Today I took a shower standing up—a monumental accomplishment in my new world, and one that elicited high-fives from my physical therapist and doctors. It’s hard to believe that less than a year ago, the very same act would have been met with equal enthusiasm, but for very different reasons, namely that I found running water warm enough to stand under, washing away miles and miles of hard-earned dirt and grime. Thanks to reconstructive surgery on my foot (if you haven’t read my previous posts), I’ve ditched my outdoor enthusiast, no-holds-barred crowd for one that can’t go to the bathroom without bars to hold onto.

Moving around on crutches and being ferried about in a wheelchair have put serious limitations on my world and thrust me unwillingly into a group that favors caution over risk and whose path of least resistance is well worn. Having traveled a fair bit around the world, I’ve long prided myself on being quick on my feet and easily adaptable to foreign situations. Who knew that without those same feet, my “skills” would be seriously tested. For example, getting a glass of water. Seems simple enough, right? Not really. On crutches, the first order of business is getting the glass to the sink. That accomplished, and after filling it up, comes the almost insurmountable task of getting it over to the couch. Through a series of slides down the counter, then two bridge transfers onto a breakfront and then a coffee table, I settle down on the couch, thirst at an all-time high, and down the glass of water, rendering my glass empty again. And let’s talk about using public restrooms, which are minefields for those who can’t easily get around. Negotiating the slippery floor to the toilet, using the toilet and then the final insult of trying to wash your hands is as great a challenge as any I’ve ever faced (note to bathroom designers: placing the soap out of reach of the faucet and the dryers on the opposite wall is downright Machiavellian. And don’t get me started on the paper towel dispenser that requires two hands to pull a piece down!).

In all of this, I’ve encountered hundreds of small kindnesses, mainly from people who have hobbled in my shoes, which have far outweighed the hurdles. The unsolicited offers to help me get the groceries to the car or hold the door open often come with stories about their own experiences with being temporarily laid up. This tribe understands the tiny nuances that can hamper the simplest of tasks, and its members are always at the ready to lend a hand. Just as fellow campers offer up use of their laundry facilities when I pass through, my new tribe also instinctively understands what would truly be helpful, from installing a handheld shower to rigging a bungee cord to my front door so I can pull it closed behind me. This temporary glimpse into a world of mind-boggling frustration has afforded me a new perspective, and one that I will try to carry forward, now that I am able. Honestly, it’s really no big deal to wait a minute more for a bathroom stall to free up rather than using the vacant handicapped one. I now know that those sixty seconds can mean the difference between an easy pee and a wall-gripping, thigh-burning debacle for some.