After my second hospital stay, I was officially living with my parents again, in a new home. My father worked really hard on the house to make it handicapped accessible; railings, bars, even pouring concrete over the outside steps to make a ramp. Even the carpeted floors were ripped up and replaced with hardwood.
I never became used to using a wheelchair. No one really invites you out anymore because it’s a hassle – folding up the wheelchair, shoving it in the back of the trunk, and getting me into the car. So, I was left at home a lot.
I’m the kind of person that needs to be constantly doing something. Any time I’m idle, my mind goes on overdrive, so I try to keep as busy as possible. The wheelchair was holding me back and it was spinning me into a depression.
Since there was nothing else better to do, I started doing my own therapy every chance I had. Any empty minute left to myself during the day, I did everything possible to move my legs. While watching television, I moved my legs up and down, in a marching motion. In bed, I would do leg lifts, and in the bath, I’d work on my muscles. Finally, my sister purchased a treadmill for disabled persons. I was able to pull my wheelchair up to the side, climb on and hold on for dear life. For almost two years, I worked myself to the bone, but I was finally able to walk again. Of course, wheelchair led to a walker, a walker to a cane, but now I’m able to move freely without any assistance.
My father and I put my wheelchair in the attic a few months ago.
I think if you have enough will and faith in something, you can make anything happen.
