My mother, who passed away in 2001, had her leg amputated below the knee at the age of 74. She was a strong, grounded, objective woman who lived through the great depression, World War II, the Korean War and Vietnam. She was a devoted Catholic who loved playing roulette in Las Vegas, voraciously read two to three books a week and excelled at complex crossword puzzles. I realize the title of this piece appears a little crude and insensitive. However, Irene Whalon, my mother, often referred to herself as “your one-legged mother.” If I were taking her to an event or dinner gathering, she would often say to me with a wry smile, ” Peter, did you tell them you are bringing your one-legged mother?” Oh, she also possessed a magnificent sense of humor, was tougher than nails and displayed not one ounce of self-pity!
Due to the traumatic surgery and her advanced years, the grueling rehab to become skilled at using her prosthetic leg dragged on for over six months. Learning to use a walker, wheelchair and a host of other devices designed to aid in her mobility also proved quite challenging. By the time she returned home my mom had learned to walk with a walker and get herself in and out of her wheelchair. During our extensive “learning phase,” we encountered a number of humorous situations. Here are a few episodes my dear mother loved sharing with friends and acquaintances.
Throughout the initial period, my on-the-job training involved an awkward trial-and-error chapter. I methodically learned how to get her into my car, load her wheelchair in the back, then get her out into her wheelchair. Of course, she had a handicapped placard allowing me to park in the designated, blue handicap spaces. Often when exiting my car people would give me the “evil eye” noticing I had no apparent handicap. Upon seeing me remove the wheelchair or put my mom into it, they would smile and move on realizing I was not a despicable, opportunistic parking scammer. However, a few times suspicious onlookers would speak up, chastising me before I could demonstrate or explain that my mother, who was in the car, was the handicapped person. One day while I was getting something out of the back seat before retrieving the wheelchair, a burly guy with a scraggly beard parked a few cars away shouted at me. “If you’re not out of that spot in ten seconds I’m calling the cops!” I yelled back, “My mom’s in the front, she’s handicapped.” He responded, “Time’s up dude,” as he reached for his cell phone. Before I could prove the statement, my mom shouted at the guy from the front seat. She was furiously waving her prostatic leg out of the window and screaming at the astonished gentleman, “I only have one leg and I can’t hop very far. Please don’t call the police!” The pitiful, embarrassed guy looked like he was about to have a major coronary. He rushed over and began profusely apologizing to her. About that time my mother’s grip gave out and she dropped her leg at the stunned guy’s feet. He stared at it for about five seconds then quickly picked it up and handed it through the window to my mom. He then hustled around back and began begging for forgiveness. I assured him it was cool and no offense was taken. He shook my hand and hustled back to his car. When I finally got my mom into her wheelchair she looked up at me, smiled and declared, “I don’t think he will do that again.”
I discovered the hard way early on how best to communicate with someone in a wheelchair when you are wheeling them around. Since their back is to you, when you speak you must make sure they heard you and understand what you said. It’s usually necessary to lean forward next to their ear to speak. During her first week home my mother needed to visit the bank. There’s a latched gate leading from the yard with a sloped driveway that ends at the street. As I opened the gate to my mother’s yard, I said, “Mom, put on your wheelchair breaks, I have to shut the gate.” Unknown to me, she hadn’t heard a word I said and consequently had not applied her breaks. Seconds after turning my back toward the gate I heard my mom scream, “Peter, slow down!” She thought I was pushing her too quickly when in fact she was careening out of control down the driveway headed toward the street. My heart dropped to my feet as I raced for the speeding wheelchair. I caught up with it about ten feet from the road and grabbed the handles. My mom turned around and reprimanded me, “Peter Whalon that was not funny. Are you trying to kill me?” I apologized, realizing she had no idea that her chair was running free. I decided it was best to wait and inform her later on of the facts of the incident. After my confession that evening, she would delight in telling anyone who would listen about the day her son tried to take her life by letting her wheelchair roll unattended into oncoming traffic.
