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i saw a writing advice post today that contained the sentence “getting a mobility aid is not a tragedy (unless it’s a standard hospital wheelchair)”
and i get it. except when the hospital where i’m being treated assigned me a bulky, creaky, heavy standard chair of my own, it meant that i could go outside for the first time in weeks. it meant that my girlfriend could take me with her to pick up a soda. it meant that i could catch the first snowflakes of december on my coat and in my hair. after spending weeks in bed, even a chair i can barely push myself in, that bruises my knuckles on every doorway, that skids on carpet, and that has the world’s hugest bulkiest handles, means freedom
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