How My Husband’s Disability Eased my Anxiety and Enhanced my Birding

by Michelle Dyer

Last year, my husband Kyle suffered a massive stroke. In an instant, our lives changed. He became permanently disabled and would need rigorous speech, occupational, and physical therapy, which he continues to this day.  

One year later, his hard work at rehabilitation has allowed us to live independently and get back to our lives and marriage – albeit things look a lot different than before.  

Kyle isn’t a birder  – it is my sole endeavor – but one day he surprised me and said, “I’d like to go birding with you this weekend.” He must have known I was aching to get out! 

I immediately jumped at the idea. We decided to go to the Montrose Point Bird Sanctuary in Chicago, a renowned birding spot that attracts tens of thousands of migrating birds each fall and spring. After a quick search online, I verified it was accessible, and we planned our outing. 

Leading up to our excursion, however, I was nervous. As is common since his stroke, my anxiety got the best of me. My mind raced: will he be able to walk okay? Will his cane be too cumbersome? Should we take his wheelchair? What if the trail distance is too long, and we get too far away? Would there be benches for us to sit and take a rest? What if he fell and hurt himself? What if it’s too crowded? What if, what if, what if….? 

I expressed my worries to him. We would be going to a brand new, unknown place. It might be a total disaster, I said. 

“Great!” he said, unfazed. “We won’t know until we try.”

‘Just Do It’ Attitude 

One of the ways my husband has inspired me since his stroke – and throughout his rehabilitation – is his “just do it” attitude. When he is trying something new – whether it’s tying his shoes himself, walking with a cane on uneven sidewalks, or picking up food at a restaurant – he approaches each task without hesitation. Or if he does have hesitation, he disregards it. 

He doesn’t think about what could go wrong; instead, he tells himself “just do it.” If it doesn’t work out, or if he runs into unforeseen barriers, he doesn’t lose his cool. 

At the bird sanctuary, we started on the asphalt trail. Soon, we noticed unpaved trails meandering off the paved trail. These were obviously the more exciting trails to follow. They led into a copse of trees offering shade and, most importantly, a choir of birdsong.

But the dirt path had twigs, sticks, bark, leaves, and other potential tripping hazards. The ground was uneven, the path narrow. Wanting to go further – but fearing the unknown and the danger of it all – I sheepishly asked him if we should stay on the paved trail or not. 

“Let’s do it,” he said, motioning with his cane to the unpaved trail. I took a deep breath, and onto the new terrain we went. 

We walked – slowly, cautiously – onto the dirt path. I understood then why it was called a sanctuary: it was peaceful, serene, a reminder of the beauty in the world. I identified American Robins, pointed out the Northern Cardinals that flitted by. With an unsteady gait, Kyle had trouble darting his gaze quickly. I told him birding can be done by sound, too, so I taught him the call of the Red-Winged Blackbird. 

No Need for Apologizing or Explaining 

We stopped in an open space of the sanctuary. A perfect place for a picnic. I spread out the blanket on the ground. I helped Kyle down onto all fours, then slowly into sitting, assisting his legs into the “criss-cross” position. We opened our sandwiches and chips, and soon we feasted. A Red-Winged Blackbird perched on the rope fence right behind us, flexing its ruby-studded wings. 

When we decided it was time to leave the spot, Kyle tried to get up off the ground, but he was having difficulty. He wiggled and crouched, unable to extend his right leg enough to plant it and boost himself up. So I assumed the position: I stood next to him, planted his foot for him, and offered a hand for leverage. He grunted and rocked back and forth, trying to gain momentum. 

A young couple walked by and asked if we needed any help. The young man asked, “Is everything okay? Do you need any help?” I politely said no, thank you. I wanted to say: He had a stroke last year and is still in rehab so getting up off the ground is difficult but don’t worry he is fine, everything is fine, sorry we are in your way, we sat here because we thought it wasn’t going to have much traffic, we’ll move right along, sorry. 

But I didn’t. There was no need to apologize for his disability. Kyle certainly wasn’t apologizing, so why should I? There was also no need to explain anything. I smiled at the couple, a sign that this was not an emergency situation but instead a man who was simply getting up off the ground – it just looked a little bit different. 

Enjoying the Moment, Not the List 

The bird sanctuary was truly a birder’s dream – but its lack of benches and the afternoon’s surging sun made it difficult to continue much longer. As we walked out of the sanctuary, Kyle asked if it was a good birding experience. He wondered if it was okay that I hadn’t seen the Cedar Waxwing, a bird on my Life List, and that “all we saw” were Red-Winged Blackbirds and Northern Cardinals.

I realized then that birding is not about the list. It’s about enjoying the moment – wholly, unapologetically, without fear. Birding with Kyle reminded me to take risks, to allow everything to unfold as it does. It opened my eyes to the fact that barriers are often constructed within our own minds. That even if something is done differently – or at a slower pace – it doesn’t mean it loses any value. In fact, it may even enhance it. 

Michelle Dyer is a writer originally from Albuquerque, NM. She and her husband will live in Asheville, NC after he finishes his stint of outpatient rehabilitation in Chicago for his stroke recovery.  

[Photo Description: Author Michelle stands with husband Kyle. She is smiling and wearing a winter jacket. He is wearing a beanie, sunglasses, and a jacket. He is using a cane and they are standing in front of a pine tree.] The image was provided by the author.