I've been in a wheelchair since 1992, so for 26 years now. This is my first custom-fitted wheelchair. It represents freedom to me: freedom to participate in life when my ability to walk and run is no longer what it was before.
I have incomplete paraplegia, meaning I can cover short distances with walking aids. Without walking aids, my pelvis becomes unstable, and I tip over, unable to take a step. When I had an accident and realized I could no longer work at my company because it involved multiple floors, I was devastated. I trained hard and eventually collapsed because I simply couldn't return to my old state. I couldn't imagine working again—and where would I? In a dusty archive, shuffling files back and forth? At some point, I had to accept that I would be largely dependent on a wheelchair. And that taught me a lot. I tried everything, flew on vacation, and explored cities. With my car, which I had modified specifically for me, I could keep up with the so-called pedestrians. I found a great job where I was also in the public eye. The wheelchair was no longer a stigma, but a wonderful tool to enjoy my freedom the way I had been able to before. Of course, there are limitations, but they're not that serious; they can be compensated for. I'm much freer with a wheelchair than when I was trying to walk more or less. For me, freedom is being able to do the things I enjoy, the things that help me progress. The wheelchair naturally shows signs of wear and tear, having been through so much with me: trips to Greece, bus trips, uphill climbs, downhill climbs, off-road tours, water, snow... It's accompanied me like a pair of shoes, which naturally wear out after a while. It's still functional, so I keep it as a reserve. A kind of freedom in reserve.
