15. Politics

There are some perks of being in a wheelchair. You are completely excused from awkward mingling, seeing as you'll run over everyone's feet in a crowded room, and you are at elbow height anyway. (This is a clear problem as you're suddenly a child again, looking up at the adults talking about things you don't understand again.) Mum says people smile at you and get out the way if you're pushing a wheelchair. (Not so much if you're pushing a double-buggy.) I find the scramble to clear the way for you in a café is gratifying, watching people's haste to show they are wheelchair-friendly. Large retailers in new buildings have accessible tills you can skip the queues to use.

The downsides of getting around in a wheelchair are obvious. I'll leave that up to the imagination. One I didn't anticipate is that you are stuck listening to the conversation of the person pushing you, way above your head. I've learnt to just ask for a new pusher when the going gets boring. At least I have a little companion with me all the time. You can decide if that's a good or bad thing.

I can scoot myself around using my right-hand on the wheel and my right-foot as a rudder, so I can get around the centre no problem. This isn't sustainable for long distances however, so I am pushed around a lot at the weekend. (And boy do I cringe when someone painfully kicks their foot against the wheelchair!) Other people in the centre can self-propel with both arms and we form a right conga-line going down the corridor. I'm pretty nifty now at moving around, something I was actively discouraged from doing at the hospital, as advice about scooting with one arm and a leg is distinctly lukewarm. Bad in the long run? No one knows. When a therapist would catch me scooting in the ward (everyday), I began to say, it's good for my mental health. It was an amusing few months of constantly playing 'What's the time, Mr Wolf?'

My walking is slowly getting more controled. Lots of practising walking between the parallel bars. We did some walking practice in the corridor, and loads of staff started congratulating me, saying 'I hear you've been walking'. I pointed out I have been walking for a few months now. I've also been sleeping at home every weekend, and my dad took me out one evening to vote in our local elections.

One of the things that bothers me (that doesn't affect the staff), is that the people who live in my centre are called 'service-users'. Now, I know this term is standard fare in support systems, but it's a bit detached seeing as we live there. Someone mentioned that 'resident' sounds like we're in an old people's home, but quite a few people are here very long term, and won't leave care, so how old d'you have to be until you achieve resident status? I've expressed concerns about this. I've become quite vocal about things that annoy me, (for example, the fridge was in my way). Maybe I should start a residents' union.

We're not there yet.