Wheel-Chairiot Racing

  Every summer of my childhood, from the time I was four until the age of eleven, almost like clockwork, I broke my leg/legs and spent a good part of summer vacation in the hospital. When I was seven my doctor spoke with my parents about a new rodding procedure that would prevent frequent broken bones. They decided to allow the doctor to place a rod in my left femur, because it was the one I broke most often.

  The surgery was preformed while I was still in school and I spent a month in the hospital. During that time my leg was kept in traction, but toward the end of the month the bandages were removed and I spent the last week undergoing physical therapy.

"As part of your therapy you need to get out of bed and spend some time in your wheelchair. There is a common room on the third floor and a park outside. Why don't you visit them for a while," the doctor recommended.

  Every morning after breakfast and vitals, I was placed in my wheelchair and escorted to the common room. There I met a girl a couple of years older who was also in a wheelchair. Rather than stick to the designated areas, we often got into trouble for going where we were not supposed to.

"Wanna have a race?" she asked.

"I want a head-start," I insisted. "You're bigger."

"Fine," she conceded.

  I pushed myself as hard as I could, but soon she was beside me.

"Hey, follow me," she said and pushed on ahead through two open doors that read, 'emergency staff only.'

"Wait," I called, "we're gonna get in trouble, only doctors can come here!"

  She pulled to a stop and I almost crashed into her. She turned to face me.

"See that sign?" she pointed to a large white plaque with red letters.

"What's, 'ICU'?" I asked.

"It's a place filled with people who are about to die," she said somberly.

"Nuh-uh, how do you know?" I said in disbelief. I didn't know much about death at the age of seven, but I understood that people who died went to sleep and didn't wake up.

"My grandma is in there," her voice was sad.

"Are you here to visit her?" I asked.

"I want to, but I am scared," she said, and tears welled up in her eyes.

  We sat in silence for a moment. I was in shock. I couldn't imagine either of my grandmothers in a place like this and I didn't want to. Still, I would want the chance to see my grandma or my grangran, no matter where they were.

"Don't be scared," I told her, "She is just sleeping. Maybe she can hear you. She'd like it if you said hi."

"Will you go with me?" she asked. "Maybe she'll wake up and you can meet her."

"Okay," I said, though in reality I was a bit scared myself.

  She knocked on the door. A moment later a nurse answered.

"What are you girls doing here?" the nurse asked, in a tone of rebuke.

"My grandma is here and we wanted to visit." The girl said.

"I'm afraid your parents have restricted visitation to family only," The nurse said after checking her chart. "You may come in for a while, but your friend is not allowed." Then to me, "I'll have an orderly escort you back to your room."

  The girl hesitated, but I urged her to stay and she allowed the nurse to show her to a row of beds where an elderly woman lay connected to a bunch of tubes. I felt tears well up at the sight and wished I hadn't come with her. Soon an orderly came and pushed me back to my room.

  A few days later I was in the common room and she came wheeling up to me.

"My grandma died yesterday and I got permission to go to her funeral," she said.

"I'm sorry." I said.

"Thanks for going with me the other day," she said.

"You're welcome. Do you want to go to the park?" I asked, not knowing what else to say.

"No, I just came to say, 'bye'" she said.

"Oh. good-bye," I told her.

  We maneuvered our wheelchairs side by side to hug each other. Being short and trying to hug someone else in a wheelchair has always been a challenge.

"Wanna race me back to my room?" She offered.

"Okay," I said.

  She gave me a ten second head-start, but as soon as she caught up with me we slowed down and the rest of the way, rolled side by side.

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.