Look, I get it. When people see me rollin' (still quoting Chamillionaire, thank you very much), they start whispering: "But I saw her walking last week!" or “Why does she use a wheelchair if she can stand?” And I’m here to set the record straight—not just for me, but for the whole fam.

Yes, I can walk. Sometimes I even strut. But let me tell you, when chronic pain and fatigue hit, it’s less of a strut and more of a limp, followed by me dramatically flopping into the nearest chair like I’ve just completed the Boston Marathon. That’s where my wheelchair comes in—saving me from endless exhaustion and saving my family from watching me suffer through another outing.

Let’s start with chronic pain, the unwanted plus-one to everything I do, is the worlds most unwanted house guest. It’s like a car alarm that won’t turn off. And let me tell you, walking only cranks the volume up. My husband, who loves to tinker with everything from engines to electronics (and dreams of adding rockets to *everything*), has a tough time watching me struggle. It’s like watching your favorite gadget break down and not being able to fix it. Heartbreaking, right?

So when I roll into my wheelchair, it's like hitting the "off" button on that blasted car alarm. Sure, the pain’s still there, but it’s on mute. I’m not pushing through, I’m cruising through. And for my husband, seeing me actually enjoy a day out instead of limping through it like a contestant on *Survivor*? Well, let’s just say he’s a big fan of my new set of wheels.

Chronic fatigue is like trying to stream Netflix on dial-up. It’s slow, glitchy, and makes you want to throw the whole system out the window. Or better yet like everyone else has a fully charged battery and smooth 5G. Me? I’m stuck at 3% and on 2G network, constantly searching for signal. Walking isn’t just physically exhausting; it’s mentally draining too. 

But when I’m in my wheelchair, it’s like switching from dial-up to fiber-optic speed. I can actually make it through a full day without hitting “low power mode.” And you know who appreciates this the most? My family. My daughter no longer needs to ask, “Mom, do we need to leave now?” or “Are you okay?” when we’re out at the mall or on an adventure. She loves that we can spend the time together, whether it's shopping, attending an event, or spending way too much time at the LEGO store. We can go out, have fun, and not have to cut things short because I’m on the verge of collapsing.

The wheelchair doesn’t just save my energy; it saves *us*—as a family. My daughter and I no longer have to negotiate over whether we’re leaving an activity early because I’m out of energy. And my husband? He’s no longer standing by helplessly, watching me struggle. He loves that we can go out, have a blast, and I’m not paying for it in pain afterward. In fact, I’m pretty sure he’s secretly brainstorming ways to add a jet engine to my chair. If it ends up with rocket boosters, you’ll know why.

It’s hard for him to watch someone he loves be in pain. But when I’m in the chair, he gets to see me smile, laugh, and actually enjoy the day. It’s a huge win for both of us. No more endless recovery time after every outing, no more cut-short plans because I can’t stand up any longer. Just smooth sailing (or should I say rolling?).

So yeah, I can walk. But using my wheelchair gives me back something walking takes away—freedom. It lets me do the things I love, with the people I love, without spending half the time thinking, “When can I sit down?” I’m not losing independence; I’m gaining it. I’m no longer limited by pain or fatigue, and neither is my family. My husband doesn’t have to watch me suffer, and my daughter gets to spend more time doing the things she loves with me right there, fully present.

Next time you see me rollin’, don’t feel sorry for me. Give me a thumbs up! My wheels don’t just give me mobility—they give me back my life, with a side of rockets and endless mall trips.

And for the first time since I got sick I took a trip to Mexico. More on that great adventure later. But without my wheel none of it would be possible.