August 1979, Ulm, Germany
Our destination was the Ulm Minster—at 530 feet, the tallest church in the world. 768 steps begged to be climbed for expansive views of Bavaria, the Danube Valley, the Alps and the Zugspitze—the highest mountain in Germany.
I was 29 years old, a third-year radiology resident, vacationing with my husband and his family. Grinning at Dave and his brother Mark, I threw down the gauntlet. “Beat you to the top! Let’s go!” They were both marathon runners but that didn’t discourage me. I often had unrealistic expectations of being able to best Dave at physical activities.
Within 24 hours, we’d be hit by a train, I’d be rushed into surgery at the trauma hospital in Salzburg, Austria, and when I woke up, I would no longer have legs or my right arm. From running up and down 768 steps to never running or walking again on my own two legs.
Photo Copyright Bavarian State Police Berchtesgaden
How would I get around for the rest of my life? Even though I’d been to medical school, I had a bizarre perception of people in wheelchairs, they had something wrong, they weren’t normal. I did not want to be seen in a wheelchair. I did not want to be seen without legs. Powerful motivators for me to regain my independence—to be able to get out and go again.
In the hospital garden a few days after the accident. Donna, Dave’s mom, with her arms around him and Adrian, a dear family friend, behind me.
Post-op week two, our nurse looked the other way while Dave, with his broken ankle in a walking cast, leaned over, picked me up and sat me in a wheelchair. Then rolled me out the front door of the hospital, over the Salzach River into Old Town Salzburg.
Accompanied by my giggles and squealing, Dave bumped me over cobblestones and curbs to the Mozartplatz. Clutching the armrest with my left hand, I squeezed my short, bandaged legs together to keep from bouncing off into the street. Who knew wheelchair travel could be so dangerous!
Limping as he pushed my wheelchair, Dave steered us down shady, quaint, narrow streets. We gazed at ornate, hanging shop signs and exquisite window displays, drawn on by the heavenly aroma of coffee and bakeries.
So many things to see, places to go. No idea when we’d get there but I now knew that with a wheelchair we could get out and go.
Machu Picchu. It took a while to get here.
768 Steps is part of a series of short pieces about the ways I have been pushed, pulled, carried, rowed and wheeled around the world since 1979. If something has inspired you, or you have found your own way around an obstacle, send it to me and we will share it here.