Ernest Hemingway once wrote about how things happen ‘gradually, then suddenly’. That’s how this (literal) ride has been.

Everything was slow to begin with. I was scared. Being out alone wasn’t just terrifying in an anxiety sense, but what if something went wrong and I was stuck? I did literally get stuck a few times, including one time on a major road in the western suburbs. Thanks to Midsumma I knew what to do, but every time I had the same sort of thoughts run through my head: What did I do wrong? What if I couldn’t fix it next time? I was also terrified of being seen. It wasn’t that I was struggling with internalised ableism, but I didn’t want to run into someone I knew and have to explain what was going on. 

I recommend this to everyone – when learning how to use a wheelchair, go to Ikea. There are large aisles everywhere, and everyone is already ready to give you room because they’re used to moving out of the way for boxes of furniture. There was an Aldi near my now-old house and I’d wheel there every few days to get grapes. We also went to a local shopping centre. During the workday I loved being there because there were so many other wheelchair users there. I discovered elevators were terrifying because you had to be so precise in such a small space. My body recoiled even though my mind wasn’t sure why, until I was told a little while later that while I was doing ECT I actually broke my toe while trying to park my old scooter in the small space.

My friends got me tickets to a show in the city as a belated birthday present and we drove in. The parking lot had elevators. I offered to go up after my friends (two wheelchairs wouldn’t fit in at the same time), but our non-wheelchair using friend offered to come up with me. I think she knew I was feeling shaky and didn’t understand that I was actually wanting the space. I struggled turning in the elevator and when we got up the single level I was crying because I couldn’t do it right, and I burst out that I’d wanted to do this myself so that no one else saw me ‘muck’ it up. She wasn’t to know – she didn’t know that this was currently an access need. She knew that I wouldn’t want physical contact, instead being quiet and letting me have my space.

This friend is very big on posting on social media. I have no issues with social media at all, but I hadn’t told 99.99% of my friend list about the wheelchair, and now I’d be in photos in it. So, I took control of my story and shared with my friends about it, and about how this was actually a positive move rather than sliding down, that I was no sicker than before but rather that I needed this earlier and had missed out on so much because I couldn’t access it. I received positive feedback, but it didn’t entirely ease how I felt about running into people.

A support worker and I repeated the shopping centre a few times but I was starting to really miss another friend who wasn’t able to travel out all the way to my house, so I finally started taking rolls (get it – not steps. So clever). Another support worker and I got the train to the city. The city was my old stomping grounds, back when I could stomp. I went to school just outside the city and since I couldn’t drive, going into the city and back out was commonplace. This involved getting on a ramp to get on the train, something I hadn’t done, and another elevator in the station. But it went okay. We got Lord of the Fries and quickly turned around and came back home as I’d hit my limit.

This is where the suddenly comes in. It took me a little while to calm down from my train trip, but then so much happened so quickly. My brother and I went to see my sibling-in-law at MTG’s Cost of Living. With a friend I went to an exhibit at the NGV, getting the train in by myself. It was chaotic as five wheelchair users were trying to fit in a small space that also included a man who thought his large box was a disability. I took myself to the movies to see an anime movie none of my friends would have wanted to see with me. It took an hour to roll home (not much wheelchair-friendly public transport here) and I got stuck once when I rolled over a gravel surface I probably shouldn’t have tried, but I laughed at myself instead of cried. 

I joked with one of my physios that I needed L plates. She laughed, saying they sometimes do that. I told my brother about this exchange later and he said she should’ve known I would’ve been one of the ones who would’ve loved it. 

In the background I moved house. No more stairs, and a ramp made of recycled car tyres that fits like a dream. I studied, then hurt my hands and was originally in five braces which got reduced to three for fifteen weeks, meaning I couldn’t use my walker at all or even type. Thanks to voice dictation software I accidentally asked out two men, who by being men were not my type. The new bed that took almost a year arrived and it was perfect – my first bed that was my own and not either a literal or rented hospital bed in years. My cats were cute. I bought a new candle – apple pie. 

Recently I was talking to a friend about her mother using mobility aids and I told her to look at it less as a form of confinement but rather about actually being able to do things again. Without the wheelchair I would be mostly trapped in my home, not able to experience life. 

I hope that we only have one chapter left in this journey together – when I get my own wheelchair instead of this rental one. Let’s go on a trip together. Somewhere nice perhaps. Maybe it’ll even be in the sun. But, for now, hopefully, the extraordinary becomes mundane, that adventures don’t think to bring their cousin anxiety along, and that maybe I’ll even get my P plates soon. 

This blog is the 5th instalment in Ferris' series Journey to a Wheelchair. You can read their other blogs in the series here: https://www.invacare.com.au/search/node/journey%20to%20a%20wheelchair

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.