Taking Up Space As A Wheelchair User

We spent some time on Saturday throwing axes at the Christmas market. It’s not what you think.

Or maybe it is.

On Saturday, I’m doing some writing in bed (that happens now), and we’re deciding if we want to get festive. No, really.

‘We should go out. Let’s go out.’

We didn’t go out. We made pancakes, or Neil did.

‘Do we eat breakfast at night now?’ asks Isla.

‘No, it’s just really dark out in the mornings these days.’

‘Oh. That’s not cool.’

‘It’s cold,’ I said.

She used to look at me and go ‘Mummy funny.’ But she doesn’t any more.

Anyway.

We should go out. But let’s not.

We’re eating pancakes, and then Neil fills the bird-feeder, because we have one. Then he goes out to scrape ice off our old-new-boring car. Because we have one of those, too.

He leaves the kitchen door open, and I’ve moved my laptop to the table. I’m writing, but I see something flutter through the door. And into the laundry room, where I can never reach.

So, I’m writing.

Neil comes back.

‘Check for birds. Something flew in.’

And he skulks. ‘Oh, it’s a robin.’

Now.

My Nana loved robins. And cardinals. And any type of reddish bird. So, they give me quaint, fuzzy feelings. It’s a visit. Like butterflies are my Grandma.

Are robins good luck? I believe so.

But I like these visits best outside my kitchen.

Honestly, I’m in the hallway with my exaggerated fright reflex, going ‘is it gone?’

My husband is tiptoeing around the kitchen like a benevolent giant going, ‘I’ve had budgies, EVERYTHING’S FINE.’

Mr Robin flew out the window. If you’re wondering why robins are around in winter, read this.

Message to Nana, hope I didn’t ruin the good luck charm by freaking out.

‘LET’S GO OUT,’ I suggested.

So we bundle up and head to the Christmas market in town.

Real talk, I didn’t know so many people lived here.

Dealing with crowds as a wheelchair user is always interesting. It amazes me how much of my personal space people think they can take up. I’m sitting here. Don’t step over me. Don’t step over me, but don’t talk over me. I am not invisible. And if it looks like someone’s gonna sit on my lap, I’m gonna tell them to piss off. Nice shoes, though.

And there’s a point system. Excuse me, thanks.

Isla is looking at the raffle tables, but my view is mostly people’s butts.

There’s a bouncy castle, more butts.

Isla stands with Neil, waits her turn. I’m separated from them by a few rows of people. I’m shouting, ‘Pull her jacket UP.’

‘What?’ says Neil.

So I texted him.

Isla’s jumping around and I’m at the perfect level to get sneezed on by other people’s children. Hi. At least ask me what my name is first? Maybe?

More waiting for five minutes in a snow-globe, but Isla asked Neil to wear her ear-muffs, and he obliged.

And then Isla got to throw some axes. At targets. Not people. Like that time I tried target sports.

And in other news, yesterday was International Day of People With Disabilities or to give it its shorter identity-first name, International Day of Disabled People.

I didn’t write anything new. I planned to, but Isla came home sick from school.

She went straight to my bedroom. And then she farted. I’m just sitting here thinking: BE YOURSELF. LET IT GO. Or something.

She’s fine.

Instead of writing, we watched TV and ate jello. But here’s a list of my top disability blog posts.

And I did share some work of other disabled writers on Gin & Lemonade’s FB page.

And also, this.

If the future is accessible, now would work, too.

As I read other people’s words, what kept coming up is Carrie-Ann’s question, ‘why are we still waiting for this to be the future?’

We go on. Today’s another day. Take up your space.