My nephew is at that adorable age where we can take him out on adventures. I hadn’t been able to participate up to now though, as my latest direction from my doctors was that I could walk seven minutes in a row, twice a day. That made it difficult to do much of anything really.

I had been getting lax using my walker, feeling like a burden on everyone when I did. But now I was told I had to use my walker when going any further than my letterbox as I wait what feels like forever for my wheelchair through NDIS. It means I’m quite stuck, relying on Netflix for entertainment (or, at least I did until recently—bye-bye family Netflix account) because I cannot go far with the walker either.

Over the long weekend, my Dad suggested we take a trip to the zoo—him, my Mum, my brother, my sibling-in-law, my nephew, and myself. So we jumped straight online to see if and how this was possible. It was a quick search—Melbourne Zoo had wheelchairs you could borrow. For free. Usually, you have to pay for the “privilege” of being disabled, so this was a blessing that we shouldn’t have had to be grateful for but were, nonetheless. It also wasn’t difficult to find on their website. No hidden prize for those determined enough to search for hours online. It took mere minutes, and that was only because we hadn’t looked before so we had to become acquainted with it.

We booked a wheelchair online the night before and went to pick it up in the morning. In the office, we could tell this wasn’t a rare thing. There were a large number of wheelchairs and the process was virtually painless—there was a large ramp to get up to the office, the staff were kind and made it all very easy, even storing my walker for me (whilst commenting on how cool my walker is) which meant we didn’t have to take it back out to my parent’s car.

As we waited for my brother and his family to arrive my parents and I went to see the meerkats. My parents took turns pushing the chair as I couldn’t self-propel. It was weird.

My Mum decided to name one of the meerkats Madonna over its behaviour. As I laughed with her I realised something - I had the energy to genuinely laugh! I could focus on how silly the meerkats were because my pain was nowhere near as high as it gets. I was, to put it in a cliché way, in the moment. 

My life is spent counting spoons, and as all of us that count spoons know, they’re not fixed and can often fluctuate, making it a difficult task. 

I couldn’t remember the last time I went out and was actually in the moment, rather than counting how much I could put up with and safely get home again, or what I could tolerate while still being able to cope in the days to come and all the appointments. 

I was also surprised that there were so many people with wheelchairs at the Zoo, perhaps because of how accessible it is. I hadn’t ever noticed that when I’d been to the Zoo in the past. Ironically I’d been anxious about using a wheelchair and that people would stare in the lead-up to our outing.  

The cracks in the concrete were difficult—I can’t self-propel, so I was dependent on my parents (who were as inexperienced as I was with wheelchairs), but overall, from the information plaques I could roll under to read at exhibits down to the staff support, it was such a welcoming and accessible environment. The other patrons as well were incredibly kind, at times moving so that I could see things from the wheelchair. My favourite was the butterflies, just because I have always loved the butterfly house so much. A butterfly landed on me close to the entrance but I couldn’t see it, unfortunately. 

Hilariously, I ran into my physio and his family there and we cut off the traffic saying hello to each other. I was relieved I had followed my team's instructions and used a wheelchair otherwise that chance meeting could’ve been much more awkward.

At the end of the day as we waited for my Dad to pull the car around, another aspect of their accessibility procedures, my Mum and I said goodbye to Madonna. Madonna was being silly and I still had the energy to laugh. 

Part of me thinks that I shouldn’t have to be grateful, but in the meantime, as we wait for the world to catch up, I am extremely grateful. I got to spend a day with my family, an unfortunately difficult thing to facilitate. Melbourne Zoo was an active how-to guide on being inclusive, and now I have more memories with my nephew that I’ll treasure forever. 

Using a wheelchair for the first time, a lot of the time I forgot I was even in a chair as I could now engage with the world around me, showing me everything I was currently missing and everything I was now looking forward to. 

About the author

Ferris Knight is a queer and disabled writer, producer and advocate from Melbourne, Australia represented by Champion Health Agency. Ferris mainly writes about their lived experiences with mental and physical health conditions, as well as queer politics, poetry and fiction. They have also worked with organisations such as Arts Access Victoria, The Dax Centre and Women with Disabilities Victoria. In 2019 they produced their first Melbourne Fringe Festival show LEtGO of Stigma, walking 80 metres across Lego to talk about living with hidden pain and the resilience of those with mental illnesses. In 2020 they were a part of the anthology Closet Cases: Queers on What We Wear from Et Alia Press, writing about sexual harassment.