A week before my fall, my mother-in-law took a video of me walking on my crutches.
It was at my son’s fourth birthday party, where I was rushing around trying to organize a sack race for kids who had never encountered one before. There was a lot of bouncing, hustling, and general chaos. It was not my most flattering moment.
I’m not exactly known for allowing people to film me walking on crutches. Somewhere out in the universe, though, security footage of my everyday life exists. I assume it’s gathering dust in some inaccessible database as the only other known record of my former mobility.
At the time, I wasn’t thrilled to discover I’d been filmed in action. Little did I know I was starring in what would become an important piece of evidence.
In hindsight, I’m awfully glad she hit record.
Since my injury, I’ve used that video several times to show doctors and physical therapists what I could do before my mobility changed. It’s surprisingly difficult to explain how easily I once moved around on crutches when the person you’re talking to has only ever known you in a wheelchair.
“Two weeks before my fall, I was in Maine on a sailboat! Walking around the deck while it rocked. With waves. And morning dew. No problem!”
“The week before my fall, my son had swim lessons four days in a row. I walked across slippery indoor pool decks and navigated the locker room showers every single day.”
“I was hiking up a rocky, 45-degree slope without even getting short of breath!”
“My Fitbit says I walked several miles a day on crutches! Shouldn’t that be multiplied by 2 if you have one leg?”
Each declaration was met with the same blank, vaguely doubtful expression. Because disabled amputee women in their 40’s do not do these things. My former life required supporting documentation.
Fortunately, I have video evidence.
Meanwhile, Ricky has been operating the van lift for my scooter for two years. What started as a little boy helping Mom and given a task to keep him close in parking lots has turned into a genuine skill. Now that I can’t walk, he can guide an unfamiliar adult through the process of getting my scooter out of the van.
This week, he did exactly that.
At four years old, Ricky has become a scooter-lift technician, and a training supervisor.
I’m not sure what his hourly rate is, but I suspect it involves snacks. In fact, after our doctor appointment his impressed trainee upgraded the compensation package by treating both of us to lunch!
It’s funny, the things that become important after life changes unexpectedly. A video you didn’t think much of. A little boy learning how to help. Ordinary moments that turn out to be anything but ordinary.
We spend so much time thinking about what we’ll need tomorrow that we rarely recognize what we’re collecting today.
Sometimes it’s a video. Sometimes it’s a skill. Sometimes it’s a four-year-old who knows more about your van than the adult he’s training.
And sometimes, it’s someone who thinks to capture a moment you don’t yet realize you’ll want to keep.
I’m glad my mother-in-law thought to film it. Who knew that one day I’d need video evidence to convince medical professionals that I used to be considerably more mobile than a decorative throw pillow?
