The decisions involved with being a parent are sometimes so frightening that one may wonder how anyone has the courage to take on the challenge.   Parenthood is a receipe made of one part optimism and two parts commitment, mixed in with a heaping measure of self-sacrifice.  Combine all these ingedients, add an extra serving of bravery, and you have the formula for raising children from a wheelchair.

In 1979, at age four, I was paralyzed from the chest down due to a spinal cord injury I sustained in an automobile accident.  As a young quadriplegic, I had a healthy and vibrant life. But I knew, without asking, that motherhood may not be in my future.  It would present obvious obstacles; both physical and emotional.  Most of my young life, I quietly prayed that I would be able to experience maternity.

When true love found its way to me and after two years of blissful marriage, my husband, Aaron, and I began discussing our options.  There was always adoption.  I was more than able and willing to go in that direction. But we both felt very compelled to try conventional conception. Once again, I prayed.  Six weeks later, I read a positive pregnancy test.  The emotions that flooded my mind varied from absolute surprise and excitement to uncertainty and anxiety. 

Becoming a parent was something I did not enter into carelessly.  I was completely aware of the complications that were associated with pregnancy and Spinal Cord Injury.  There was opposition, from family and physicians, as both were concerned that complications would occur and have harmful effects on my frail body. 

On March 13, 2000, a healthy boy, weighing 5 lbs 3 oz was born.  The almost full-term delivery occurred without any difficulties, and left my doctors, nurses and family in awe.  My challenges had only just begun. 

An old expression claims that necessity is the mother of invention. Innovation was more like a survival skill for me.  Caring for my newborn required support of my husband and close family members.   The things that able-bodied parents might take for granted required me to use specialized methods to independently care for my son.  A special crib, which opened differently than traditional cribs, was purchased.  Then my husband had to lower the crib to the height of my wheelchair.  The crib doubled as my changing table.   

Trying to get Dylan off the floor, dressing him and putting on his diapers was difficult for me.  But as Dylan grew and developed, so did our techniques.  A challenge would arise.  We would come up with a new solution.  Over-alls became the only clothing my son wore while he was crawling.  The straps served as a way for me to lift him into my lap. 

Then when Dylan was 19 months old, I watched him use his teeth to open a wrapper on a piece of candy. It was an innocent imitation of me.  I’m certain that he’d seen me do this many times. I didn’t know whether I wanted to laugh or cry.  Quadriplegia had diminished most of the strength in my hands.  Therefore, I often use my teeth as tools. It just never occurred to my little Dylan that he could use her fingers instead.

As challenging as being a mother in a wheelchair can be, it did not prevent me from trying it once more.  Four years after Dylan, came little Clay.  This pregnancy offered its own set of challenges.  Premature labor at twenty-one weeks required me to stay on complete bed rest until his birth at thirty-five weeks gestation.  Miraculously, my son was healthy, never spending a day in the NICU.

 My boys, now nine and five, complete a beautiful portrait of an answered prayer.  There are few questions about my disability. The boys just see me as mom.  They’ve just grown up with my wheelchair and have their own perspective of my life. In fact, Dylan has developed his own unique way to tell his inquisitive friends about my limitations. 

Dylan, why is your mom in a wheelchair?  He responds, She was in an accident.  Now she rides in her cool wheelchair. Her legs are a little rusty.  My momma can do almost anything. This is all just part of the everyday for my children. And in the end, I think they will be all the better because of it. For them, disability is a part of normal life.

On a routine shopping trip at the mall, my boys caught me by surprise.  They both had earned allowances-for helping around the house.   Over and over, they begged to visit the toy store.  Again and again, I said no.  Clever as they are, they teamed up together and pushed my wheelchair into their favorite store.  I realize that some may think this was an act of disobedience.  However, kids will be kids and my boys are not above rising to use my limitations to their advantage. By the way, my husband takes advantage of it as well.  He hides his delightful Oreo cookies on top of our refrigerator, out of my reach. The moral of this story, is that laughter is the best coping method in parenthood.