Non-Lateral Thinking

Yesterday, I had my long awaited visit from my local NHS wheelchair fitting department. Several months ago now people began commenting on a deterioration in my seating posture, I was slowly becoming banana shaped and was referred for a lateral trunk support to be added to my wheelchair. Those of you with disabilities will be all too aware of the importance placed on good posture. For my non-disabled readers I will provide a bit of an outline.

I have cerebral palsy, my condition is caused by damage to the part of the brain responsible for movement and coordination. This means that I cannot sit unsupported. Strenuous efforts as a child were made to achieve this ability in physiotherapy sessions, without success. The therapist would sit me on a square box stool with no back, it was a kind of sedentary, special needs, white knuckle ride. I would grasp the edges of the box, using my hands to maintain my position. There were other things we were told to pay attention to as well, this was not a passive experience, there was no time to chill out. “Feet flat, bottom back, back straight, head up and in the middle with your lips together,” were the instructions. Every part of my body had to be thought about and in balance.

When a close friend of mine who also has cerebral palsy, had a baby, we watched open mouthed as he met every one of those dreaded developmental milestones on time or even early. It was a lovely, new experience for both of us to discover that ‘early’, so often a negative label in our babyhood, could have a positive spin as well. Toddlers really do just get up and take their first steps, sit on the floor and just play without having to support themselves with their upper limbs. I am still struck by the wonder and ease of it. Human bodies and brains seemingly obeying a programme, that somehow mine forgot to download or, maybe the files were corrupted in the attempt.

My sixth form years saw me perched precariously on a laboratory stool holding the underside of the lab-bench with one hand. This was all that stood between me and a violent reunion with some classic 1960s flooring. I had to give this up in the end and use the provided special needs desk and chair as yes, even I can see you can’t do chemistry experiments safely with one hand.

I look back wistfully at the days when my wheelchair gave enough support for me to function well, when ‘trunk control’ was a meaningless phrase. I now gaze at my new reflection in the mirror, with my midsection encased in the metal and foam of my wheelchairs new addition. I look so straight I think someone must have subjected me to a starching. Only a month ago I transported two sheets of A3 artist board home by sliding them down the back of my chair and this seemed to do the same job, at a fraction of the price.

Getting dressed in my wheelchair this morning I wondered fleetingly who designs the appliances I use, because I have deduced one thing for sure, they have definitely never worn a bra, or tried to put one on, whilst sitting in my latest seating contraption. It took me three goes and I am thinking of putting in a requisition for a third hand.

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