Dating a girl in a wheelchair
We talked until two in the morning and he never asked me anything about my disability.
He didn’t see it, and it felt as if I’d known him forever.
He asked simple questions: “Why are you in a wheelchair? It was easy and fulfilling for me to fight for my rights–non-discrimination in hiring, equal pay, architectural access–but hard to fight against cultural norms of beauty. I was on many panels for doctors and medical school students about sex and the disabled. Which was so insulting, suggesting that I brought nothing to the table.
But even some medical professionals were capable of questions like: “Is this really an issue? ” (Ah, there is nothing like rejection in front of a crowd). Together our lives were better, easier than they were apart. And yet, I felt lucky, as if I had been pulled off the seconds shelf. He had a mid-life crisis and ran off with another woman—sigh: Yes, the cliché applies to the disabled and able-bodied alike.
It was as if, somehow, my disability made me less human to them. And yet, when I became one of “them,” I was, still me.
In this social environment whole years of my life passed with unrequited longing on my part. People often asked if I was disabled before we got married.
(Even able-bodied women my age will say this sounds familiar). They’re looking for trophies; women their male friends will envy. When I told them I was their response was: “Oh well, he knew what he was getting himself into then.” (Honestly, people have no idea what they are saying sometimes).
Outside of Granada, Spain, a truck hit the car I was riding in while I slept in the back seat.
I woke up on the side of the road, paralyzed from the chest down.
Search for dating a girl in a wheelchair:
The alliance was doomed to fail for reasons of distance, religion and the age gap.