Yes, I Can Walk. Yes, I Need the Chair. No, I Won’t Explain Either.

Let’s get one thing out of the way:

If you see me stand up from my wheelchair and your jaw hits the floor like I just staged a miracle—please pick it up and move along.

I recently slapped a sign on the back of my chair that says:

Yes, I can walk. Yes, I need the chair. And no, I won’t explain either.

ZebraMedic.com (might as well get advertising out of it!)

Because apparently, the public needs a user manual for part-time wheelchair users.

Here’s the deal: I live with Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome (EDS), POTS, and MCAS—a trio of chaotic energy that makes my body about as predictable as a toddler with glitter. Some days I can walk. Some days I can’t. Some days I look “fine” and feel like roadkill.

Yes, I can walk short distances. No, that doesn’t mean I can survive a trip to IKEA, a mall crawl, or airport gate 374B that requires a pilgrimage and a Sherpa. My ankles don’t do “adventure mode.” They do “are you sure about that?” after 10 minutes.

And don’t even get me started on travel.

Dragging my dog, my suitcase, and my wheelchair through an airport—while dodging stares from strangers who assume I faked my way into pre-boarding—is exactly the Olympic sport I never signed up for. I even thought about leaving the chair at home to avoid the hassle. But you know what that gets me? A front-row seat to the “I regret everything” pain parade.

So instead of giving up, I printed the sign. Because I’m done explaining. I’m done defending my mobility aid like it’s a VIP pass I have to earn. It’s not a prop. It’s not a lie. It’s how I actually function without collapsing in a gift shop or crying in line at TSA.

Disability isn’t a one-size-fits-all situation. It’s a spectrum. It fluctuates. It confuses people who think all disabled folks must either be paralyzed or fine—and nothing in between.

If that messes with your worldview, that’s not my problem.

So next time you see someone stand up from a chair, don’t gasp like you saw Bigfoot doing yoga. Just keep it moving. Because we’ve got places to be—and ankles that demand wheels.