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. 
