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- I became a paraplegic when I was 16 years old and have been using a wheelchair ever since.
- Traveling by plane makes you feel vulnerable, sitting in your seat without a wheelchair.
- You have to have a lot of trust in the people around you.
In all my life and all my travels, I have never thought about the unyielding vulnerability of a moment like the one I recently found myself in. I had been in that situation many times before, but I had never really allowed myself to fully realize it. Its. Its complexity. until now.
I was sitting in the middle of a crowded plane, surrounded by strangers, with nowhere to go.
I remained in that seat as claustrophobia set in and the only way to get up was to use my wheelchair. The exact same wheelchair that was being treated as baggage by airport staff. Like all folded underwear or even new leather flip-flops for vacation. It was thrown into the bottom luggage with everyone else’s travel bags. This is no free time for me.
have to be very trusting of strangers
When a wheelchair user becomes a passenger on a plane, they give up all mobility and independence.
It’s like robbing you of your leg and expecting you to say nothing about it. However, this is probably to be expected if you want to go somewhere as a wheelchair user.
It’s about trusting strangers around you to take care of you and your chair when the unfortunate happens, and even more about the universe itself holding everything together wherever you go. It’s about trust. But the eerie reality is that dozens of wheelchairs are damaged beyond repair by airlines and their staff every day. Mine survived the trip so I’m one of the lucky ones so far.
I have suffered from paralysis since I was 16 years old.
Having been paralyzed for nearly 27 years, I have spent many vulnerable moments relying on trust and growth. I have made choices, intentionally or completely unintentionally, to fully embrace the opportunity, hold that fear tightly to my heart, or simply let it go because it no longer serves me.
After suffering a spinal cord injury at age 16, I was immediately thrown into a vortex of growth and reflection. This is usually characteristic of adults who have lived full and complex lives, rather than teenagers with acne.
A tragic car accident left me with permanent scars, both physical and otherwise. The paramedics weren’t even sure if I’d make it to the hospital that night, much less write about my troubles as I crossed the ocean to the City of Lights more than half a century later. I’ve overcome a lot since that night, but it was just the beginning of what’s to come. As a teenager, I learned that I would never walk again. Or swim. Or dance. Or so I thought.
But I chose not to believe any of it. I wanted to swim. I wanted to dance. If I am to succeed in this life, I will approach it from the world with this sense of eternal overcoming. And that’s how I see the world, and that’s exactly how I feel about living. And I also say in a singing voice, “My life is good.”
I love wheelchairs
Yet I was sitting there, sitting among people who didn’t see me boarding, and I didn’t understand why they couldn’t avoid swarming down the aisle. I’m stuck, looking like a random crab sitting shoulder to shoulder in fixed seats that were never designed with me in mind.
Being a wheelchair user is complicated and sometimes even unfair. However, I am very grateful and love my wheelchair. Because my wheelchair allows me to be a part of the world and be my true self. When children, and even their adults, say how awful life is in a wheelchair, I just remind them and myself that there are other options.
When I’m flying and sitting in another chair on the 20th floor, all I can do is breathe. I breathe it all in and know that the only thing I can do is trust that it will be okay. That’s really the most important thing I’ve learned in this life.
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