Steam rises up my nose and fogs my eyes, as I carry a Dixie cup of office coffee in my mouth down the hall while my hands control the crutches.  It made me think back on all the acrobatic adjustments I have made this past month since fracturing my ankle in Florida.  Whether it is shimmying on my one good foot across the bathroom to grab my towel (after using my elder-chair in the shower), packing my pockets with food and office supplies as I make my way to the studio, or constantly eying water spots on floors and pavement so my crutches don't slip out from underneath me.  That doesn't include the extra time it takes to do all the aforementioned things plus get dressed, crawl in and out of bed, or find rides since I can't drive.

But my injury is temporary.

That helps Katie Jo and my sister, Melanie, handle their caretaker roles.  As kind as they have been to me, in the back of their minds they know they can change their schedule and be inconvenienced for a short period of time and tolerate it.  But what if my injury was permanent?

I've already blogged about my frustration with how certain people have treated me.  And even though I thought I was already respectful of the disabled, I now know my sensitivity has grown.  Complete strangers helping me open a door, especially if it's a kid while their parents watch, can bring such a feeling of happiness.  That's because you are already worn out from all the efforts you made just to get to that door. 

I am amazed how those who have to adjust to a permanent injury or disability have found creative ways of living.  For instance, this week I read the story of 7-year-old Lucas Murray, who has been blind since birth.  But he can "see" using his ears.  Lucas clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth and can tell where or how big an object is by the echoes that bounce back.  That has allowed him to play basketball and go rock climbing.  They call him Bat Boy because of his abilities, even though I think he's more like Daredevil.  Either way he is a superhero.

My carrying a Dixie cup like a baby cub in my mouth is nothing compared to Lucas' use of Echolocation.  But underneath the walking sticks, wheelchairs, and crutches are individuals who make those superhero attempts to simply live a normal life.  No longer will I feel sorry for them, but will admire the efforts behind the scenes that I will never see.

To read my blog, "I'm Pointing Out The Jerks With My Crutches," click here.

And to find out more about Lucas, click here.