WHEELS FOR LIFE ~ Broken Leg

For the past month, I have been dealing with what I call a broken leg. However, this particular broken leg does not call for plaster, bandages, or a stay in the ER. Instead, it requires wires, hardware, and screws. I am experiencing a malfunctioning wheelchair.

It all began when I noticed a random pattern of flashing lights on my joystick. I was heading to Madison Square Park to meet with a film crew to do a television spot. I prayed that the lights would stop and that my chair would de-elevate so that I could continue on my way. In a nearby bathroom stall, I used my novice mechanical skills to jiggle wires and unplug cables. The lights would not stop blinking and changing colors, and my seat would not go down, but I had to continue on because it was too late to cancel. I called a friend to ask her if she would join me just in case my chair broke down completely, and thankfully she agreed. I drove down Sixth Avenue with my seat five to six inches higher than usual. I was able to film my segment, but it was just the start of my wheelchair drama.

I contacted my managed care service providers to inform them of the issue. I had responsibilities at work—supervision meetings for starters—and unlike a real broken leg (which I know far too much about), when a wheelchair breaks there is no second “leg” to stand on, no other functioning back-up chair. When my chair shut down twice one day as I crossed the street, I decided that I’d better stay home and start advocating for a repair. A technician came to my home at the end of the week to assess the issue and told me that I would need a whole new joystick (my second joystick replacement in two and a half years) and new tilt box. I am happy to report that the parts have now been ordered.

Knowing that the device I rely on for my mobility is not sound is nerve-wracking. I once had to give up my chair for an entire month while it was being serviced, and I was unable to do any independent activities—going to the grocery store, spending time with friends, going out to eat, sitting in the park. It is at times like this when I’m incredibly grateful for motorized wheelchairs. It is also at times like this when I wish I had a magic wand that I could wave about and make broken things whole again. Until then, I will continue my work as a novice mechanic and try to temporarily fix my joystick while the real mechanic works to fix my broken leg.

Tamara Morgan is an art therapist and social worker in the South Bronx and a graduate of NYU’s Steinhardt School for Art Therapy. Diagnosed at birth with osteogenesis imperfecta, a condition that makes her bones abnormally fragile, Tamara writes about conquering NYC as an individual with a disability.