Post by Pony on Jul 21, 2008 13:34:48 GMT -5
Stairs, Scares and Spills
Of course, after my accident that landed me in a wheelchair I considered the accessibility issues, but really had no idea the pitfalls that waited. It’s probably best because looking into a crystal ball could only cause panic or fear. After all, every place I could think of had stairs, including my apartment that I lived in before I got grounded. I’m not talking a few steps either. My apartment was over top of a house, so it took three steps to get in the house to a foyer, then 15-or-so stairs to my apt. And no doors were wide enough anyway. Obviously, I never saw my apt again after my wreck, fully realizing the obstacles. My only other option was to move to a friend’s house where I’d lived in her basement just months before. The house was on 3 levels, and once I got to the basement with much labor, there was little getting out. I caught pneumonia that first Winter, after only a week, and I never went back, staying in the rehab center trying to find a place to go, knowing my time was limited there due to insurance payments running out.
There were transportation issues, too. Being a high level, complete, c5c6 quadriplegic, I couldn’t transfer myself to a car seat, so going anywhere was a huge hassle. After relocating back to Florida, my home state, I bought a basic cargo van, no lift. That would come later, I told myself. A sheet of plywood worked as a makeshift ramp, getting in and out the van’s rear doors. Soon after trying this primitive method I fell off the ramp hitting my forehead very hard on the parking lot pavement. Don’t worry, the concrete was fine, and some guy threw me back in my chair with a small knot on my head.
In those early days after my accident, I was still learning what could, and could not, be done. They say ‘you only gain experience through failing’, and I’m here to tell you ‘I’ve got a lot of experience at failing.’
I should point out that I decided early on that I wanted to push my own chair, not ride in a power chair. The reasons are complicated, but mostly have to do with my stubbornness and ego. You see, I was athletic before my accident, loving to play almost any sport, and I wanted to prove my athletic prowess by pushing my chair. Besides, I thought I looked ‘less’ disabled in a manual chair without side armrests. In the beginning, it was important to me to find a self-image I could be comfortable with. Obviously, the image had changed dramatically, and I remember rolling past some windows a few months after my wreck, my own reflection shocking me to the core of my self-identity.
In 1987 I got my van outfitted to drive and a lift on the side door. No one warned me about when raising the lift with me on it that if part of my chair hit this arm of the lift that the lift itself would fall backwards, flipping the chair, and anybody in the chair, out to the ground. So, guess how I figured it out. Yes, you got it. I did a beautiful back flip with ½ twist on my shoulders and head. The one good thing was I landed on grass, or else I might not be writing about it now.
The hazards and dangers come at you like bullets from a machine gun in the infant years of finding yourself in a wheelchair as you learn what can topple you, and what can’t. Sometimes it makes zero difference how experienced you are. Landing on your head can happen in a blink of an eye. In the early 1990s I had gone to a party at the Rock-It Club in Tampa. I took my friend Steve, and things were fine until I started pushing towards the back of the club. Suddenly, I found myself tipped over backwards very hard, hitting my head soundly on the concrete floor. It nearly knocked me unconscious, but once I knew I was ok it left me absolutely baffled how it happened. A guy set me upright, and I shook the cobwebs out by just sitting there for a few moments, wondering ‘what the hell could’ve gone wrong.’ Then, a guy came over to me. He apologized profusely, saying his shoe caught on the front of my chair, and when he felt it catch on something he lifted very hard, turning me over very quickly, as my chair is very light, especially in the front.
It was hard to judge how light the front end of my chair was when I first got this chair, and so, again, I found out the hard way. Getting on my van lift at the beach one day, I rolled my front wheels on the lift, tilting my chair backwards. This naturally happens all the time, but in those days I didn’t know how to work the momentum of weight. So, pushing hard at the wrong time flipped me over, AGAIN! I lay there with my knees around my head and chair on top of me. A couple of bicyclists were riding by, and in my nonchalant tone I asked, “Hey guys, can I get a hand up?’ It was kind of funny because I still remember how shocked they were, not knowing what they were even looking at.
One advantage to pushing a manual chair is that buddies can pull you up steps. Believe me when I tell you, it’s not fun being carried up stairs, or awkward places. While I’ve gotten past the fear element, for the most part, there’s always something in the back of your mind that makes you jittery, knowing all it takes is someone to slip, or fall, and your ass has had it. Just last week I was pulled up on my friend’s deck, and we had drinks and dinner. He proceeded to drink a bottle of wine getting way too intoxicated for me to trust him getting me down from the deck. I went with his girlfriend helping me, but it was sketchy, and I acted like she’d just saved my life. I still owe her a drink!
