I have not yet written about what it is like to be married to someone with a serious disability. My husband broke his back in a car accident and became paralyzed from the waist down when he was in college. When I met him, I was a first year law student and he was a second year law student. We lived in the same apartment building for graduate students.
The first time I met my husband, I got into a long conversation with him in the hallway outside his apartment door. I connected with him right away and found myself incredibly happy and excited after I talked to him. I told everyone I knew that I had just met the most amazing person. Despite the fact that I liked him so much right away, it did not cross my mind to think of him as a potential date or boyfriend. In fact, it was around this time that I went out on a few dates with my very tall, very blonde, very handsome legal writing partner, whom I hoped would be my boyfriend despite the lack of any sparks, mainly because he was very tall, very blonde and very handsome.
Meanwhile, though, I would stop by my future husband's apartment from time to time. He kept telling me that I needed outlines specific to my professor's classes and that he could get me some outlines prepared by students the previous year. "Come back in a week, and I'll have the outline for your Contracts class," he would say. Throughout the semester, he kept stringing me along with various outlines and notes that he insisted I would need. I thought it was odd that he was going out of his way to help me so much, but I really enjoyed talking with him and being with him. At the end of the semester, I cooked him chili in his apartment to thank him for all he had done.
I figured that he might be attracted to me. However -- and this was so callous of me, it's hard to admit -- I assumed that he knew and had accepted that dating me was out of the question. During the winter holiday, I happened to read a Miss Manners column that said, in effect, don't ever assume that someone doesn't expect to date you. I remember that it dawned on me at that point that he might have serious expectations for our relationship. I also remember thinking that he was awfully good-looking.
Nonetheless, I avoided him like the plague when we got back to school because I just didn't know how to deal with what promised to be a very sticky situation. Finally, though, I ran into him in our building, he invited me into his apartment, and he seduced me. Even after that point, however, when we became a couple, I had a great deal of doubt about his disability. Mostly, it was fear of the unknown. I imagined that his ability to function and do things on his own was a lot more limited than it actually is. I was also afraid to ask him questions about his disability. I educated myself mainly by going to Barnes and Noble and reading a chapter here and there from John Hockenberry's autobiography, Moving Violations. It was a sign, I suppose, of my doubt and uncertainty that I never actually bought the book until years later.
It turned out that in many ways my future husband was a lot less limited than I. During finals, I learned that he was a source of unending calm. During the summer, he taught me to drive. By the time he asked me to marry him that fall, I didn't hesitate to say yes-- even though I still wasn't sure to what extent his disability would have an impact on our lives together.
In fact, it has very little impact and I rarely think about it. My husband is completely self-sufficient. He earns his own living as an attorney, he drives, and he does housework. The most awkward thing is having to decline people's invitations if their homes are not wheelchair accessible, but we have a good social life meeting people in bars or restaurants or at our house. We can only conceive a child if we undergo significant medical intervention, but I am perfectly content to adopt a child if we decide we want to become parents. Probably the thing I miss most is international travel, but I certainly had my fill of traveling when I was growing up and we probably wouldn't want to spend our money on overseas vacations anyway.
I have never once heard or seen my husband exhibit any depression due to his disability. He is lucky in that he had the opportunity to adapt to being in a wheelchair as a very young man, and his condition is stable. He once actually uttered the words to me, "Being disabled is fun," and he said that he only became depressed about his disability once, shortly after his accident, so he took a nap. His legs often cause him a great deal of pain but he prefers not to use prescription painkillers. He never complains and I can only tell that he is in pain because he will start rubbing his leg.
Occasionally, we encounter odd reactions from people, which then become fodder for our repeated amusement. There was my father's warning that I was setting myself up for "a hard life." My former roommate from college praised me for my "goodness," as though my marriage were some act of martyrdom. Someone else called me "a beacon of hope" for all people with disabilities. A neighbor mistakenly thought that I was my husband's live-in maid.
In reality, of course, we are like any other married couple. We like to watch movies, go out to eat, and dance around to music (well I hop around and he laughs). My husband's main passions are music, sports, and cigars. I admire my husband's kindness, calmness, laid back attitude, dry wit, spontaneity and a whole host of other qualities.