My Day in a Wheelchair – How Experience Leads to Empathy

Time to Go Outside

The time had come to venture out into the concrete jungle and discover what dangers, obstacles, and strange looks waited for me. I have never felt this self-conscious before — and I am no stranger to vanity — but I was ready to experience this new world. Our first destination was a small, yet enjoyable café on a Sunday where we were hopeful we would not run into anybody we knew. We pulled up to park and my wife had already spotted wheelchair ramps and pulls in right next to one (We did not use any actual handicap parking spaces). Fully dedicated to the plan, my wife retrieves the wheelchair from the back of the van — keep in mind the chair is heavy — but she managed all on her own. (This brings to mind another expensive change, those who are wheelchair-bound must consider the high cost of purchasing a specially-equipped vehicle for loading and unloading.) She pushed me up the ramp and to the front door of the café where we encountered our first obstacle; there was a small rise in the door’s threshold and halfway through trying to roll myself in, I find I cannot get the wheels over the small door frame sill. We back out, turn myself around, and my wife has to wheel me in backwards. So much for a discreet entrance, not to mention the doorway was a tight fit. We did notice that a few patrons started to get up to see if they could help, and quickly sat down as they saw we were able to get inside. It was early in our adventure and already I was frazzled and embarrassed. I wanted this experience, but I also really, really wanted to go home.

"I am now wondering how I treat others who have a physical challenge... Do I look at them as someone to be pitied? How does that make them feel, I wondered?"

The café was set up so that you stand at the counter, place your order, and then seat yourself while your food is prepared. At the counter, I am interacting with others for the first time while in the chair. This is also when my mind raced with the thoughts I mentioned above, if only I had the superpower of invisibility. The order takers were very patient, like excessively patient. I think with all the emotion of the moment, I was slow to make a decision from the menu but seconds seemed like minutes. I could not make up my mind and felt as if everyone was waiting on a child to make a decision. The staff was even congratulatory on my menu choice when I finished. I realize I am oversensitive at this point in the game, and I know this was not their intention but I felt slightly belittled. I am now wondering how I treat others who have a physical challenge... Do I look at them as someone to be pitied? How does that make them feel, I wondered?

Upon paying at the counter, we then mosey over to get our drinks. I had ordered coffee and my wife asked what I would like in mine. I noticed the counter where the coffee supplies were was quite high and I cannot see what is up there. She begins to explain all of my choices and there is soon some frustration (on my part) in the back-and-forth of getting the coffee right. I am becoming more aware of all the inconveniences I am placing on others. I felt helpless and the experience is growing evermore emotional. You truly begin to see how much this impacts not only yourself, but those around you as well.

We made our way to a table and shuffled a chair out of the way to make room for me to be able to scoot up close. I learned quickly that this little table was not meant for wheelchairs. As my knees hit the center support, this left me about 8-10 inches further away from the table than I am traditionally accustomed. Nonetheless, I’m in and settled. My wife asks me how I am doing, and it is the first time I could pause long enough to absorb all of the experience and emotions thus far. A bit teary I whispered, “This is much more emotional than I expected.”

My two daughters who were along for the ride, soon let me know that, while in line, a little girl (maybe 7 years old?) was inquisitively looking at the wheelchair. We noticed others seated near us seemed to avoid looking over as to not appear to stare — that was our perception at least. Interestingly, while we were eating a severe thunderstorm rolled through and triggered the city’s storm sirens. Since the my city has a recent history of tornadoes, I began wondering if we had to find shelter, would I stay committed to the wheelchair or would I play this out and see how the restaurant would accommodate us, wheelchair and all (Just in case you are wondering, the storm soon past by and no abandoning of the wheelchair occurred). My family’s safety would have been the priority, not the assignment.

We finished our meal, placed the displaced chair back at the table, and my wife wheeled me out into the falling light rain. We headed toward the minivan although there were two unforeseen challenges waiting for us. First, there was a gradual decline and a small step down to the sidewalk that was hardly visible for my wife to see from her vantage point behind me. Since I am keenly aware of where she is rolling me, I had to point out she was about to push me over the step. It was not obvious and we both agreed that was an accident waiting to happen. By wheeling just a few feet further we were able to avoid the step, but it was not obvious unless you were right on top of it looking down. Second, my children went ahead to the vehicle to get in and since it was raining, my wife reached for the keys in her pocket to unlock the doors so they could climb inside. This would have been just fine except that she reached for them as she was wheeling me down the ramp, and all of a sudden, I am not sure if she has control of the wheelchair. We laugh about it now, but I like to ‘kid’ her that I was seconds from rolling out into the street.

"I am dodging gum, smashed grapes, and who knows what else, and I thought to myself, 'My wife is not going to allow this chair back into the house!'”

