My First Set Of Wheels

My first wheelchair (Age 5)

  I was born with a brittle bone condition known as Osteogenesis Imperfecta (OI). I didn't learn to walk until I was almost five, because my bones were so soft. Once I did it was hard to prevent me from hurting myself - I was fearless. Despite falling out of bed, breaking both legs and spending six weeks in a spica cast, as soon as the cast came off I was right back to climbing on counter tops, up and down stairs and trying (and failing) to climb trees.

  

  When Autumn came and it was time to enroll in kindergarten, the school told my parents that due to my fragile condition, I would need to have a wheelchair. In the administration's eyes, being in a wheelchair would protect me and them from any liable accidents. I remember getting into the wheelchair for the first time. Like most little children, I thought it was an amusing toy, like a tricycle, and I pushed myself around in it until I got bored and then left it in the living room while I ran outside to play with my little brother. Not too long after that an accident occurred and I broke my leg.

  

  My first six weeks of Kindergarten was spent in a body cast. The wheelchair was great to have, because it gave me the ability to move around the room, despite my cast. However, when the cast came off and I was able to walk again, things changed. My parents explained to me that I had to take the chair to school everyday, but I did not imagine that I would be forced to sit in it. Not until recess time, when I hopped out of the chair and made a bee-line for the door only to have the teacher scold me. When I refused to get back in the chair, I was told that I wouldn't be allowed to go outside and I started crying. I didn't understand why she wouldn't let me onto the playground. The teacher was not without heart and while the other children were outside with the assistant, my teacher gave me some m&m's and allowed me to color with her fruit scented markers until recess was over.

  I don't remember telling my parents about this, but I've always been an independent problem solver - only resorting to ask for help if I knew I couldn't do something. The next day, I was resolved to show the teacher that I could walk, that I didn't need to be in a wheelchair, so I got up and walked to my cubby hole for more crayons. Again, I was scolded. Now I started to hate my wheelchair, I felt it was time to get rid of the stupid toy. I asked one of my classmates if she would like to trade her my little pony for my chair. All of the kids in my class were interested in the chair, but this girl had a pony so she and I made the trade during playtime. When my teacher realized that someone else was in my chair and that I was hiding under a desk, brushing my new pony's hair, she called my mom.

  In the end, it was agreed that I could get out of my wheelchair in the classroom, but that I could not leave the room without it. Every school I attended was okay with this condition. As far as recess went, some schools were militant about not letting me onto the playground, but I often found a way to sneak out and have fun. As time wore on and my body wore down, the chair became more needed. Developing scoliosis (severe curved spine) was what finally put an end to me being able to walk altogether. The pain of just standing has become too much and my terrible imbalance put me at a greater risk of falling and breaking bones.

  So now I'm dependent on my wheelchair. I do miss the days of running and climbing, but the adventures didn't stop, they simply evolved...

Hello readers and welcome to my ramp life.