By Michael Losee

When I wake up in the morning I have to strap unsightly
leg braces to my legs, which I've definitely become
accustomed to after two years. I am almost used to
people staring at me. People look at me when I walk
and think it looks hard. They have no clue. I have to
move legs that don't work. I have to stand on legs
I can't feel. When I walk I am in a perpetual cycle of
thought and feel. I am constantly adjusting my balance
and examining my surroundings. If there is a drop of water on
tile and I put my cane on it, my cane will slip and I will fall. I learned that from experience. I glance at my feet often because I have to know where they are in order to balance correctly.

I look at people walking and holding hands, walking up curbs and stairs, running, riding bikes, swimming… the list goes on… and I feel my heart burst with envy; in a good way. It's similar to imagining what it feels like to soar like an eagle. Except I've been there, I know what its like, and I can't do it anymore. But deep down inside I feel gratitude that I walk , because I am a better person and my life has been changed forever.

January 25, 2002 I was in a snowboarding accident which put me in a wheelchair. It was more like a freak accident, really. I was going off a jump and everything was fine. What happened in the air is a total blank. But when I landed on the ground I was on my back sliding down an icy mountain and I couldn't feel or move my legs. I had no idea I was living one of the most important moments in my life, lying there on a cold mountain with a broken back. I suffered a burst/dislocation fracture in the middle of my back. I had surgeries and titanium rods placed to heal my back, but nothing could heal my bruised spinal cord.

Although my back is healed, I am still paralyzed from the waist down. I was told I would never walk again and that I needed to accept the wheelchair and become part of the “wheelchair community.” Experts told me I would go through a phase of anger and depression. They said I could look forward to doing wheelchair sports. They acted like they knew it all, but they didn't know there was a piece of me inside that knew I would walk again. I never let that part of myself die.

If I listened to my doctors I'd still be in a wheelchair. It makes no sense to invest thousands of hours of hard work into walking when I could be moving faster with almost no effort using a wheelchair. The truth is I don't have to walk. Using a wheelchair is definitely easier than walking. Anyone can learn how to use a wheelchair. However, it does have its bad side.

Sitting in a wheelchair all day long for months on end literally atrophied and deformed my body. There were muscles in my back that I had full control of that I simply never used; so they shrunk. I developed a tendency to sit a certain way that made one side of my back larger than the other; the product of slouching all day long, day after day. I developed contracture in my legs, the tendons in my legs actually shortened because they were never lengthened through use; they can't be while sitting in a wheelchair. I had terrible circulation in my lower body and my legs would be swollen with fluid everyday. Since I had bad circulation and sat all day, there was a very high risk that I could develop nasty pressure sores, which can get infected and kill. Everywhere I went, a wheelchair was there as well. I hated loading that wheelchair in and out of my car anytime I went anywhere. I always had to use ramps. Going to a friend's house was ridiculous; I had to be carried in or I just couldn't get in to visit.

There is a piece of what makes me a man that was taken away when I lived in a wheelchair. Everyone automatically pitied me, at least a little bit, without knowing it. Some people would greet me and pat my wheelchair like it was a part of me. Sitting in a wheelchair put me at about waist height to most people, so everyone physically looked down on me. I never could put my finger on it, but people treated me different in a wheelchair. Living in a wheelchair created a strange feeling that encompassed every aspect of my life.

During this time of my life I had neither the means nor resources to walk. Outside of a complete miracle, there was no way in sight that my dream of walking could become a reality. I didn't know how or when I could be able to walk again, I just knew that I would one day; it was simply a matter of time.

I never did imagine how much work it would take to learn how to walk again. By no coincidence, the only place in the world that works with complete injuries is in Provo , Utah . There are other programs for people with incomplete injuries, but usually if a person can't move or feel their legs no one bothers.

I spent four months working on the floor; learning how to crawl, how to balance on knees, and even walking on my knees with mini canes. I did other exercises as well, all designed to strengthen my decrepit body. I had to learn how to crawl to activate my hip flexors, the muscles I use to move my legs forward. Walking on my knees taught me how to shift my hips and balance, the mode in which I lift my legs in order to move them forward while standing. After those four months on the floor, I was ready for leg braces. I broke records for taking steps in leg braces my first day up and never using the parallel bars; I credit this to all the hard work I did on the floor. After eight months in the program I got rid of my wheelchair, never to use it again.

I never realized how hard I would have to work when I started; I was learning everyday that it was harder than I ever thought. It would take me over a half hour to walk into a restaurant or inside my house when I first started walking. But I persevered and over months of time and effort I become faster and more functional. The work was hard, but I knew if I quit the program, I couldn't live with myself in a wheelchair when I knew I could be walking.

From August 2002 to August 2004, I woke up early in the morning, drove sixty-eight miles to Provo and finished a grueling two hour work out, then drove home another sixty-eight miles. I never realized what a huge commitment of time and energy that was until I stopped going. I don't walk as fast as I could go in a wheelchair and walking takes much more energy and effort. I'll just say I know what it feels like to be paralyzed and stuck in a wheelchair, and I don't feel that way anymore; and that is priceless. I definitely paid the price to walk.

I now reap the benefits of walking. People treat me normal. Most people have no clue I am paralyzed. People assume there is something wrong with a person in a wheelchair, but there's not much wrong with walking half the speed of most people. When I talk with people, I can stand and look them in the eye; rather than sitting at waist height, craning my neck looking up. I can stand and receive hugs from friends, family, and attractive girls. Getting into friends houses is no problem. I even live in an upstairs apartment, where a wheelchair just can't go. All the risks and health problems from living in a wheelchair are gone. My bones and joints are strong and will not turn brittle from lack of use. My body is healthy. I have the satisfaction and assurance that I can handle any challenge that comes my way. I see challenge as a tool to make me strong.

That piece inside of me that knew I would walk again is still there, only it has evolved. I know that one day I won't be paralyzed at all. I will be whole, like I was never paralyzed in the least degree. I don't know how or when, but it will happen. My body will be left unchanged and normal, but my mind and my spirit will have grown beyond that of anything possible without this trial. In the long run this ailment, which crippled my life for a time, will become a complete blessing. It was strange, at first, when I realized I am grateful for this adversity in my life. But now I understand that the best blessings come in disguise. When I see a challenge, I see an opportunity. I've learned challenge and progress go hand in hand. I've realized there are other aspects of my life, where I take the easy way out, that are just as enervating as sitting in a wheelchair. This cannot be; I know I must rise to walk.