I’m not a big fan of making adjustments to my wheelchair.
Like many of you, I spend 14-16 hours sitting in my wheelchair every day. The difference between feeling comfortable and making it through the day with no skin issues or fatigued muscles often comes down to adjustments of a few centimeters.
In my dream world, properly setting up all the components and configuring all the measurements would be a one-time deal — “set it and forget it,” to borrow from legendary TV pitch man Ron Popeil. Of course, that’s an impossibility. Parts break, bodies change, needs change.
Years go by with everything working perfectly, body and chair in harmony, each pushing the other to new places. The chair becomes an extension of you, and you find yourself wondering how you ever lived without it. You tell all your friends about this cool thing your chair helped you do, and you plan special excursions just for the two of you. Even though you know you can’t really afford those carbon fiber rims or the newest Frog Legs, you make sacrifices, because by god, you love that chair.
Then one loose bolt or one tiny crack in the frame changes everything. What seems like a small hiccup metastasizes into a slew of new problems. Your physical therapist does their best to fix things, but the problems persist. The smooth ride you’d savored for all those years grows bumpier and bumpier. Your pristine new casters sta