Being in a wheelchair

There are many adjustments that I have had to make in the last couple of years. One of them is having to use a wheelchair as my mobility is now much reduced. I have become a collector of dropped pavements, or more precisely, the lack of them. Of facilities that claim to be disabled friendly and are not. Of the still large number of places, like restaurants, out of bounds unless elaborate arrangements are made in advance. I am grateful to various departments of he city council who actually do listen to comments – for instance the problem with tree roots pushing up pavements and making my wheelchair journeys quite hazardous – and without fuss something done to smooth the my progress and that of many others with poor mobility; of high levels of disabled person support for example at Leicester Station or at the Tigers; of the sheer ease of arriving at John Lewis’ car park, getting across the glass bridge and into John Lewis’ shop itself – complete with its flat floors that are wheel chair friendly.

One of the unexpected adjustments, however, is becoming invisible, or as good as invisible. An incident: I had been away and arrived back on Eurostar at St Pancras. The crowds getting off the train were anxious to be on their way. The concourse was very busy, it was a Friday night, a man on his mobile phone walked straight into me, stood on my foot, the wheel chair paddle cracked, I yelped, He shouted out, “Never saw you mate” and was gone. Immediately, I was surrounded by a crowd of fellow travellers anxious to help. I was in tears not so much at the man, though I could have given some words of advice, but at the kindness of strangers. Although the wheelchair was repaired, it has never been the same since. Nor have I. Now I am much more wary of my relative invisibility. I have become much more willing to anticipate being not seen. I suppose I have become much more assertive at announcing my presence. Some would think this a form of  unnecessary militancy. The idea of the grateful disabled person is sort of nice, but the sound of angry one is decidedly not so nice– but I have come to see it is necessary.

It’s the small things that make so much of life harder – and easier.