Coree Black memoir: black humor, feisty independence

SPOKANE — If anyone out there wonders whether the vagaries of life can be both cruel and comical, Coree Black has written a book for you.

In “Secondhand Wedgies: Tales from the Chair,” the Ephrata native wants readers to know a couple of things up front:

a)     she is in a wheelchair and has been most of her life;

b)    the wheelchair acts, in her words, “as some kind of magnetic force for chaos and unhinged behavior” exhibited by others;

c)     that her self-published book released in May is not intended to be an inspiring or heartwarming story about overcoming adversity.

Although, in many ways, it is exactly that.  A personal memoir told via a series of vignettes, in staccato prose, that convey a portrait of feisty independence, tolerance of the absurd, and sharply honed sense of humor.

“I’ve been hunted by drunk people, aggressively ‘helped’ into worse situations, trapped in conversations that could probably solve a few cold cases, pet by strangers like a magic lamp and – ironically – shown less hostility by the mafia than the ocean,” she writes.

Her backstory: In 1987, at age 2-1/2, Coree became almost completely paralyzed by an unknown cause that has since defied diagnosis by medical professionals. Before that, she had the “standard toddler resume” — a normal kid, running around and causing chaos. But overnight, everything changed, for her and her entire family. Initially rushed by ambulance to a Seattle hospital, followed by months of being poked, prodded, tested, prayed over.

“That was my introduction to a lifelong theme — mystery,” she wrote.

Currently, Coree said she is classified as “an idiopathic, incomplete C4 quadriplegic … and that’s the closest I’ve ever come to a diagnosis.”

Through the years, she has regained control over “random things” — full use of head and shoulders, a reflexive response in her legs, fingers on her right hand which can squeeze but not open, fingers on her left hand which can open but not squeeze.

“It’s like a line divided me in half, and randomly distributed the abilities over time,” said Coree.

In her book, she recounts the sacrifices made by her family on her behalf, and how her parents shifted the focus from the unexplainable to the adaptable with one rule: “You are only as limited as your creativity.”

How to play a video game without hands? “Glue a marker lid to the joystick. Use my chin.”

In first grade, Coree got paired at school with “an incredible aide who stayed with me all the way through graduation.” She enrolled in Running Start, splitting time between Ephrata High School and Big Bend Community College. Three months after graduation, she went on to Washington State University — Go Cougs! — and earned a bachelor’s degree.

“I’ve lived on my own ever since,” said Coree, who has resided in Spokane since 2005. She has worked mostly as a contractor doing website design and management, computer repairs, tech consulting, and some marketing and analytics work in commercial real estate. She designed the cover of her own book.

A year after her release from the hospital, she got her first powered wheelchair. Coree’s world expanded. So did the cast of characters who would enter it.

While some of the names have been changed to protect the innocent, Coree said her compilation of “thoughts, views, sarcasm, questionable survival instincts and poorly timed sense of humor expressed in this book belong solely to the author.”

The 60-page quick read was written at the persistent encouragement of friends and family, particularly an aunt and Coree’s mother, Sandi.

Sandi, a longtime Ephrata High School secretary now retired, hopes others will read “Secondhand Wedgies” and laugh. 

“Don’t know where this kid got her talent (because) it surely wasn’t from me,” said Sandi, who has a dedicated Facebook page for the book.

In it, Coree recounts stories of various in-home caregivers: one who shared about her failed marriage and talked of murdering her husband; another whose excessive perspiration posed an inescapable dilemma; a third whose methamphetamine use led to a home visit by two extremely large individuals who stole Coree’s television, camcorder, and other possessions as payment for the caregiver’s drug debt. 

When you’re in a wheelchair, people are curious and, at times, clueless how to act around you, she wrote.

“Out of nowhere, a girl walks straight up to me, inches from my face, and says, ‘So, you’re in a wheelchair.’ Showtime. I politely smile and say, ‘Yep. You got me. I’m in a wheelchair.’ Without hesitation, she reaches out and pokes my arm. ‘Can you feel this?’”

The invasive encounter ultimately ended when Coree fibbed that she was injured in a shark attack while surfing, but had since continued to surf. The girl bought it. To some, the most outrageous explanation becomes the most plausible.

There are other tales of strangers who want to introduce her to someone they know in a wheelchair, believing that somehow ensures compatibility. The drunk guy who loudly insists on wheeling her through a crowd. The zombie girl wanting to dance at a concert. The good friends who took Coree on a clamming trip at the ocean, then commandeered and got her wheelchair stuck in the sand as a rogue wave covered her chin-deep in saltwater before receding.

“Okay. That was insane. But we made it. I try to move. Click. Click. Nothing. And then I learn a fun fact about saltwater. It doesn’t negotiate. It fries everything — immediately … Circuitry dead. And just like that, with five days left on the trip. I’m immobile. No chair. No backup plan.”

There are moments when she is frustrated, exhausted, angry. Right alongside are moments that are ridiculous, hilarious, completely unplanned 

And Coree continues to roll, a 5-foot-2, 105-pound adventuress who has ridden shotgun on snowmobiles, jet skis, motorcycles, inner tubes, flying go-karts and zip-lines. The bungee cord is her friend.

Personal interests include gardening, bush-crafting, and — yikes! — woodworking.

“Anyone who cares about me has a very difficult time watching me woodwork because it scares the bejeezus out of them to (see) me hold a piece of wood in my teeth while I approach a band saw inches away from my face,” she said.

Admittedly, there have been “some close calls.”

“Not exactly the life people picture,” she writes. “But honestly? I feel like I’ve had a pretty great life. Not because everything is easy. Not because everything makes sense. But because I decided a long time ago that I wasn’t going spend my entire life mourning the version of it I didn’t get.”

Oh, and about that secondhand wedgie?

It’s “exactly what you can expect when other people dress you. I constantly have to remind people to go easy when they’re pulling my pants up or they’ll have to be the one fishing out the wedgies they cause.”

Question answered.

“Secondhand Wedgies: Tales from the Chair,” by Coree Black is available on Amazon.