On Becoming a Cripple

I wasn’t born a cripple. It was a gift of aging.

I am a cripple like Tiny Tim is. He used crutches and a device to help him stand. I use a walker. I assume he needed this special device because he had no balance. I also have no balance. I must always, no matter what I am doing, hold on to something. His condition, Dickens implies, is due to poverty and poor nutrition. The exact reason for my situation, I do not know. Is it weak muscles, weak bones. My doctors never said.

First, an aside. Some people will object to my use of the word “cripple”. They prefer “handicapped” or “disabled”. Others may object because I am far less incapacitated than they are. I say each person can choose the term she prefers.

I started to use a cane about 17 years ago. I remember because I used it for the first time when I visited my granddaughter Hannah’s pre-school and she is now 20 years old . My first symptom was very peculiar. When I walked, I had to stop fairly frequently. My ability to walk just seemed to lock up. I could not take another step until I stopped for a minute or so. The diagnosis was stenosis of the spine. All kinds of treatments followed: physical therapy, epidural injections.One of my physicians taught me a little trick. When my ability to walk locked up, “ crouch slightly down,” he said. Sure enough this seemed to open up the spine so it was not leaning on the nerves and I could continue walking. But I had to do this quite frequently.

Then one day I woke with a truly horrible back pain. I could not lie down on the mattress again. I started sleeping in an armchair and eventually bought a recliner and slept in that. Time to see a surgeon. I had started to use a walker a short while before the surgery. The surgery was a complete success. I was totally pain free. I told the surgeon that my objective now was to get rid of the walker. He said something like “ Oh,we’re going to get you a snazzy walker…” I replied, “Thanks a lot.” In rehab, I repeated that my objective was to get rid of the walker. The therapist did not say anything but I could tell that she thought that would not happen.

My doctors never explained why I had to graduate from a cane to a walker. What had deteriorated, nerves, bones, muscles? Perhaps it was an unholy trio. My ophthalmologist gave me the best answer. “Perhaps they don’t know.”

So here I am. I now consider myself a member of a new community. But no one can really understand another’s life. I don’t claim to know what people with other handicaps experience. This is why I am writing this. To explain to my friends and others who might be interested just what my life is like.

First I want to say how grateful I am to those who fought to get the Americans with Disabilities Act passed. This is a very wide ranging law dealing mostly with employment discrimination but it includes a section on public accommodations. Where would I be without sidewalks that were pared down so I could easily cross a street, or get in and out of stores, movies, restaurants, etc. Or without public bathrooms that have bars to hold on to.

I feel I have used up my quota of falls. Fortunately these were all in my apartment and not outdoors unto concrete. So, much of my life revolves around avoiding more falls. Let’s take the shower for example. For some reason, the shower was always a place of creativity for me. This is where I seemed to get ideas and sometimes write whole articles in my head. No more. I must reign in my wandering mind. Concentrating on the task at hand is essential. Look where you move your feet, not unto the slippery metal drain. Remember, I must always hold on to something, so I have just one hand to do all the work. No more lingering an extra moment under the relaxing water. I have to organize my washing and get out as soon as possible. I no longer wash my hair in the shower. A boon for hairdressers.

When I walk, I force myself to keep my eyes on the ground. I need to see every crack in the sidewalk, every little hole. If someone comes along and says “hello”, I have to remember to stop before I look up to see was talking. If I don’t look up I, of course, will appear to be very rude.

At home, I have to forget about efficiency. It will take several trips to move clothes out of the dryer to the bed where I usually fold them and several more to hang clothes in the closet. The closet is actually one of the more scary places to be. Using just one arm, it is not so easy to hang things away. Holding on to something is problematic. Shelves are notoriously unreliable.

To be a successful cripple you have to be inventive and flexible. But small ideas that make your life easier don’t always come quickly. It took me quite a long time to figure out how to get the heel of my stocking on the heel of my foot.

My relationship with people is the most important and interesting part of my life. On the whole, people have been incredibly kind. Almost all even go out of their way to be helpful.

I remember only once did a woman mutter under her breath because I was in her way. Being handicapped is also a test of friendship. When I lived in New Jersey I was very fortunate to have a group of friends willing to pick me up to go out to lunch or dinner. These good people had to put my walker in when they picked me up, take it out when we arrived at our destination, put it again when we were ready to leave and take it out once more when we arrived at my house. Obviously this is a pain. In Amherst, my daughter often takes on this job. And I have access to vans, courtesy of the complex where I live. But in spite of friendly public accommodations, when I do go to a restaurant, I seldom see another handicapped person there. Yes, we cripples do go out, but it appears, not that much.

One other interesting aspect about people has to do with natural abilities. As we all know, we all have different talents and so it is with peoples’ natural instincts as to what to do when they are around me. Among my closest friends, there are a few who always know how to give me a hand and others who look helpless and don’t have a clue. A cripple has to learn to overcome her reluctance to ask for help and tell people what she needs.

For me, time is my biggest problem. I have to confess that when I was small, my report card was often marked “tardy” which is an old-fashioned way of saying “late.” Later, still having a tendency to rush out at the last minute, I would say I have a “deadline personality.” I don’t get going until I am close to my deadline. But realizing full well that people did not appreciate my appearing a few minutes late, I struggled to change my habits. Now I cannot rush, which means I have to plan very carefully to get anywhere on time and I do not always succeed. I often wonder how much longer does it takes me to do anything than other people my age, twice as long? Three times as long?

I have always remembered a little boy I saw, about six-years old, in a wheel chair laughing his head off watching kids fool around in the pool. It was a poignant scene. “Bless him,” I said to myself. “If this is his true personality, he will be O.K.” I have adjusted quite well to my situation. I view my problems as inconveniences. Sometimes it takes a lot of patience to live with inconveniences. To be satisfied while handicapped I think you need certain conditions, contacts with people being most important. In that respect, I am very fortunate. I have a husband, good children, loyal friends. I also have some access to transportation. Who could ask for anything more?