Life Is Different From A Wheelchair

Have you ever seen someone in a wheelchair and thought silently to yourself, “How sad; glad it’s not me”?  Of course, you flashed a sympathetic smile to the disabled person as your hurried your “abled” self along.  Or, maybe, you complained to yourself while struggling on a cold and rainy day to find a parking space at the supermarket or mall, and muttered, “why are so many spaces close to the store entrance taken up by the disabled?”

But did you ever stop to think, what your life would be like if you had to spend even a short time disabled and needing a wheelchair to get around?

I honestly never thought about it until this April when disaster struck with a vengeance and I ended up temporarily needing a wheelchair.  Life changed for me, as a Baby Boomer, ex-jogger and vegetarian in superb physical condition, when I experienced a horrific fall.  I do not mean I tripped on the stairs or slipped in the shower for not paying attention.  As an ex-jogger, I had fallen many times on a running path from an unseen dip in the road, or on uneven pavement of city streets.  Over time, I learned how to collapse into an easy fall and have never suffered more than a few bruises and momentary embarrassment.  Sometimes, I could even brace myself to ease the fall. This time, there was simply nothing to prevent my fall. Nothing at all. 

I was speaking at a college and shortly before my session I went with the moderator into a small auditorium to review the format as I normally do.  Surprisingly, in a new, energy efficient building with motion sensored lighting, there were no lights on as we entered the room.  My colleague opened the door and called out for a custodian but no one was on duty.  So we walked along the back wall searching for a light switch with the door ajar to give some light.  In the process, with no lights along the floor indicating stairs, I fell harder than ever down deep steps landing on my right foot with my ankle twisting backward and landed face down.  It happened in less than five seconds.   While being helped up, I prayed that nothing was broken. 

I requested from the custodian, who finally showed up, a bucket of ice for my foot,  gave my message, then left for the nearby medical center very thankful for health insurance.  I could not believe the doctor who said, “the X-rays revealed two broken bones in your right ankle, so I need to fit you with a cast and crutches.”  I could not answer because my mind was racing with questions.  How could I preach in the Chapel tomorrow in a cast and on crutches?   As a frequent traveler who easily navigates through airport, how in the world would I manage now on crutches?  Why did it have to be my right ankle that was broken; and especially my driving foot?  How could I navigate around my house where all the bedrooms are upstairs and the kitchen downstairs.  And what about the travel commitments I have made?  For a moment, I was overwhelmed and settled into a 20 second pity party.

I asked the doctor and nurse to leave the room and give me a moment alone.  Once alone, I prayed “Lord you said you would never give me more than I could handle.  Well I need your help right now to handle this situation.” I added, “God you are so powerful that you could have allowed me to fall without breaking a single bone broken because all power is in your hand.  So obviously, you have a purpose in this that I simply do not understand.  So I will trust you.”

Fitted with a soft temporary air cast, I preached the next day in the Chapel sitting on a stool, after a long, sleepless night of ibuprofen and numbing pain.  With great help from sister friends; I successfully negotiated the airport . . . yes, from a wheelchair.  A second opinion from an orthopedic surgeon back home affirmed that a minimum three months would be required for healing, assuming I spent the time totally off my feet and in a wheelchair when I left the house.  So I went from 3-5 meetings a day to working from my bed on the computer, struggling up and down the stairs in my medical boot that looked like an oversized ski boot.

It has been more than two and a half months since my fall and I tell you life teaches great lessons from the wheelchair, or from any crisis you face.  First, you learn that life may not be fair but God is good.  God will never leave you or forsake you in your crisis. Your illness or disaster gives you much unplanned time alone to pray, meditate, reflect on your life and remember what really matters.  You have time alone with God who has your full attention from the usual distractions to develop closer relationships and deeper faith.  Trust me, God wastes no time helping you to see areas of your life that need a make-over.  Disasters and setbacks also help you to realize how little control you have over certain life circumstances.  Whereas work too often becomes our master, leaving little time for family and friends, disaster forces us to focus and even depend upon family and friends. 

Second, crisis helps you to see people in a whole new way.  I have always embraced as brothers and sisters, people of all races and backgrounds.  Yet, from a wheelchair, from a crisis, you see people of all races and cultures in a whole new way.  You feel a sense of oneness with strangers who from their wheelchair smile at you, not a sympathetic, “O you poor thing smile”, but with an “I know how you feel smile” of understanding and support.   I tell you, there’s total equality from the wheelchair because disaster is an equal opportunity employer.  It favors no race, gender, culture or age.

Third, you get to really know what people are like in your crisis.  The people you thought would be there for you don’t show up at all.  People you never expected to show up, or maybe took for granted, provide amazing emotional, spiritual and physical support.  I love social networking and appreciate my Facebook page, but a true "friend" is the one who despite the inconvenience shows up if only to say, “I’m here; or what do you need.”

Finally, crisis and physical setbacks like mine provide an opportunity for real introspection and for making needed changes in your life.  What about the book or play you have been threatening to write or the advanced degree you have dreamed of pursuing?  And what about family and friends you have not contacted for awhile because 60 hour weeks leave little time for either.  By God’s grace, I am on my way to healing and have started driving short distances near my house.  But even if my injury had caused long term disability, the same lessons would apply and I am thankful for mine.  The next time I pass someone at the airport, or at the market in a wheelchair, I will look at them in a very different way.  I will not look with sympathy, but with understanding because I sincerely believe that when some member of the human family hurts, we all hurt.  Dr. Martin Luther King said it best, “we are all caught in an inescapable web of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny.  Whatever affects one directly, affects us all indirectly."