Dusty Wentworth

It was the sunshine streaming through a small gap in the curtains that woke me—an ordinary beginning to what would become an extraordinary day. For a brief moment, as my eyes adjusted to the light, everything seemed… normal. Then I saw my wheelchair at the side of the bed and reality reasserted itself with the subtlety of a sledgehammer. It’s in that moment every morning that I have a choice: do I board the Rumination Express, bound for despair and self-pity? Or do I choose to live, to fight, and to grab hold of the day with both hands—dodgy nerves and all? As usual, the day began with a 14-tablet cocktail, washed down with a strong coffee. Over breakfast, decisions had to be made. The "Family Olympics" had been declared—my niece and her boyfriend had challenged us to ten-pin bowling, arcade games, and pool. Today was the day of reckoning. First task: choosing the right set of wheels. With my custom active-user chair still in production for another two weeks, I op...