LJ Idol: Some Assembly Required
Some Assembly Required
Warnings? None? Ye gosh!
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The first time I saw it, it was a monstrous thing. It struck a chord of fear in my heart. My teeth bit my bottom lip. And my aching arms betrayed my mind. I did not want it. The seat was made out of a sticky blue vinyl, the leg rests were monstrous and one couldn’t be adjusted in the slightest. The wheels were solid and the rims were made out of a rusting silver metal. When I sat down, it groaned. When I wheeled around, it creaked. When I tried to go right, it veered left. The fixed arm rests were claustrophobia-inducing and also rubbed my arms raw.
I used it only hesitantly and then grudgingly. I felt like a runaway hospital patient. It was difficult to move. When I folded it up it always sounded like it was dying. After a few months, it occurred to me that borrowing a wheelchair that had lingered in a nurse’s basement for years, was perhaps not the most extraordinary of ideas. Unable to get a script for a proper wheelchair, I headed to the most holy of sites: eBay.
I looked for a few days, desperate to find something I could afford. Desperate to find something that didn’t look absolutely horrendous, something that didn’t constantly veer left or make constant creaking and groaning sounds, and something that I could actually load into my car without help.
When I found it, it wasn’t exactly what I wanted. In fact, it was very little like what I wanted, but I had only a little money to my name, and I needed something that was even the slightest bit better. My pocket was a hundred and fifty dollars lighter and I was excited.
The second time I saw it, I was sitting on a stool in the kitchen, washing the dishes. The doorbell had rang and I allowed a skinny blonde boy carry in a large package. I had known what it was immediately. I had thought about tearing into it immediately, but something had stopped me, so I went back into the kitchen to finish the dishes.
When I was done, I turned on my stool and looked at the box. I could feel it mocking me.
I hated it.
It wasn’t even out of the package.
And I still hated it.
Eventually my mother came home. Her voice is excited as she exclaimed over the package. I forced a smile to my face and tried to remind myself that it has to be better than the previous chair.
“It’s awfully flat,” my mother remarked.
I nodded and we both open the package and a smaller folded wheelchair slid easily out of the box. There’s very little assembly required. I tossed the arm rests to the side and work on fixing the footrests to the chair. They were more adjustable than the previous and yet they seemed to mock me as much as the box. Blue vinyl was replaced by a black polyester and whoknowswhat mix. Rusting silver metal was replaced by plain black plastic rims and solid black wheels. The chair didn’t groan when I sat in it. There was no creaking of the wheels. But it still veered left.
I felt like a child learning how to walk for the first time. There was something that I wasn’t doing quite right. There was something that I needed to do before I would feel safe walking around.
Only a month or two pass by before I become adamant that I will find the right chair. I asked various doctors to prescribe me a chair. I discussed the benefits with my physical therapist. In the end, only one doctor and my physical therapist understand. My therapist knew that my walking was limited and that I was running out of options. My primary doctor barely knew the difficulties I had but trusted my decision about my health.
It became a long aggravating process of a combination of people who told me that because I could walk a few difficult and painful steps, that I didn’t need a wheelchair. A PT who listened to my conversation with my PT, made a frowning face and asked me why I didn’t just get a bike instead. There were days I cried. There were days I threw things. There were days where I felt so numb, I wondered if people would ever treat me like a human being again.
And every day I hated my cheap chair more and more. I still loved it, in a way. It got me around better than my canes or crutches. But I hated it because it wasn’t enough. It was like an ex that you’ll always love but just can’t fit into your life.
Finally, I get evaluated by people who understand. They helped me figure out exactly what I needed. The insurance would never pay for what I needed so my mother loaned me the money and we found a supplier with the bubbliest, curly-haired woman I had ever met.
The third time I saw it, it was beautiful. Instead of fear and mocking, it spelled out freedom in bright purple aluminum. The sagging seat is replaced by a black foam cushion. The solid wheels were replaced by gray pneumatic tires. There were no footrests to assemble or fix on the chair, just a footplate that set my legs down at a ninety degree angle. The caster wheels flashed bright red and blue as I left.
Unlike the other two, I had to disassemble the chair before getting it into my car. But where I had simply folded the chair and struggled to put it in the back while holding myself up with the car door, I know sat in the front seat and easily slid the wheels off, detached the cushion, folded the rest of the chair, and put it next to me in the passenger seat.
It was more assembly required but it was more everything. More freedom, more beauty, and more love of life. It never mocks me. It never strikes fear in my heart. It’s comforting. It’s fun.
It’s life.
