Independence Day
Two years ago I was diagnosed with Pulmonary Fibrosis - Interstial Lung Disease, an incurable and life threatening condition which effects the lungs and over the next few months I felt my world closing in little by little, options were being limited, energy, stamina and breathing became issues and I felt like I was losing control of my of my abilities. At the end of last year I was diagnosed with cancer in a number of places around the chest, stomach and spine.
Somewhere in there, struggling to find positives (there have since been many) I decided that I would go for “smiles” and regained contact with the inner child (that I suppose I had never really lost).
I thought back and remembered how much fun I had as an 8 year old growing up in Paddington rattling over the pavements on my little Triang Scooter - and later, the roads, on and in a variety of wheeled vehicles through the years since.
So I bought a micro kick scooter and started taking it with me everywhere I went. Joy is the best word to describe the experience, not only did it allow me to be properly mobile again but it brought an unexpected new joy into my life as well as in the eyes of all the people that have stopped me and asked about the scooters ever since (and trust me there have been many).
Anyway...
I was scooting through the local shopping mall this morning when someone came up to me and said "I love what you are doing there". What was I doing? I was kicking my latest scooter through the mall heavily laden with shopping bags and oxygen cylinders. She told me she was a nurse and that there are people - both carers and sufferers - that would be interested in my "approach" to disability.
So I came home and decided to write about it.
So this is me, the Bad Scooterist.
Photo: The boy with scooter at Ménilmontant Paris 1934 Robert Doisneau
