The Glaring Light of Humanity

I could kick this bad world's ass if I could just get on my feet! -- Jon Bon Jovi

It's interesting to see how people react to me in my gimpy state.

It may be that for empathy purposes, Boulder, Colorado is the ideal place to be on crutches. It's certainly not for regular old getting around -- a giant hill on the way to campus and 80 inches of snow every winter don't help matters much.

But many of the people who see me hobbling around are invariably thinking, "Man, I remember how rough that was." I know this because they tell me.

As I hobbled slowly down the steps of a building to get to my exam on Saturday night, a random student saw me and waited to hold the door. "Thanks, I really appreciate it," I said. "Sorry, it'll take me a little while to get all the way down."

"No problem, man," he replied. "I was like that last year, I know how tough it is."

And that's pretty much the theme. From the girl who held the door for me after my journalism class. From someone using a computer next to me in the Business School library. From a lot of people.

Of course, I get everyone's war stories to go with it. Mo, who is in two of my classes, told me how she broke her leg windsurfing while studying abroad in Australia. She also told me how the doctor who was treating her kept the leg in a cast far too long, and it took a friend urging her to go to another doctor to start walking and truly healing it.

Sam Fitch, the director of the Environmental Studies Program I'm in here, told me that many moons ago he managed to pop both knee ligaments while skiing. He got them surgically repaired not too long after doctors actually started doing that type of surgery.

It's interesting to see people try to get out of my way or otherwise wrestle with whether they should do something to help. Some people are just open about it -- "I wish I could do something to help, but I don't think I can," said one woman as I one-foot-and-one-crutched my way down a long flight of stairs.

I thanked her for her consideration. Others seem more awkward, not sure quite what to do. It reminds me of myself, often unsure what to do when I see a blind person or someone in a wheelchair. I know I should get out of the way of the wheelchair and make sure the blind person doesn't step in front of a moving car, but is there a point where I go too far? Is being too helpful to someone whose condition is permanent a potential affront?

People who see me might have that passing thought, but it's certainly a different situation. My condition is temporary. Theoretically, I will regain my full abilities and blend back in with the walking world. Crutches are something many can relate to -- it's not that uncommon to have hurt a leg and needed a pair of these aluminum friends. Besides, in my uncomfortable state I probably need the help.

I do, as I said before, have a great deal of respect for those who make their way through the world with a permanent disability. We might have the Americans with Disabilities Act here (and it's a damn good thing, too) that makes sure we have wheelchair ramps and elevators in new buildings, but that doesn't mean society is all that accomodating. It's meant for the vast majority, for those who can dance foolishly as I used to do.

In Cambodia, I saw land mine victims who made their way around a country with little pavement by using a wooden crutch or a prosthetic leg. We made wheelchairs for them, inexpensive but sturdy affairs with mountain bike tires meant to survive on the country's dirt roads.

When I saw them, they always had smiles on their faces.