In this day and age of modern conveniences and scientific advancements, we often convince ourselves we can find a solution to whatever we might encounter throughout our lives. Somebody has already faced the same situation, so there must be a remedy, book, or a podcast that will get us through it. As they say, “There’s an app for that!”
While it’s true that we can usually find some sort of resource about countless subjects, we figure out in time that no matter how confidently someone gives us pointers, there’s no one size fits all solution. Although another person has had the same diagnosis or problem as we have, they don’t always have the same circumstances, mindset, or goals we do. That’s the reason I shy away from giving advice in the direct form of x+y=z in this blog, even when it comes to subjects in which I’m very familiar.
Being disabled, I’ve discovered time and again that I can’t depend on established patterns or so-called experts to present me with a paved pathway through the various dilemmas I’ve come across. Don’t get me wrong—I’m not one to defy standards or have a closed mindset toward the norms offered. I’ve found immense benefits from following doctors’ and therapists’ suggestions about my care. However, I’ve also run into many instances when my supportive family and I have needed to get innovative and create our own answer to a problem instead of simply accepting the insufficient one we were given.
A prime example of this pertained to my need for a walker when I was a young child. Back then, it seemed obvious that I would be given a walker sooner or later to—dramatic pause—LEARN how to walk. To our surprise, however, the seemingly inevitable outcome was withheld like a carrot on a stick for months and months. The therapist who was treating me at the time maintained that I needed to learn how to stand like a princess before she’d recommend me to get a walker.
Now, I’m not one to knock on a professional’s methods, but this strategy did not work for me. For starters, I still can’t stand like a princess thirty years later, so I never would’ve fit her criteria. Half-joking aside, I couldn’t make much progress during the months she wouldn’t allow me to even use a walker in therapy. The ordeal drained me mentally, too, given all I wanted to do was walk, and the very person we entrusted to help me achieve that seemed to impede my efforts more still.
Enter my jack-of-all-trades master-of-most father. A carpenter, Dad decided that if I wasn’t going to have a traditional walker, he would make me one. Thus, he bought some PVC pipes, sketched a design, and went to work. His masterpiece turned out to be exactly what I needed and helped me make the strides I so desperately wanted to make. While it never helped me stand like a princess, it prepared me for my first real walker…which a future therapist prescribed for me after we cut ties with the other one.
This is just one of many stories where we had to reach outside the box of standard practices to fill the gap in front of us. I don’t share this to make anyone cynical of recommendations or treatment plans laid out for them.
Rather, I seek to encourage those who are in despair like I was at five years old. Especially when you’re dealing with a health disorder, you often feel overwhelmed by everything you’re told and helpless to change any of it. But you’re not. Even if you don’t have a handyman dad like I do, you can still build your own bridge so to speak by investigating other options, getting a second opinion, or just following your gut. As a girl who learned how to walk because of PVC piping, I can tell you that no idea is too crazy to make a difference!
KarinaBartow.com 
One thought on “Building Your Own Bridge”