potential inside. They don’t classify me, put me in a box, nor make assumptions about my intelligence, emotional strength, or social capabilities. They try to discover what I am feeling, or figure out where I want to go and help bring me to that place. They constantly encourage me to grow, to defy the “normal” way someone like me is supposed to be. They aren’t embarrassed to walk around with a handicapped person.
There is that word again: handicapped. When I look in the mirror, that’s what I see. The mirror doesn’t tell you anything about what’s inside. About all of the things that I had overcome in my life. Or all the things that G-d willing, I will accomplish in the years to come. I always remind myself that I am not defined by my handicap. I am handi-capable----handy and capable. |