Staying with the ‘stairs’ theme, I went to see my buddy’s band one night - not imagining the bar I was going wouldn’t be accessible. In fact it was on 2nd floor, no elevator, and very steep stairs that seem to go forever upward. It was quite far to drive there, but I was getting ready to leave when my buddy saw me. He came running over and asked these strong looking guys to pull my ass up the ‘stairway to heaven.’ This was an incredible feat, and I thought ‘I’ve got to be crazy for trying this!’ My buddy apologized and confessed to not thinking about the stairs. I brushed it off, knowing all the while that the trip down would be hair-raising. I wasn’t disappointed, but made it down alive!
One thing about being a c5c6 quad that pushes is that it’s damn hard to stop rolling down a hill. The lack of grip means once the chair picks up good speed, and that can happen in seconds, your destination is to crash, or um, crash. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve run into cars, fences and nearly got run over because the chair got away from me.
Probably the most dangerous of the ‘scary encounters’ happened to me years ago soon after I started driving again. You see I drive from my wheelchair, locking it down with two bolts that secure it when I hit a switch. The problem is if you ever forget to hit that switch, there’s nothing to warn you that you’re not locked in. Accelerating from a light, or stop sign, can roll the chair quickly backwards away from the steering wheel and hand controls if the lock is not on. It’s much easier to forget this than you might think. Someone talking, adjusting the radio, making a phone call can distract, and when you’re new to something your mind isn’t trained well. One day while taking off from a light I found myself rolling quickly towards the rear. I could not push the brake in on hand control, as it would only push me further away, so I had to release. Holding on would only accelerate me more! Frantically, I tried to roll up while steering the van, but the van was moving too fast. I rolled up over a curb/sidewalk and into a tree in a schoolyard. The only thing I cared about was that there were no children in the yard at the time. I’ve never had a mishap like that again in 20 years, as I apply the chair brakes then lockdown switch with such attention that I’ve trained my brain well.
There’s only so much you can do to prevent an accident, however, the years of stairs, scares and spills have educated me in ways most people never have to consider. But I’ve learned the lessons that have been dealt; usually the hard way, and I’ve become watchful, even intuitive, about the nature of ground levels, size of steps and other people’s attitudes that can lead to me on my head, too.
Nothing can teach you better about a hot frying pan than touching it!
Of course, after my accident that landed me in a wheelchair I considered the accessibility issues, but really had no idea the pitfalls that waited. It’s probably best because looking into a crystal ball could only cause panic or fear. After all, every place I could think of had stairs, including my apartment that I lived in before I got grounded. I’m not talking a few steps either. My apartment was over top of a house, so it took three steps to get in the house to a foyer, then 15-or-so stairs to my apt. And no doors were wide enough anyway. Obviously, I never saw my apt again after my wreck, fully realizing the obstacles. My only other option was to move to a friend’s house where I’d lived in her basement just months before. The house was on 3 levels, and once I got to the basement with much labor, there was little getting out. I caught pneumonia that first Winter, after only a week, and I never went back, staying in the rehab center trying to find a place to go, knowing my time was limited there due to insurance payments running out.
There were transportation issues, too. Being a high level, complete, c5c6 quadriplegic, I couldn’t transfer myself to a car seat, so going anywhere was a huge hassle. After relocating back to Florida, my home state, I bought a basic cargo van, no lift. That would come later, I told myself. A sheet of plywood worked as a makeshift ramp, getting in and out the van’s rear doors. Soon after trying this primitive method I fell off the ramp hitting my forehead very hard on the parking lot pavement. Don’t worry, the concrete was fine, and some guy threw me back in my chair with a small knot on my head.
In those early days after my accident, I was still learning what could, and could not, be done. They say ‘you only gain experience through failing’, and I’m here to tell you ‘I’ve got a lot of experience at failing.’
I should point out that I decided early on that I wanted to push my own chair, not ride in a power chair. The reasons are complicated, but mostly have to do with my stubbornness and ego. You see, I was athletic before my accident, loving to play almost any sport, and I wanted to prove my athletic prowess by pushing my chair. Besides, I thought I looked ‘less’ disabled in a manual chair without side armrests. In the beginning, it was important to me to find a self-image I could be comfortable with. Obviously, the image had changed dramatically, and I remember rolling past some windows a few months after my wreck, my own reflection shocking me to the core of my self-identity.
In 1987 I got my van outfitted to drive and a lift on the side door. No one warned me about when raising the lift with me on it that if part of my chair hit this arm of the lift that the lift itself would fall backwards, flipping the chair, and anybody in the chair, out to the ground. So, guess how I figured it out. Yes, you got it. I did a beautiful back flip with ½ twist on my shoulders and head. The one good thing was I landed on grass, or else I might not be writing about it now.
