Dances With Wheelchairs

by Brice Carroll

Because I have muscular dystrophy and use a power wheelchair, you'd think dancing was out of the question.

Well, I once danced with a lady friend while I was in my chair. We were both actually surprised when it happened even more so because we danced in a very public place.

The woman, a longtime friend, had hugged me every Sunday morning at church for many years. This time, she leaned over to hug me from my right side and her purse hit my joystick, causing my chair to turn toward her. As she backed up to get out of the way, the purse pulled the joystick harder, making my chair turn faster. And away we went.

We went round and round, sort of like square dancing with a whirlwind calling the steps. I was trying to find the off switch, and she was trying to stay on her feet.

When I found the switch and flipped it off, I almost yelled, "Hallelujah," but caught myself just in time. People might have thought that she and I had been involved in some strange religious ritual.

That was our last wheelchair dance together, but we both learned valuable lessons. I learned to turn the power off when I recognize pre-hugging behavior, and she learned that she was very light on her feet.

Corners, Collisions and Co-Workers

I've seen some pretty quick, intricate steps from other pedestrians trying to avoid me, though you couldn't really call them dancing.

In an office building, I always slow down when I approach a corner. I've learned that when two people are talking as they round a corner, they don't readily see someone in a wheelchair coming down the hallway.

Although I always stop well before any actual contact, the ambulator sometimes runs into me anyway. I refer to these pedestrians as "blind men talking."

Then there are mischievous co-workers.

Once, while I was going down a hallway at work, a friend sneaked up behind me and flipped my power chair off. He thought I would just roll to a gentle stop.

Boy, was he surprised when my electric brakes locked up and I nearly flew out onto the floor. He almost created a spectacle of myself.

He sincerely apologized for his actions, and I gracefully accepted. Then I gracefully ran over his foot.

It's not only co-workers and church ladies you have to watch out for. Essentially all pedestrians can be reckless. For some reason people seem to trust me to stop when they dash across in front of me. Either that or they really dislike their toes.

Many times I have run over such toes. Most of the time by accident.

Kids and Cliffs

Kids scare me the most. I'm usually afraid for them, not for myself. Except for the time my infant granddaughter was in my wife's arms, grabbed the joystick and almost sent me through a wall that scared me.

Afterwards, I realized how lightning fast and stealthy my granddaughter was. She could grow up to be anything from a star athlete to a world-class pickpocket. I was so proud!

To be honest, the most dangerous person I've had to deal with is myself. I take too many chances.

Once I was going too fast down a steep slope in my backyard, hit a stick and bounced out of my chair. I was able to avoid injury by using my head. Literally.

Fortunately, my head landed on a thin flat rock instead of a thick pointed one. The rock broke in three places, but I never felt any real pain. I guess my wife is right about the hardness of my head.

Another time, my sons and I were exploring cliff dwellings at Mesa Verde National Park in Colorado. My three strong sons pushed my power chair up the steepest paths, and we saw all the sites accessible via concrete pavement.

I kept hearing a voice; I think it was my testosterone, saying, "Go farther." But to go any farther, Jason, Chris and Travis would have had to carry my chair, with me in it, down a series of stone steps, to a steep, rocky, unpaved trail.

I stopped and thought long and hard about it.

Five seconds later, as the boys were picking me up and starting down, a park ranger stopped us. He said it was too dangerous.

As we were leaving, Jason said I was lucky the ranger didn't give me a ticket for DWI. I told him the ranger knew I hadn't been drinking.

He said the DWI he was referring to was "driving without intelligence."

I wanted to plead innocent to that, too, but I couldn't.

Brice Carroll, a retired accountant, lives in Hot Springs, Ark. He has limb-girdle MD.