I learnt to drive during 1985 and 1986 through the Spinal Injuries Unit at the Hampstead Centre. As part of that process, I was referred to the Orthotics Department at Royal Adelaide Hospital to have a leather glove custom made to allow me to 'grip' the steering wheel with one hand. The glove is attached to a metal pin that slots into an attachment on the steering wheel.
Anyway, the glove has served me amazingly well for nearly 30 years, given that I use it nearly every day. But the glove is starting to split where one of the pop rivets attaches the metal pin to the glove. So last Friday, I had a consultation with the Orthotics Department at Royal Adelaide Hospital to start the process of getting a new one made.
I met with Jessica, a UK-trained orthotist, who proudly announced that the RAH still had my original records from 1985/1986 (I was pretty impressed by this too), although she also told me that she wasn't yet born when it was originally made. She asked me whether I could remember who made my original glove - I couldn't - but she was pretty certain it was 'Ian'.
And then despite all the advances in orthotics and prosthetics technology (think carbon fibre artificial legs for amputees), taking a cast of my hand and arm for a new glove was pretty much the same process as thirty years ago. Cotton 'sock' on my arm, basin of warm water, plaster impregnated bandage dipped in water and wrapped around my arm and smoothed out to form a cast. In fact, it was pretty much the same process as when I had splints made for my legs at Adelaide Children's Hospital as a kid.
This, and a blog post about the freedom, liberation and satisfaction of leaving special adaptive equipment (like wheelchairs) at http://attitudelive.com/blog/quentin-smith/opinion-less-sometimes-more, got me thinking about our relationship to 'special adaptive equipment' (especially like wheelchairs).
I must admit I don't feel liberated without my wheelchair - I feel freaked out. But I suspect that the author of the blog post above feels differently because he acquired a disability later in life, rather than growing up with a disability. My driving glove and my wheelchair are faithful companions, to be treated with love and respect so that they can return good service. I feel a little sad when they 'die' and must be replaced, and the transition to a new device is always painful.