My Friend is in a Wheelchair Without Being Disabled
Tim and I have been friends since kindergarten. We played, we ran, we fought. Then, Tim fell. Now he’s in a wheelchair and the strongest person I know.
“Just one more round.” My heart is pounding like crazy and I see Tim, easily running right past me. He even does an additional somersault on the mat, just for fun. When I reach the finish line five minutes later, totally out of breath, I spot him jumping the trampoline.
Somehow, I remember every detail about this parkour running we did in fourth grade. Maybe because it was just four weeks before it all changed. I never saw Tim hold still for even a minute. He was always running, playing, kicking footballs, or doing the monkey bars with me. But then it happened. While playing football, one of his friends kicked the ball too hard and the round leather landed on the flat roof of our school. It was a normal break. We could have easily called the caretaker to help us get the ball back down. It would not have been the first time. “Unnecessary”, Tim said and climbed onto the roof. He took a wrong step to the left — and fell.
It only took a second, maybe not even. He landed roughly on the hard floor. Instantly, Tim could no longer feel his legs. The paramedics arrived and our whole school watched when he was taken to the hospital by a helicopter, which landed right next to the monkey bars we had competed on this very morning. The diagnosis was crystal clear: paraplegia. Tim had to prepare himself for life in a wheelchair. Even though all the strength had left his legs, his optimism grew stronger than ever. “Giving up was just never an option”, he told me later, as if it wasn’t even worth mentioning. “After all, my life had to go on”. And it did. In the hospital, they showed him what he could do with his wheelchair and that he was not as restricted as everyone might think. Tim got physical therapy every day and learned to adapt to using the wheelchair. He started playing table tennis and basketball. He was supported by his parents. We all just adjusted to Tim’s new situation easily, because he was handling it so well, even though he was only 12 years old.
Tim can’t go for a run anymore. He cannot kick a football like we used to do. Yet, he has probably participated in more sports than many others. He can swim and lifts regularly. He owns a hand bike. Last year he even learned how to monoski, replacing his former hobby of snowboarding. “I have come to peace with what happened to me”, he told me, when we were talking on the phone the other day. I admire him. Something horrible and frightening has happened to him at a very early stage in life. Yet, he is happy. Despite everything, he feels blessed.
Nothing that bad has ever happened to me. Nevertheless, I catch myself being moody about little, unnecessary things. I disable myself sometimes because I struggle with everyday situations when things don’t go the way I want them to. Then, I try to think about Tim. I try to remind myself, that we are more than the situations that catch us off guard and suppress our mood. We need to rise above. We need to keep fighting. We need to adjust and come back stronger. Just like Tim did. I admire him. I admire him a lot.