SPINAL NETWORK NEWS

WEDDING BELLS, HELL, AND A GOOD TIME
G
etting married never made my ‘must do’ list
as a young girl. I wanted a career, and coming
from a female dominated family, men were
somewhat superfluous to lifelong goals and
aspirations. After I broke my neck at age 17, I thought I’d
never get married, which didn’t bother me too much at
the time. I was more upset at no longer being able to do
obscene hand gestures at other motorists whilst driving
(only in emergencies mind!).
A year past, and once I learnt the art of applying eyeliner
with both hands, boys were soon lining up to court me
(initially to my surprise and suspicion … did they have a
wheelchair fetish I wondered?).
Prior to meeting my husband, I was engaged to a sweet
lad although we never got around to the actual wedding
part. I’m good at organising a dinner party but organising
a wedding was
simply too scary
and there was
too much hard
work involved
– I am a lazy
social organiser
and obviously
don’t have
the standard
‘wedding’ gene
that the majority
of woman
possess.
Then Jon came
along.
Perhaps it was
the fact I had hit
30, but suddenly
a wedding
didn’t seem like
such a scary
beast, and when
Jon casually
suggested we
tie the knot
over Christmas
while my good friend from Calgary was in New Zealand,
I agreed to do it. With a couple of months up our sleeves,
we relaxed and figured there would be plenty of time to
sort things out.
I knew a white dress was out of the question due to my
slap-happy masticating skills, so I decided on a dark green
Indian dress. The dress was hunted down by a warm and
gracious doctor, who informed me getting a green dress
from India wasn’t the easiest of tasks due to green being
a traditional Pakistan wedding colour (apparently there
have been a few issues between India and Pakistan).
A month before the wedding, I had my $300 authentic
Indian dress with jewellery and as far as I was concerned,
the rest would sort itself out. I was determined the
wedding wouldn’t leave us entrenched in an ocean of
debt, so we did everything on a tight budget. I even asked
the guests to ‘bring a plate’ on their invitations.
I also wanted to keep the guest list to a bare minimum.
Although my family are close, we aren’t big breeders and
weddings are not seen as important events. Jon being a
pom, meant many of his family were overseas and were
also unable to make it. I breathed a sigh of relief. Probably
my greatest fear of getting married was walking down
the isle and having one hundred eyes transfixed on my
constipated giraffe-looking walk. Luckily we had a guest
list of approximately 50 people - this I could cope with…
just.
We had also decided to have the ceremony up north in
Whangarei at Jon’s mums place. An avid gardener, Ruth
(Jons mum) began planting lots of flowers in her two acre
garden. She had also organised some work mates to help
out with extra food, and had put us onto a celebrant who
worked with her and could give us a good deal on ‘mates
rates’. All that was needed was the marquee in case of rain
and I figured
everything was
ready to go.
We arrived up
north with our
precious childdog,
Meesa, and
began finalising
little details
like what Jon
was going to
wear, and how
I was going to
get a spray tan
without taking
my clothes off.
I conceded to
wearing a paper
g-string and was
basted like a
turkey – not the
most dignified
of experiences
but the effect
was worth.
What initially
was assumed
would be a leisurely week of sunbathing and sorting out
wedding tit-bits, soon grew into an untamed beast. We had
irate relatives barking out orders on where they would
stay during the wedding… hadn’t we organised this for
them?…oops. Then there was what the groom would
wear, and with only one day to shop before everything
closed for Christmas, frantic choices were made and a
costume was thrown together haphazardly. Shoes became
a nightmare and although I was keen on traipsing down
the aisle in my socks, others were not so keen with the
idea. Suddenly everyone was in panic stations. Tears were
shed, arguments were exchanged, and sleep became a
distant memory.
But we made it to the day of the wedding all in one piece
– minus a few brain cells.
I had decided not to use the wheelchair at the wedding. The
ceremony was outside on grass which made it impractical,
and I wanted to make use of the wedding dress which
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