Yesterday, I met a handsome, young man red hair gleaming, attired in an immaculate suit. I got talking to him because his hands were full, and I hurried to hold open the gas station door for him. After a second’s hesitation I followed him to his car and asked if he needed any more help. He didn’t. He told me with the warmest of smiles that he could strip his wheelchair in 45 seconds – he’d had 13 years of practice, after losing the use of his legs in a car accident at 17. I told him what was true; that he looked absolutely fabulous and then I pushed shut his car door and watched him as he drove off into his future.

I’ve often contemplated the terror of losing my legs. The thought has been with me frequently, ever since I turned 19 and was offered a summer job working as the aide to the Physiotherapy Department in Princess Margaret’s hospital, Swindon. Part of my job involved setting up the gym and helping the mostly elderly patients learn to navigate the hurdles using their new prosthetic legs.

Working with this group of patients woke me up to the seriousness of diabetes – the majority of the patients had lost their legs as a result of the jaundice that resulted from the diabetes – and I got to see firsthand, how painful the prosthetics can be if they are ill-fitting (they would rub the stump into a mass of sores.) One of the most difficult scenes I witnessed was the ward where the amputees were taken immediately following their operations. That memory sits like a shadow in my mind.

At the same time, the gym sessions were often the highlight of my week. Like the young man whom I met yesterday, the elderly patients shone with light. They were always upbeat, full of joyful humor and were appreciative of me. Any love and care that I gave out, I got back tenfold. Moreover, the courage I witnessed in the face of their adversity was truly miraculous to see. In fact it was the memory of that courage, that dignity, that humor which helped me get through the shock of finding out at 34, that I was a type 1 diabetic. It is the memory of that same courage, dignity and humor that has since helped me to stand up to the many chronic conditions that have resulted from the diabetes, including neuropathy, that have dogged my life ever since and which has made visiting the doctors as commonplace as erm, insulin injections.

The fear of losing my legs from diabetes is always with me. I thank God each day for their use and it’s one of the reasons that I prefer to walk anywhere and everywhere. But greater than that fear, is the appreciation that I have for people who must traverse life not on two feet but on wheels. From the lady whom I lived with whose daughter was confined to a wheelchair after a freak fall down the stairs aged 21, to the mother of the son I taught who came in to talk about her life crippled by Multiple Sclerosis to two of the wonderful employees at Crosstown Lifetime Fitness –  I thank you for crossing my path and for reminding me about the strength of the human spirit to rise.

Yesterday, I met a handsome, young man red hair gleaming, attired in an immaculate suit. I got talking to him because his hands were full. I’m glad I did.

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