The hazards and dangers come at you like bullets from a machine gun in the infant years of finding yourself in a wheelchair as you learn what can topple you, and what can’t. Sometimes it makes zero difference how experienced you are. Landing on your head can happen in a blink of an eye. In the early 1990s I had gone to a party at the Rock-It Club in Tampa. I took my friend Steve, and things were fine until I started pushing towards the back of the club. Suddenly, I found myself tipped over backwards very hard, hitting my head soundly on the concrete floor. It nearly knocked me unconscious, but once I knew I was ok it left me absolutely baffled how it happened. A guy set me upright, and I shook the cobwebs out by just sitting there for a few moments, wondering ‘what the hell could’ve gone wrong.’ Then, a guy came over to me. He apologized profusely, saying his shoe caught on the front of my chair, and when he felt it catch on something he lifted very hard, turning me over very quickly, as my chair is very light, especially in the front.
It was hard to judge how light the front end of my chair was when I first got this chair, and so, again, I found out the hard way. Getting on my van lift at the beach one day, I rolled my front wheels on the lift, tilting my chair backwards. This naturally happens all the time, but in those days I didn’t know how to work the momentum of weight. So, pushing hard at the wrong time flipped me over, AGAIN! I lay there with my knees around my head and chair on top of me. A couple of bicyclists were riding by, and in my nonchalant tone I asked, “Hey guys, can I get a hand up?’ It was kind of funny because I still remember how shocked they were, not knowing what they were even looking at.
One advantage to pushing a manual chair is that buddies can pull you up steps. Believe me when I tell you, it’s not fun being carried up stairs, or awkward places. While I’ve gotten past the fear element, for the most part, there’s always something in the back of your mind that makes you jittery, knowing all it takes is someone to slip, or fall, and your ass has had it. Just last week I was pulled up on my friend’s deck, and we had drinks and dinner. He proceeded to drink a bottle of wine getting way too intoxicated for me to trust him getting me down from the deck. I went with his girlfriend helping me, but it was sketchy, and I acted like she’d just saved my life. I still owe her a drink!
Staying with the ‘stairs’ theme, I went to see my buddy’s band one night - not imagining the bar I was going wouldn’t be accessible. In fact it was on 2nd floor, no elevator, and very steep stairs that seem to go forever upward. It was quite far to drive there, but I was getting ready to leave when my buddy saw me. He came running over and asked these strong looking guys to pull my ass up the ‘stairway to heaven.’ This was an incredible feat, and I thought ‘I’ve got to be crazy for trying this!’ My buddy apologized and confessed to not thinking about the stairs. I brushed it off, knowing all the while that the trip down would be hair-raising. I wasn’t disappointed, but made it down alive!
One thing about being a c5c6 quad that pushes is that it’s damn hard to stop rolling down a hill. The lack of grip means once the chair picks up good speed, and that can happen in seconds, your destination is to crash, or um, crash. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve run into cars, fences and nearly got run over because the chair got away from me.
Probably the most dangerous of the ‘scary encounters’ happened to me years ago soon after I started driving again. You see I drive from my wheelchair, locking it down with two bolts that secure it when I hit a switch. The problem is if you ever forget to hit that switch, there’s nothing to warn you that you’re not locked in. Accelerating from a light, or stop sign, can roll the chair quickly backwards away from the steering wheel and hand controls if the lock is not on. It’s much easier to forget this than you might think. Someone talking, adjusting the radio, making a phone call can distract, and when you’re new to something your mind isn’t trained well. One day while taking off from a light I found myself rolling quickly towards the rear. I could not push the brake in on hand control, as it would only push me further away, so I had to release. Holding on would only accelerate me more! Frantically, I tried to roll up while steering the van, but the van was moving too fast. I rolled up over a curb/sidewalk and into a tree in a schoolyard. The only thing I cared about was that there were no children in the yard at the time. I’ve never had a mishap like that again in 20 years, as I apply the chair brakes then lockdown switch with such attention that I’ve trained my brain well.
There’s only so much you can do to prevent an accident, however, the years of stairs, scares and spills have educated me in ways most people never have to consider. But I’ve learned the lessons that have been dealt; usually the hard way, and I’ve become watchful, even intuitive, about the nature of ground levels, size of steps and other people’s attitudes that can lead to me on my head, too.
Nothing can teach you better about a hot frying pan than touching it!
you definitely provided interesting insight into some of the logistical challenges of being in a chair. 