Our next stop took us to the nearby grocery store. Once again, we were able to park near an accessible ramp, so I get out and into the chair and wheel myself up the ramp. This time I wanted to wheel myself in and see how strenuous and physically demanding it would be to enter on my own. What caught my attention as I wheeled toward the store’s entrance was… the ground is really filthy! I am dodging gum, smashed grapes, and who knows what else, and I thought to myself, “My wife is not going to allow this chair back into the house!” If I was really confined to this chair, she would make me have separate indoor and outdoor chairs. The thought had never occurred to me that wheelchair-bound persons have to somehow avoid all of the garbage that litters our walkways.

"...my oldest daughter noticed that a customer was looking at us oddly and kept staring. She told me later that she gave him the “stink eye” for staring too much. I love her, she was protecting me."

Access into the grocery store was fairly easy although the opening of the sliding door was narrower than I expected. The aisles were wide enough although I was very conscious of being in people’s way. As my wife made her way down an aisle, I would often go to the end and place myself out of the way as much as possible until she was ready to go down the next one. I really started to feel like I was constantly in people's way. Every time I would stop and wait, I also felt incredibly isolated and lonely even though it was only for a few seconds. On a lighter note, my two daughters were glued to me and took turns pushing me at times. We had a little fun with this when I noticed the store sold steering wheel covers. My wife shook her head in shame as she saw us ‘driving’ down the aisle as I motioned a sharp turn and my daughter quickly turned me around. I began to think that if I were ever in this position, literally, that I hope I could come to a point where I was able to joke about it at least a little bit. Because if I could not joke about it, I am not sure I could handle it. This whole experience engaged many more emotions than I expected. My family included. For example, as we were checking out of the grocery store, my oldest daughter noticed that a customer was looking at us oddly and kept staring. She told me later that she gave him the “stink eye” for staring too much. I love her, she was protecting me.

We loaded back up in the van and I noticed I felt guilty anytime I would have to stand up out of the chair. Just transferring from the chair to my seat in the vehicle, I started feeling guilty. Perhaps it was because I was able to use my legs. Maybe it was because I felt fraudulent for not truly needing the chair. It was not a good feeling.

The physical toll had started to set in too. I was tired of sitting, my backside hurt, my hands and arms were fatigued. I am thankful that the assignment mentioned wearing gloves while wheeling around, they worked well and really helped. As I picked up speed in the chair, I noticed that it was difficult to go straight. I learned to put a little tension on one wheel to correct leering to the right or left. It reminded me of steering a canoe where you alternate or favor a particular side of the boat to course-correct. Also, everywhere you go is different, there is no consistency in the location and types of access ramps or accessibility in public places. How much incline would there be? Will the ramp or floors have bumps or be smooth? How far from the door will I have to park? So much to think about that I had simply never considered. These questions and more helped me realize how grateful I was to do this exercise, because now, I am thinking about my church, my workplace, and wondering how wheelchair accessible are those facilities? Are we welcoming to those with physical challenges?

"I want to see them as a person, capable of anything, and just be willing to help should they ask for it."

Some Other Lessons Learned

I’m 6’1”. That’s not exceptionally tall, but it is rare that I encounter someone who physically looks down on me. From my new vantage point, that is all I saw. Everyone looks physically downward at you, and I would not normally think much of it, but in my heightened state of self-awareness, I felt like others were looking down at me with pity. Maybe that is okay, but I felt as if they thought I deserved extra time to speak or as if I was slow in thought, and not just when ordering from a menu. I speculated that this might be how a child would feel looking up at an adult who is speaking with them. In my future dealings with people in wheelchairs or for that matter, any disability, my hope is that I will not look at them through a handicapped lens. In other words, I want to see them as a person, capable of anything, and just be willing to help should they ask for it.

And what about those, like my wife, whose full-time job is to help the person in the wheelchair? My whole family was switching in and out at different times to assist me. Everyone was affected in one way or another. The physical and emotional toll on those who support their loved ones is just as monumental. An incredible opportunity exists to minister and care for those who are undoubtedly weary, fatigued, and saddened by the hardship of the one they serve. Imagine a ministry or service tailored to appreciating and providing for the unsung heroes whose day-in and day-out task is to give everything they have to make the lives of their afflicted loved ones better.

My “day in the life” barely scratches the surface of what it is like to be wheelchair-bound. Adjusting to a throne with wheels goes well beyond the activities we typically take for granted, like walking around. From retro-fitting a house to the toll on our families, so many changes have to be made for such a grand life change. My perspective has changed. My eyes are gradually opening to see how people who are often marginalized and overlooked are accommodated or the lack thereof. How can I help those I come in contact with? How can I make life better for others where I have the opportunity to affect change? The place to start is at my church, my workplace, the products I design, and it begins with simple conversations to help others in my circles understand what I experienced during my “day in the life” of living in a wheelchair.