Simulating Achilles Tendon and Broken Wrist Disabilities

Introduction: Choosing the Disabilities

For this simulation I chose two concurrent disabilities: a ruptured Achilles tendon on my left foot, immobilized in a plaster cast, and a broken right wrist, also in a cast. I planned to use a walker equipped to support my broken right wrist. I selected these disabilities partly because a close friend recently underwent Achilles tendon surgery and is currently using a walker. Since the simulation took place during the winter months, I added a realistic scenario: I slipped on ice, fell, and broke my right wrist. Coping with both disabilities simultaneously would represent a tremendous hardship and, I thought, a worthy subject for this reflection.

Before beginning the simulation, I expected my movement and typical daily activities to be limited. As a right-handed person, I anticipated that the greatest challenges would stem from my inability to use both arms fully. I did not expect my left hand to present any particular difficulty — I assumed it would be little more than an inconvenience. I did expect the walker to create additional complications, particularly on ice and when passing through doorways. I felt fortunate that it was my left foot in the cast rather than my right, since that meant I could still drive. My mobility would be restricted only when moving on foot; in the car, I could travel freely.

Preparing the Simulation

To simulate the disabilities, I wrapped my right hand and wrist in an elastic bandage and did the same with my foot and ankle. Since the cast was meant to represent a walking cast, I borrowed a rubber Croc from a friend who wears a larger shoe size. My bandaged foot fit inside the shoe, keeping the elastic bandage off the ground and away from moisture. The slight height difference between the Croc and my regular shoe also replicated the unevenness I would feel with a true walking cast, producing an irregular gait that I wanted the simulation to capture. I wrapped both my wrist and my foot the night before so I could begin the simulation at the very start of my day.

I felt the simulation was quite realistic. Having a friend with an actual, though temporary, disability gave me the practical information I needed to construct a convincing setup. The thickly wrapped elastic bandages genuinely gave me the appearance of someone who was injured, and I believed they would hold up well when I went out in public and attempted to move through the day as a disabled person.

Soon after waking up, I was immediately reminded of my simulated disability. Getting out of bed, I automatically reached for the covers with my right hand, caught myself, and pulled them aside with my left — an action that felt surprisingly awkward. I was struck by how even that tiny, unconscious habit required deliberate thought once I was limited to my non-dominant hand.

A Day as a Disabled Person

I put on the Croc, reached for my walker, balanced my bandaged wrist on its support, and made my way down the hall to the bathroom. The walker fit through the doorway without difficulty, which was a relief. Using the bathroom one-handed was awkward. At the sink, I realized I could not get my right hand wet because of the simulated cast, so I turned on the faucet with my left hand, lathered the bar of soap one-handed, and rinsed as best I could. Brushing my teeth with my left hand was equally cumbersome — I was surprised at the degree of manual dexterity required. With my right hand the motion is entirely automatic; with my left, every stroke demanded conscious effort.

Getting dressed presented its own challenges. The cast and limited ankle flexibility made it impossible to pull on a regular pair of jeans, so I chose sweatpants instead, grateful I could stretch the elastic cuff over the cast and avoid managing a zipper and button altogether.

I had not considered in advance how I would descend the stairs with a walker. Standing at the top step, I quickly realized that pushing the walker ahead of me would be dangerous — there simply was not enough room. After a moment's thought, I folded the walker, held it in my left hand, and bumped down the stairs on my backside. At the bottom, I unfolded the walker and pulled myself upright. It worked well enough in the privacy of my home, but I immediately wondered what I would do when I encountered stairs in public.

Making breakfast took longer than usual. Pouring cereal and milk and eating left-handed felt uncoordinated, and every movement required conscious attention. Washing dishes afterward was cumbersome with only one hand.

Putting on a jacket — and struggling with its zipper — I got ready for school. Rather than repeat my stair-sliding maneuver on the outside concrete steps, I leaned heavily on the railing and eased myself down with the folded walker tucked under one arm. I unfolded the walker for the short walk to the car, then folded it again, placed it on the passenger seat, and settled into the driver's seat. I had to reach across with my left arm to turn the ignition key, release the emergency brake, and shift into reverse and then drive. I had not anticipated how awkward driving would feel; before the simulation I had only considered whether I could use my right foot on the pedals, not how much my right hand contributed to every other driving operation.

I normally stop at a drive-through for coffee and a bagel on the way to school. That was impossible with only one hand on the wheel, so I arrived at school without my usual caffeine — a small but genuinely demoralizing inconvenience.

At school, I again wrestled with the ignition and shifting into park. I unfolded the walker and put my books in a shoulder bag, draping the strap across my body so my one free hand could remain on the walker. Getting the strap over my shoulder while keeping my hair clear of it was more difficult than it sounds. Classmates and acquaintances asked what had happened; I told them I had fallen on ice and severely sprained my wrist and ankle. I kept the explanation vague because elaborating on a fabricated story would have become complicated, and I also did not want to reveal that the injuries were simulated — I wanted to be treated as genuinely disabled for the duration of the day.

I was late to class because I could not immediately locate the elevator. I had never had reason to use it before and was unsure where it was. There may well have been signs, but I did not see them. Once I found it, I had to wait while others used it. I am accustomed to climbing two flights of stairs quickly, so standing and waiting tested my patience in an unexpected way.

The rest of the day followed a similar pattern. Putting on and removing my jacket repeatedly reminded me that my right hand and arm were out of commission. My lecture notes were nearly illegible, written entirely with my left hand. Sitting down and standing back up required extra time and planning. At lunch, a friend had to cut my burger in half because I could not manage it one-handed. For dinner I made a sandwich and ate it with an apple and some chips — cooking anything more elaborate felt far beyond what I was willing to attempt, and I did not even try to do the dishes afterward.

Showering that night presented a new set of problems. I initially planned to stand in the shower with my left leg resting on the floor outside the tub, but then I remembered that I also could not get the "cast" on my right arm wet. I ended up wrapping both simulated casts in plastic trash bags. Even so, I got a considerable amount of water on the bathroom floor. That evening, just before bed, I removed the elastic bandages. One day of simulated disability was enough.

What surprised me most throughout the day was the difficulty of even the simplest tasks. I had not realized how frequently both hands are involved in routine activities until I was restricted to one. Brushing teeth, using the bathroom, eating, writing, and driving — all of it was harder than I had imagined. As I had predicted, the walker presented the greatest challenges: navigating stairs, crowded hallways, and icy sidewalks was genuinely difficult, and I was constantly worried about falling. Because my right wrist was already "injured," I was uncertain how I would brace myself if I did fall, and whether I might sustain a real injury in the process.