-Written for therealljidol
Warnings? None? Ye gosh!
-
The first time I saw it, it was a monstrous thing. It struck a chord of fear in my heart. My teeth bit my bottom lip. And my aching arms betrayed my mind. I did not want it. The seat was made out of a sticky blue vinyl, the leg rests were monstrous and one couldn’t be adjusted in the slightest. The wheels were solid and the rims were made out of a rusting silver metal. When I sat down, it groaned. When I wheeled around, it creaked. When I tried to go right, it veered left. The fixed arm rests were claustrophobia-inducing and also rubbed my arms raw.
I used it only hesitantly and then grudgingly. I felt like a runaway hospital patient. It was difficult to move. When I folded it up it always sounded like it was dying. After a few months, it occurred to me that borrowing a wheelchair that had lingered in a nurse’s basement for years, was perhaps not the most extraordinary of ideas. Unable to get a script for a proper wheelchair, I headed to the most holy of sites: eBay.
I looked for a few days, desperate to find something I could afford. Desperate to find something that didn’t look absolutely horrendous, something that didn’t constantly veer left or make constant creaking and groaning sounds, and something that I could actually load into my car without help.
When I found it, it wasn’t exactly what I wanted. In fact, it was very little like what I wanted, but I had only a little money to my name, and I needed something that was even the slightest bit better. My pocket was a hundred and fifty dollars lighter and I was excited.
The second time I saw it, I was sitting on a stool in the kitchen, washing the dishes. The doorbell had rang and I allowed a skinny blonde boy carry in a large package. I had known what it was immediately. I had thought about tearing into it immediately, but something had stopped me, so I went back into the kitchen to finish the dishes.
When I was done, I turned on my stool and looked at the box. I could feel it mocking me.
I hated it.
It wasn’t even out of the package.
And I still hated it.
Eventually my mother came home. Her voice is excited as she exclaimed over the package. I forced a smile to my face and tried to remind myself that it has to be better than the previous chair.
“It’s awfully flat,” my mother remarked.
I nodded and we both open the package and a smaller folded wheelchair slid easily out of the box. There’s very little assembly required. I tossed the arm rests to the side and work on fixing the footrests to the chair. They were more adjustable than the previous and yet they seemed to mock me as much as the box. Blue vinyl was replaced by a black polyester and whoknowswhat mix. Rusting silver metal was replaced by plain black plastic rims and solid black wheels. The chair didn’t groan when I sat in it. There was no creaking of the wheels. But it still veered left.
I felt like a child learning how to walk for the first time. There was something that I wasn’t doing quite right. There was something that I needed to do before I would feel safe walking around.
Only a month or two pass by before I become adamant that I will find the right chair. I asked various doctors to prescribe me a chair. I discussed the benefits with my physical therapist. In the end, only one doctor and my physical therapist understand. My therapist knew that my walking was limited and that I was running out of options. My primary doctor barely knew the difficulties I had but trusted my decision about my health.
It became a long aggravating process of a combination of people who told me that because I could walk a few difficult and painful steps, that I didn’t need a wheelchair. A PT who listened to my conversation with my PT, made a frowning face and asked me why I didn’t just get a bike instead. There were days I cried. There were days I threw things. There were days where I felt so numb, I wondered if people would ever treat me like a human being again.
And every day I hated my cheap chair more and more. I still loved it, in a way. It got me around better than my canes or crutches. But I hated it because it wasn’t enough. It was like an ex that you’ll always love but just can’t fit into your life.
Finally, I get evaluated by people who understand. They helped me figure out exactly what I needed. The insurance would never pay for what I needed so my mother loaned me the money and we found a supplier with the bubbliest, curly-haired woman I had ever met.
The third time I saw it, it was beautiful. Instead of fear and mocking, it spelled out freedom in bright purple aluminum. The sagging seat is replaced by a black foam cushion. The solid wheels were replaced by gray pneumatic tires. There were no footrests to assemble or fix on the chair, just a footplate that set my legs down at a ninety degree angle. The caster wheels flashed bright red and blue as I left.
Unlike the other two, I had to disassemble the chair before getting it into my car. But where I had simply folded the chair and struggled to put it in the back while holding myself up with the car door, I know sat in the front seat and easily slid the wheels off, detached the cushion, folded the rest of the chair, and put it next to me in the passenger seat.
It was more assembly required but it was more everything. More freedom, more beauty, and more love of life. It never mocks me. It never strikes fear in my heart. It’s comforting. It’s fun.
It’s life.
-Written for therealljidol