Part 3... Chapter...6... Amalgamation

It’s my birthday today: 1971 I took my first breath. My first gulp of the Life Force. Its polluted fuel to keep my natural energy flowing until the date of my last breath. Which I must add was not taken away from me on the 16th July 2007 because of man’s poxy intervention. I am never going to let this rest.
​
For this year’s spiritual day of celebrating life. A few phone numbers were finger tapped and a crowd of mates met up at my house before we all strolled to the Sea Beach Pub, my local. A few unfamiliar faces were there with a few of the new and old crew. A great turn out.

My Viking Kiss was there with a couple of his friends. It was good to see him. I just wanted to be next to him and talk, but that was impossible. He did visit me when I was in Morriston Hospital but again he was not on his own. So we haven’t had a chance to talk alone together. About what, I don’t know nor do I care.

I just want to talk with him.

I want to ask him. How are you since all this has happened? Do you still have the kinky roll play outfit I bought to wear but didn’t get the chance? Do you still wear the bracelet I bought you?

Madness in my head. Why was I thinking these thoughts when my eyes looked across at my Viking Kiss? Only then to look back at my partner and feel no guilt. These two faces looking at me from different angles of our seating arrangements.

Me looking at them with my head turning almost like an oscillating fan. It bounced my memory back and forth to before and after my accident. It has been planted firmly back into my head that my partner and I are not in love. The feelings that were sinking this time last year are still pulling us down. This time getting tangled in the weeds.

After a few beer’s some went home and the rest followed on to my house.
It was a unexpected day. I'll give it that.
​
Shame I can’t say the same when the moon lit the night sky and my partner and I were alone....

Body. Chair. Wheels. Terrain. Gradient. Weather. People. Shops. Birthdays. But most of all, life, trying to keep everything in agreement. This amalgamation fused together is the new chapter in my life.

Body: A slim red-head, tattooed paraplegic

Chair: Custom made to sit in for ever. An Argon Quickie wheelchair built for comfort and speed

Wheels: Move faster than legs

Terrain: Gravel, chip-wood, sand, tarmac, concrete, pot holes, pavements.

The list goes on and OMG!!! Where do I start. Fuking hate this stuff, little bits of gravel and tha’ jump up into the two small front wheels and stops me in my tracks. Almost hurling me out of my chair. Sand, I just get stuck in sand, so no hope in that situation. Tarmac is just fuking dangerous whether the weather is hot, cold or wet.
​
Gradient: It's all about the slope, if its up it fuking kills me. If it's down it's a speed test.

Weather: If it rains I can lose grip of the wheels and wayhey off I go with panic crashing into anything that will bring me to a stop. Be it a wall, any sort of barrier, even people. Ooops ????. Or I scream to whoever is with me to grab the bar on the back of the chair to rein me in.

When I’m out, if the rain decides to have a day with its own fun and I’m not finding it funny. I take refuge inside the Shopping Centre. Everybody’s wet shoeprints and umbrella drips make it feel like I’m skating on ice for the first few seconds. Not a happily wheeler gliding on its smooth tiled and polished wet floor.

People: Rude Muvafukas. Most don’t like it when I wheel in front of them and take first place in the queue. Fuk British Queue Etiquette. Cheeky I know but hey it works lol. Others are ok with this arrangement, and a lovely chat takes place with a stranger lol.

​But the stares I get from other people with working legs standing are hot daggers in the eyes.

Why do some peoples stare look vacant and others just glare that little bit longer than the norm? It does my head in. People started staring at me with hand over mouth whispers as they passed me by, when I got my throat tattooed in the early 90s. 

Now that I’m in a chair I get glared at a lot. Parents piss me off the most when pulling their child by the arm and scurry away from me. Like I'm a freak of nature and highly diseased. When all the kid is doing is watching the colours spinning around on my wheels.
​
I’ll be honest here. Before my accident I didn’t notice many independent wheelchair users. The ones I noticed had someone pushing them in their chair. I was never rude to any disability and would have quite gladly taken a step back for anyone to get severed first, I wouldn’t be pissy about it.

People of today are rude as fuk, looking down on me in my chair. Thinking for some reason that I can’t speak and look around for my minder, as I’m on my own.
​
I would say that 1 in every 3 families if not all, have a member with a disability of some description. A restriction on their healthy living, well-being and mobility. Be it a Paralysis or MS. A Heart Condition, Doggy Knee Joint and stress on the Lower Back Discs. High Blood Pressure to Diabetes. Mental Health to Work Related Stress and Migraine.

I see more disabled able-bodied people dragging their bodies around on sticks, now more than ever.

We’re all fuked really.
​
But once let out loose in society, mingling and circulating around each other we are a rude bunch of disrespectful fuks.