… You go to a group meeting for a new NHS service and when the person sees you they comment “we’ve got two wheelchairs coming.” And you have to bite your tongue hard to prevent saying something totally flippant they probably wouldn’t understand.
Because my first thought on hearing that (other than Grrr) was to say “oh, sorry, I didn’t realise I was supposed to send my wheelchair by itself.”*
I’m not a wheelchair. I thought that was obvious but just in case it’s not. I am a fat, mouthy, messy, glassses wearing girl who needs to dye her hair. My wheelchairs have wheels, solid backrests, lateral supports and usually have mud splatters from going places convention would suggest I probably shouldn’t. The manual is black and nameless, my powerchair is red and I’m leaning towards calling it Gadget.
What I am is a wheelchair user.** You can call me that. Or, alternatively, you could call me Emma. It is my name after all.
* I told someone else this story (I can’t remember who) and they went “oh so you weren’t invited then. Bet your chair liked being the expected one for a change.” Major laughter at that point,
** I am not wheelchair bound because I’m not tied down in my chair and can get out of my chair. I’m not into bondage personally but should you meet a wheelie who is I would consider them the only type of wheelie for who wheelchair bound is appropriate.