When a good personal care attendant leaves me, I’m heartbroken.
The fact is I haven’t had the luxury of making a quick departure from my bed in two decades.
I traverse the world in a large, clunky, heavy power chair. It’s big, and together we take up a lot of space.
I’ve always loved shoes. Before my injury, my companions were a pair of knock-off combat boots.
I did not want friends who use wheelchairs because I was not going to be “one of them.” I just wanted to go back to the way things were.
It has become clear to me that we people with disabilities are disruptive by just being.
Many times I wished someone would just ask me how I was doing and wait long enough to hear the truth.
They say you should go into a job interview with a firm handshake. Paralysis has made my handshake floppy and weak, but it remains confident.
For many years after my injury I would forget I was in a wheelchair, only to be reminded of it by my reflection in a storefront window.
It surprised me that this man, a yoga instructor I had just met 15 minutes ago, with long hair, big muscles and tattoos all over his body, was not frightened by my disability and was so genuinely interested in working with me