In no way, shape, or form, am I using this platform to promote weight loss. Nor do I want to body-shame anyone. This is my own story and perspective.

“Why do you need to lose weight?” My cousin Paula said to me over the phone.  “You’ve been a stick since you were a baby.”

I laughed recalling years of being the skinny, knobby-kneed girl who could eat anything she wanted and not gain weight. But now I’m 48 and a power wheelchair user. Losing weight is much more challenging—simply because I burn zero calories even if I take my dogs for a one-mile walk.

Losing weight became about moving with ease, with or without help.  Up until eleven years ago, I transferred by myself to and from my power wheelchair, bed, the toilet, the driver’s seat of my van, and the couch. The less I weighed, the easier it was for me to heave my dead weight off whatever I was sitting on and for my weak lower body to support me.

When I moved into a condo with my boyfriend, Greg, everything changed. We bought a new bed, put in hardwood floors and a roll-in shower.

The household’s furniture, functionality, all its logistics were different to my previous home of nine years. There was no carpet to provide traction for my feet, the bed was higher, and there was no wall of a bathtub to use for stability as well as extra space for grab bars. (I used to press my feet against the wall to ensure my feet didn’t slip as I transferred to the toilet.)

Greg had to help me with every transfer.  Suddenly, how I lived was linked to him. At first, I resented him. I had a short fuse and refused to laugh at his jokes.  But soon settled into the comfort of having someone helping me who knew the intricacies of my body.

If my significant other was younger—he’s in his 60s—and didn’t have back problems, the toll on his body may not have been as great. Lifting me is a wrench on his already tense muscles. Again, it’s dead weight. My barely-there leg muscles offer no help whatsoever. My arms just wrap around his neck, clinging to his body.

Thankfully my parents stepped in and purchased a ceiling lift for me. The contraption is attached to a track going from the bed into the bathroom—gliding me to and fro without anyone needing to strain their back. I joke and tell people it’s not a sex swing. The truth is, it’s important to our process and I know many people need the same, but few receive it due to cost and/or ability to install.

I could potentially use the lift by myself because it’s operated via remote. However, it would require a lot of energy from me, which I need for other things. Plus, it’s not much use when we’re not at home.

Between 2015 and 2019, we went on multiple road trips to Arkansas and Wisconsin from our home in San Diego. That meant Greg had to transfer me himself multiple times a day in between driving four to ten hours a day and carry my luggage, shower wheelchair, etc. to and from the vehicle.

Greg, loving me as he does, never complained. I knew all the lifting was not good for him when I saw him taking Aleve and groaning with discomfort as he got out of bed each day.

That fall, I decided I had to lose weight—not only because I was noticing my fuller face and growing buddha-belly, but because we had planned on making several more trips in the coming year. I wanted to make things less strenuous for him.

I went to a gym with a handcycle so I was able to burn off a few calories and tried to eat healthier. (see my previous post on Accessible Food for why eating healthy can  be difficult.)

Following the first wave of Covid,  I had no way of accessing the equipment.

As a result, I focused on my caloric intake. This is where the pandemic actually helped. I couldn’t go to my local hard cider brewery for trivia night, or hang out at Starbucks, where I drank too many calories. I didn’t go out to eat.

Although the idea of eating and drinking less made me want to cry for the loss of my ability to eat anything, I held the “why” for my restraint firm in my mind. Yes, I wanted to look better but more than that, my why is because my partner’s well-being is directly connected to mine.