No Time Like the Future by Michael J. Fox

Author:Michael J. Fox
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Flatiron Books

Asses and Elbows

We refer to people in wheelchairs as wheelchair-bound. What does that mean, exactly? Wheelchair-bound suggests that one is bound to the chair; held hostage. It contains you. Perhaps the person who is used to mobility (and the unrestricted use of their body parts) looks at the chair as a concession, as an instrument of surrender. Whereas, to one who is disabled to a point where independent movement is not an option, the chair is a means of freedom to move.

I relate to the concept that this way of moving around is a reality of my future, as in “I’m bound for a wheelchair.” At some point, using a wheelchair is a likelihood; it’s only a question of when.

In the past year or two, I have used one sparingly, under certain circumstances to save time and energy. I am relieved to have access to it whenever I need to cross a vast amount of space in a short amount of time. On trips overseas, for example, airport transfers make a wheelchair essential.

Unless I know the person who is pushing me in the wheelchair, it can be a frustrating and isolating experience, allowing someone else to determine the direction I’m going and rate of speed I can travel. The pusher is in charge. From the point-of-view of the occupant of the chair, it’s a world of asses and elbows. There’s something, too, about a wheelchair that has an effect on my voice. No one can hear me. To compensate, I raise my voice and suddenly feel like Joan Crawford in What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?, barking out orders. But no one is listening. For someone who is used to having mobility and a sense of free will, being in the wheelchair is completely the opposite. I am at the mercy of the person steering me. They will put me into a corner, or up against the wall, and I will have no say in it. I can hear something I want to respond to, but I can’t turn around and see it.

Generally, the person in control is a stranger, an airport or hotel employee. I’m sure that if we could ever look each other in the eye, we’d recognize our mutual humanity. But often in the wheelchair, I’m luggage. I’m not expected to say much. Just sit still. Delivery to my destination is just another task to be finished in their busy day.

On a recent trip, going through airport security in a wheelchair was excruciating. If I stayed in the chair, I couldn’t go through the scanner. I had to pull off to the side and be subjected to a thorough pat down, then wait while the wheelchair was meticulously swabbed and examined. My attendant was surprised when I suggested it would be much easier if I just walked through the scanner. He couldn’t seem to comprehend that the wheelchair was provisional. I don’t consider it necessary, an important distinction that is often lost on those who steer.

“I can walk, I just can’t walk far.

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