Does this wheelchair make me look fat?

Welcome to my first blog post!

Ironically, this wasn't supposed to be a blog post at all. I was attempting to write the "About Me" section for this website when I realized I had already written way too much. Apparently, I have opinions. And stories. Lots and lots of stories.

So here we are.

My name is Suzanne. I'm 39 years old (and actively pretending 40 isn't lurking around the corner), recently engaged to an amazing man named Johnny, and living in Frisco, Texas with our dog Dot and cat Buddy. We recently bought our first house together, which means I now spend an alarming amount of time talking about things like mortgage rates, paint colors, and whose turn it is to do the dishes. Adulthood is weird.

As you've probably already figured out from the giant picture on the homepage—or perhaps from the title of this blog—the first thing most people notice about me is that I'm in a wheelchair.

It's kind of hard to miss.

While being a wheelchair user is only one part of who I am, it has shaped my life in ways I never could have imagined. It affects how I travel, where I go, how I navigate the world, and occasionally whether I can even get into a building.

And trust me, I have stories.

Some are funny. Some are frustrating. Some are downright ridiculous.

Over the years, I've discovered that many people have never had a close friendship with someone who has a physical disability. Once they do, they start noticing things they never paid attention to before. Suddenly they're questioning why someone parked in a handicap space without a permit. They're noticing inaccessible entrances.

They're wondering if a restaurant's bathroom is large enough for a wheelchair.

I hear the same thing all the time:

"Wow, I never thought about that before."

And honestly, why would they?

Before my accident, I didn't think about those things either.

That's one of the reasons I started this blog. I want to share my experiences and help people see the world through a different lens. Not because I want sympathy or special treatment, but because accessibility matters, and sometimes the best way to understand something is through someone else's story.

But don't worry.

This won't be one of those blogs where I spend all my time standing on a soapbox yelling at people.

Mainly because getting onto a soapbox would be really difficult from a wheelchair.

There will absolutely be stories about accessibility and disability awareness, but there will also be stories about travel disasters, embarrassing moments, family drama, medical adventures, relationships, and the countless ridiculous situations I've somehow managed to find myself in over the years.

Because if there's one thing I've learned, it's that life doesn't stop being funny just because it gets hard.

Now, if we're going to get to know each other, I should probably explain how I ended up in a wheelchair in the first place.

Oddly enough, I don't think about it very often anymore. Most days, I'm focused on the same things everyone else is focused on—work, relationships, paying bills, deciding what's for dinner, and trying to convince my pets that they're not actually starving to death.

But every now and then I'll catch my reflection in a store window and think:

"Holy crap. How in the hell did I end up like this?"

And every single time, my mind goes back to April 4, 1996.

I was seventeen years old. A little over a month away from my eighteenth birthday. Less than two months away from high school graduation. And absolutely convinced I had my entire life figured out.

I was a gymnast and one of five seniors on a team preparing for Regionals. We were chasing our third consecutive Texas state championship, and if I'm being completely honest, we were kind of bad ass.

The morning of April 4th, I woke up feeling awful. I had one of those sinus infections that seemed to arrive every spring and fall like an unwanted houseguest. My mom told me I should stay home from practice.

I wish I had listened.

But I was a senior, one of the team leaders, and there was no way I was missing practice right before a major competition. So I ignored her advice, climbed into my little black Isuzu pickup, and headed to school.

That decision would change my life forever.

Before every practice, our coach would share something motivational with us. Sometimes it was a reading. Sometimes it was a speech. That morning she showed us a clip from Rocky IV where Rocky is training in Russia.

Looking back, maybe we should have watched Ferris Bueller's Day Off instead.

After the video, we split up to begin our workouts.

I headed straight for the uneven bars.

A few months earlier, I had signed a full gymnastics scholarship to the University of Oklahoma. It wasn't exactly the path I had envisioned for myself. I was burned out on gymnastics and had fallen in love with cheerleading. The University of Texas cheer coach had encouraged me to try out for their squad, but reality had other plans.

Long story short, a full scholarship won.

So I returned to club gymnastics to regain some of the more difficult skills I'd stopped doing during high school.

One of those skills was a double back dismount off the uneven bars.

I had successfully completed it dozens of times during practice. Just not at the end of a routine. And that distinction turned out to be important.

That morning, I decided I was finally going to add it to my routine.

I finished the last skill, swung up into a handstand, and told myself to go for it.

I let go of the bar.

Immediately, something felt wrong.

Gymnasts develop what we call air awareness. No matter how many flips or twists you're doing, you almost always know where you are.

Not this time.

I had no idea.

For the first time in fourteen years of gymnastics, I was completely lost in the air.

I tried to bail out. Too late.

I remember closing my eyes and thinking:

"This is going to hurt."

Then...BAM. Floor, meet Suzanne. Suzanne, meet floor.

It was not a successful introduction.

When I landed, it felt like my legs were sticking straight up in the air. I opened my eyes. They weren't. I couldn't feel them. I immediately started screaming.

Somehow, before the paramedics even arrived, I knew.

I was paralyzed.

The next several weeks are mostly a blur of surgeries, hospitals, rehab, tears, fear, and trying to understand what my future would look like. I had broken my spine at the T10 vertebra and underwent surgery to stabilize it with metal rods and a spinal fusion.

I was told I would never walk again.

These days, when people ask what happened, I usually give them a much shorter version.

"I broke my back in a gymnastics accident when I was seventeen and have been paralyzed ever since."

Then comes the awkward silence.

You know the one. I feel weird. They feel weird. Nobody knows what to say next.

Usually I jump in with, "But it's okay. Life is good."

And honestly, it is.

What happened to me was both the worst thing and one of the most important things that ever happened in my life.

I would never wish it on anyone. But I also wouldn't be the person I am today without it.

So now that I've thoroughly depressed everyone, here's a picture of my dog Dot.

You're welcome.

I hope you'll come back and read future posts. I promise they won't all be this heavy. Some of them will make you laugh. Some might make you cry. Most will probably do a little of both.

Life has been messy, complicated, heartbreaking, hilarious, and completely unpredictable.

And honestly?

It makes for some pretty good stories.

#paralysis #wheelchair #gymnastics #accessibility #physicaldisability #disability