It began with a questions to the writer:

It began with a questions to the writer:
A bit about crutches.

Every so often I get questions from my general audience. Sometimes they’re emails, other times they’re phone calls, and sometimes that have absolutely nothing to do with what I write at all. Sometimes they’re questions that come about in some of the smallest ways that make me think surprisingly large things. It’s strange, it’s weird, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my life, it’s that you should never turn your back on strange and weird things.

Today, I got asked to about crutches. Well, more specifically, I got asked to write something about crutches as a kind of an arrangement. I didn’t think much of it at the time honestly, and then there was talk of having me pick the topic, so on and so forth, and then I just sat back to think.

I should confess at this point that I was not entirely in my head, for a variety of reasons. One, was that it had been a very busy couple of days filled with a lot of great conversations and others that were, well, not so great. Two, I wrote four thousand words yesterday that I actually really liked and was pretty proud of too. If you’ve never written four thousand words, in just shy of seven hours, it’s not terribly easy. Still, I set a goal, I accomplished, and I celebrated rightly. Three, I was watching the television show Spaced and had a head full of pleasant thoughts that weren’t really in line with thinking about crutches – naturally, I started thinking about it anyway.

I started thinking that I did, in fact, know a thing or two about crutches. I’d spent a considerable portion of my youth on them, both metaphorically and otherwise, and I’d managed to come out the other side without a general need of use for them. Then I started thinking about all the things I endured while on them, both metaphorically and otherwise, and trying to remember the thoughts, feelings, sensations, and so on that came with all that.

It was like looking at a picture book of someone else’s life. It was like being reminded of a time that I’d forgotten, of what it was like to be chastised and spat upon by the world for things that I had no way of understanding. It was like being trampled by angry cows and fed to hungry pigs, it was like being kicked down a hill of broken light bulbs and landing in a pool of lemon juice and salt water – in short, it was a pretty horrible book.

Then I read it again, and again, and again. I flipped through the memories like they were one of those stick figure flip books you used to make on post-it notepads. I stared at the images in my mind, which are things I honestly don’t consider often, and I tried to remember them in more detail, to remember how I had lived both with and on the crutches of all shapes and sizes.

I couldn’t. It’s that simple, I couldn’t. Why couldn’t I? I couldn’t because because I never lived with crutches, I’ve coped with them. They’ve simply been a means to an end, a training wheel of sorts to get me through to the understanding that, evidently, makes such a serious impact on all the people I’ve met in my life. It was that one, silent, thing that, I guess, people stood in awe of but, to me, that was never it.

See, I’ve never done something that I’ve seen like that, and this isn’t simple humility talking either. I’ve never lived with crutches, I’ve coped with them. The same can be said for all manner of mobility assistance, regardless of spectrum. I’ve never lived with it, nor have I resigned to it, and I do not honestly believe I ever would, or will need to do so.

So, what can I say about me and crutches? Not much. I’ve never made enough of a big deal out of them to really remember them. They were moments, things that happened, things that gave me a perspective I carry with me now, but that’s it. I remember the moment I stopped using them, and I remember why, but that’s it.

Now’s the part where you’re probably all curious, right? Why’d you stop using them then? What happened? Did you get better? Did you get surgery or something?

No. I didn’t. I couldn’t get better because there was nothing wrong with me, and that’s what happened. I woke up and realized there was absolutely nothing wrong with me. I stepped out into the world, of my own accord, and I did so without crutches. I didn’t need surgery, or not another one anyway.  See, I'd already had surgery once, and I still was told I'd need the things and still need to cope. I never agreed with that. So, I woke up and I didn’t need them. I was able to stand up, move about, and dance, all own my own.

This is the part where, I'm sure, a lot of people come come up with a lot of reasons, why I "got better". I've heard everything from "God did it" to "See, the surgery fixed you! Hooray!" So, let's set the record straight. The surgery I went through did not fix me. It broke things and had me unlearn everything I had learned, and then I was told I still didn't have very good odds of walking. 

I may have only been five years old at the time, but in my time I have very clearly come to understand the one, single, thought I had on that matter. I didn't use the same words, couldn't have even understood the same words probably, but now it makes perfect sense. What I thought was this: Fuck. That.

That’s one of the biggest differences between me and most other “handi-capable” people I know. They’re coping living with something that’s wrong with them, living with crutches, living with some giant weight on their shoulders, and I understand it. That life is not easy, but you know what else it isn’t? It’s not all that hard either. I've heard people tell me how hard it must be for me, or how hard it is and, again, I have one thing to say to that: Fuck. That. No it isn't.

I chose not to use crutches unless I had to cope with something beyond what I could control. I’m sure there will be days again where they come back, in a variety of literal and non-literal ways, because I might need them. Let’s face it, I’ve got a gimpy leg and I don’t really seem to pay attention to it. I’m bound to break something sooner or later – even broke my toes in my sleep once.

Am I saying it’s all about choosing to be “disabled”? Yes and No. There’s a limit to everything anyone can do, doesn’t matter who you are in the world, nobody can do everything. That’s the limit. There’s just not enough time in life to do everything there is to do. Anything else you find to stop you from doing something, I’d wager is about eighty percent self-imposed and twenty percent unwilling to make the changes that need to be made to do it.

People who choose to view their disabilities, handicaps, or what-have-you, as limitations to what they can do? I can’t fault them for that. It’s not what I’ve done, but I’m not everyone else. I’m me. I’m the only person I can make choices for, and I chose, quite simply, not to do that. You might have to accept some rather practical limitations in life but, so does everyone else.

It’s pretty amazing what you can do with that kind of perspective. Hell, it’s pretty amazing for just about everyone apparently. You can do just about anything if you’re just willing to shift the way you look at it. It’s a bit like being called a seahorse. It might not make sense, but if you don’t look just a little bit harder, and ask just the right questions of the world around you, you might miss something that really blows your mind.

So, again, what do I have to say about crutches, or about living with them?

They’re tools. That’s it. You don’t live with tools; you use tools when you need them to get something done. 

That’s it – and that’s all I have to say about crutches.