It’d been a while since I last did a wheelchair trial. There were so many moving cogs in my life that while this was always on the register, everything seemed to be the main priority: housing, school, ramps, surgeries. Everything was so important and dominant that it was like colliding atoms, ricocheting off each other and nothing was going to plan. While I was struggling to get on top of everything, I was blessed to have a team who kept fighting for me when conflicting demands too preoccupied me. And I must say that I was and am blessed to have a supportive team. Nothing would have ever happened without them, and I at least was not strong enough to fight as much as they have on my behalf.

This time my OT and physio wanted to turn it into an event (my word, not theirs). As well as themselves and the wheelchair representative, they invited my mum, my friend, and tried to invite a support worker I have but as it wasn’t my usual time they couldn’t make it. I didn’t have any hopes this time and whilst I knew that my mum and friend were there to see if the chair and ramp were practical, I didn’t want them to see something not work again. I didn’t know if I could keep myself together, and I hated anyone seeing me like that, especially those who would want to comfort me.

My physio had said she’d bring one chair but got hold of three. We had to get into the nitty-gritty to choose between them. I didn’t know how to be comfortable or experience it, so my feedback was vague. I did enjoy zooming up and down the street with my friend running after me. It was then on my mum and friend. My physio and OT had brought out a ‘sling’, which was a weird tarp-looking thing that helps lift a chair into the boot. I held my breath as Mum was shown how to use it, then gave it a go herself. She got it in and then I wanted to happy ugly cry. Then she tried the ramp, and she could lift that too. My friend tried both and found the same. I officially had a rental chair.

One of my support workers and I had the goal to go to the Midsumma Carnival. It had been years since I’d gone, and I thought it’d be nice to do something unexpected. It would be the first time I would take my chair out.

There wasn’t accessible parking, but there was a drop-off point. My support worker dropped me off and went to go find parking. I did awkward laps around, waiting for him to return but also looking around the Carnival. Half an hour later he made it and I’d explored a little, even getting a book from one of the library pop-ups and getting a photo with a gorgeous drag queen dressed in the same fabric as the tram seats in Melbourne.

We continued around the festival. I wasn’t great at steering yet, especially on the grass where I got stuck quite a few times – I feel like if it’s on grass, wheelchair accessibility shouldn’t be a box you can tick. The atmosphere was overly positive, and as I’d apologise and joke that I needed Learner plates, I was met with nothing but care and support from these people who were strangers.

Something I’ve written about in the past is about feeling safe. I didn’t feel safe being out alone because what if I got too sore or tired to get home? As my support worker walked back to the car, I whizzed around to say my little goodbye. Goodbye Midsumma and thank you for being somewhere safe. I also bought a ridiculously rainbow hat. I don’t know where it will live at my house, but I love it.

I’ve gone out again since, buying also ridiculous fake plants at Ikea. It was somewhere where I could learn how to control the chair a bit better in a space that’s more forgivable as it has wide aisles.

I'm not an optimistic person. I’ve been burned too many times by the medical system. Even though my team is positive these days, I am still guarded. But I could finally see a road forward, both metaphorically and literally. And I was going to zoom down both of them.

About the author

Ferris Knight is a queer and disabled writer, producer and advocate from Melbourne, Australia represented by Champion Health Agency. Ferris mainly writes about their lived experiences with mental and physical health conditions, as well as queer politics, poetry and fiction. They have also worked with organisations such as Arts Access Victoria, The Dax Centre and Women with Disabilities Victoria. In 2019 they produced their first Melbourne Fringe Festival show LEtGO of Stigma, walking 80 metres across Lego to talk about living with hidden pain and the resilience of those with mental illnesses. In 2020 they were a part of the anthology Closet Cases: Queers on What We Wear from Et Alia Press, writing about sexual harassment.