I Was There

When Carl and I met, I had already been diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis. However, I had very little deformity and still retained mobility and independence. In fact, we snow skied together in the Colorado Rockies, canoed down the Tallequah River in Oklahoma, camped in many locations and often water skied in the summertime. We shared long conversations about arthritis and it's crippling effects and he witnessed personally how it drained me of energy. He often said things like, "I'll push you in a wheelchair until I can't push you any more if I need to." But he's never needed to.

Until yesterday. While in Wichita the girls suggested a trip to the zoo with Carl's super-healthy sister and her children. Not anticipating this request, I left my power wheelchair at home. Lately walking to do my normal activities has become difficult. Walking through the zoo for hours would be impossible, especially at the pace I knew my children and sister-in-law would require. Because the zoo did not have power wheelchairs for rent, I had two choices. 1. Skip the zoo, or 2. Allow Carl to push me in a rented wheelchair.

Though my decision needed to be made hastily, I knew it would set the standard for future outings. If I sacrificed my involvement that day, others would be more likely to expect me to sacrifice at a later date and I would more easily excuse myself from participation. Knowing this, I joined my family at the zoo.

We had a great time. Hannah commented about the eh-na-nas (rhymed with bananas, but meant "elephants"), the ze-buhs (zebras), and especially the tuh-tuhs (turtles), complete with sign language. We saw an iridescent blue peacock, trekked through a humid rainforest smelling of moisture and earth, and walked by tulips, daffodils and redbud trees in full bloom. At one point we stopped to buy snow cones for the kids and to pour ourselves a beer that we snuck in in the cooler.

I learned that there is no "cool" way to sit in a wheelchair. I tried resting my head on my hand, crossing my legs, sitting with my legs pointed out, leaning back. Nothing. Kids stared at me, people held doors open for me and at one point Carl rammed me into a lady's baby stroller.

But I was there. I was there when Hailey said, "Mom, that zebra was riding the other zebra." I was there when Hannah said, "Oh my DOSH! (Oh my gosh!)" over and over. I was there to observe all of my girls' laughing and running free, sunburn-cheeked with hair flying behind them. I was not sitting at home waiting for pictures and a synopsis of the day. I was not waiting behind and depriving my girls of a day with the only mom they'll ever have, disability or no.

And I was there when Carl leaned over the back of the wheelchair to kiss my neck as we stopped near a lilac bush. How many women are loved so unconditionally?