My Other Significant Other

Well, it’s here. At approximately 1:13 PM last Thursday afternoon, my new power chair rolled into my apartment and forever changed my life.

This might seem a gross exaggeration, but if you saw the smile that foolishly flashes across my face at the mere thought of my partner in mobility, you’d know that I’m not speaking in hyperbole when I say that from the moment I laid eyes on my beautiful Quantum Edge 3, I knew it was right. Love at first sight, if you will. My attraction to it wasn’t merely superficial, either: indeed, although I’ll admit that I was immediately awed by its stunning physique, especially by its handsome purple shrouds, more important than its striking exterior was what lay within.

I made pretty darn clear in my last post that the temporary wheelchair I had on loan most of the summer facilitated a huge reclamation of independence. It was ancient and not entirely fitted to me, making for an uncomfortable ride, but it did the trick, and I grew very fond of it, clunkiness and all. I knew that our relationship would be temporary so refrained from forming a true bond with it—I’d save that for a chair that was actually mine. Still, I was content. How much of a difference could an updated version of the same device make?

I received the answer to this rhetorical question on New Chair Day. The morning of, abuzz with my trademark mix of anxiety and enthusiasm, I couldn’t concentrate on anything but the back of the door, which I kept firmly in my gaze as I sat waiting for my OT and my accessibility consultant to arrive with my chair. By this time, I’d grown ever impatient and annoyed at the loaner chair’s quirks and fantasized about what an improvement my new chair would be despite my lingering affection for the old one. My nerves were heightened when excitement mutated into doubt on New Chair Eve. All of a sudden, I was sure that the wrong chair had been ordered and/or that I should’ve done more research and/or that funding would fall through at the last minute. Maybe I should keep the retirement-age power chair FOREVER! I told myself. (My resistance to change knows no bounds.) The stakes thus felt much higher than they were.

Even before the tech adjusted the new chair and I took its smooth majesty out for a spin, it was clear that I needn’t have worried. (As an aside, if I ever get a tattoo, it’ll be “You needn’t have worried” written in tidy cursive in the crook of my elbow. Classy and practical.) In the week we’ve been together, I’ve confirmed over and over and over that this is the chair for me. It rides like a dream, it’s so comfy, and it’s already taken me many places. Best of all, I feel incredibly confident in it. As is the case in most healthy relationships—including the one I have with my human significant other—it makes me a better version of myself.

And so today, our one-week anniversary, my Quantum and I will go for a celebratory ice cream. It’ll give me the gift of transportation, and I’ll eat an extra scoop on its behalf because that’s the kind of supportive partner I am.