The Mandelbear's Musings

...So why do I need a wheelchair?

Let's get one thing straight at the outset: you don't "need" a wheelchair. If you did, you wouldn't be asking the question. So let's talk about why you might want to use a wheelchair, walker, or cane even when you don't need it.

Since some bright homo erectus discovered that it was easier to throw a rock at a passing antelope rather than spend the rest of the day running it down, Man has been a tool-using animal. Tools don't just make impossible tasks possible; they can also make difficult tasks easier and safer. That's where wheelchairs, walkers, and canes come in.

When I wrote "Wheelin'" a few days ago my main objective was to help a friend get used to the unfamiliar and uncomfortable idea of asking for a wheelchair to get through the airports on an upcoming trip. It turns out, based on the reaction to this post and some subsequent conversations, that it's a pretty common problem.

It's only natural to feel embarassed and uncomfortable the first time you walk up to that counter and ask for assistance. It's perfectly normal to expect to be challenged to prove that you're disabled; to feel that you don't deserve help because you can, after all, walk.

What you have to realize is that the airport staff are interested in only two things: getting people through the airport and onto their planes as quickly and smoothly as possible, and not getting sued for mistreating someone who's handicapped. And they'll welcome you and treat you well not only because they're trained and paid to do so, but because they know that word-of-mouth advertising works both ways. They really want you to be able to tell your friends, "Alaska Airlines really treated me well when I flew to Seattle with my wheelchair; I'm sure you'll have a great trip too."

You don't have to prove that you need assistance. There are literally hundreds of conditions that might make it harder for you to stand in line, walk through the airport, walk up a ramp, and get into and out of your seat. Most of them don't show. The friendly person at the "accessibility" desk doesn't care whether you're arthritic and find it hard to walk, have a chronic bad back and can't stand still in line for more than five minutes, or fell in the parking lot five minutes ago and twisted your ankle. She will happily call for a wheelchair and somebody to push it, and fetch a free cart for your -- and your partner's -- luggage. Let your travelling companion, if you have one, deal with the luggage, and let the airport staff push the chair. They know exactly where they're going.

Don't hesitate to get on the plane early, with the old people and the families with kids. Everybody else will, if they have any damned sense, thank you for not blocking the aisle when it comes their turn to get on board. You don't even have to arrive at the gate in a wheelchair to take advantage of this one. And if you don't think you can handle the ramp or the stairs up to the plane at an old terminal like San Jose, they'll happily provide a couple of hunks of brawny eye candy to strap you into an aisle chair and carry you up. Yeah, it's undignified. So are a lot of other pleasant experiences I could name. Enjoy it.

It's not just airports, of course. There are a lot of places where a wheelchair is, while not absolutely necessary, a huge convenience. The zoo, for example. And at some point you may want to consider a powered chair or a scooter.

There are other places where a wheelchair just won't go, and that's where walkers come in. Sometimes you just want to get from one room to another, or have someplace to sit and rest while going through a large store. Colleen has two: a fancy one with four wheels, a seat, and handbrakes (named Johnny in spite of the fact that they don't make a bourbon with a purple label); and a smaller one with two wheels that folds flat for travel and just naturally acquired the name Frankie. (The wheelchair is Igor.) Walkers are comparatively cheap; Johnny was a little over $100. They're also light enough that even Colleen can handle tossing one into the back of her van if she needs to.

And let's not forget the humble cane. Get an adjustable, folding cane (they come in a wide variety of colors), put it in your purse, backpack, or shoulder bag, and ignore it. Every once in a while you'll find yourself wanting a little extra leverage getting out of a car, or a little something to lean on standing in a line. They have other uses. I'm not going to advocate using your cane to trip the occasional idiot who thinks that a handicapped person is an annoying obstacle rather than a human being who deserves to be treated with respect. But the mere thought that you could wield your cane in that matter can be a great morale booster.

Colleen's friend Bev, whose story ends "Quiet Victories", also told us of her ageing grandmother who beat off a mugger with her cane. He tried to claim that it was the cops that beat him to within an inch of his life; he wasn't expecting her to show up in court, weapon in hand. Even without a concealed sword-blade (I understand that the TSA frowns on such devices these days), a cane can be a formidable weapon.

And finally, remember how we started this essay, walking up to the accessibility counter at the airport and being embarrassed because you don't look handicapped? If you're leaning on a cane, nobody is going to think that, even for a second.