What patients say about using gait training electric wheelchairs

"I remember lying in that hospital bed, staring at the ceiling, and thinking, 'I'll never walk my daughter down the aisle.' It was 2022, and I'd just had a severe stroke that left the left side of my body paralyzed. The doctors said I might regain some movement with therapy, but 'walking' felt like a fantasy. My physical therapist mentioned robot-assisted gait training —using a machine that would support my body while I practiced stepping. I was skeptical, but I'd try anything."

Mark, then 54, spent the next six months in intensive rehab. "The first time I used the gait rehabilitation robot, I cried. Not because it hurt, but because I felt my leg move—really move—for the first time in weeks. It was slow, clunky, and I needed two therapists to help me into it, but that small victory? It lit a fire." As his strength improved, his care team recommended transitioning to an electric wheelchair with built-in gait training modes. "I was nervous about the switch. Manual wheelchairs had left me exhausted; I worried an electric one would make me lazy. But my therapist laughed and said, 'Mark, this isn't about laziness—it's about conserving energy so you can focus on walking again.'"

The learning curve was steeper than he expected. "The electric wheelchair had a joystick, and at first, I kept veering into walls. My granddaughter thought it was hilarious—she'd shout, 'Grandpa, you're gonna hit the fridge again!' But after a week, it clicked. I could move from my bedroom to the kitchen without sweating through my shirt. And the gait training feature? It let me practice standing and taking steps while the chair supported my weight. Some days, I'd 'walk' around the living room for 10 minutes, then collapse into the chair, grinning like an idiot."

A year later, Mark's progress astounded everyone—including himself. "Last month, my daughter got married. I didn't walk the whole aisle, but I stood up from the wheelchair, took five steps with her, and then sat back down. She squeezed my hand and whispered, 'I knew you'd do it.' That moment? Worth every frustrating wall collision, every sore muscle, every doubt. The wheelchair wasn't just a tool—it was the bridge between 'I can't' and 'Watch me.'"

"After my spinal cord injury, I thought my days as an artist were over. I couldn't hold a brush, let alone stand at an easel. My studio—once my happy place—gathered dust. I felt like a ghost in my own home," says Lena, 38, who injured her T12 vertebra in a car accident three years ago. "Transfers were the worst part. Getting from bed to wheelchair took two people and left me in pain. I avoided going anywhere because I hated feeling like a burden."

That changed when Lena's occupational therapist suggested an electric wheelchair with patient lift assist technology. "I'd never heard of it. She explained it had a built-in lift that could raise me from a seated position, making transfers to the bed or toilet easier. I was skeptical—how could a chair do that? But when they brought it in, I cried. For the first time in months, I transferred from my bed to the chair by myself. It wasn't fast, but it was me doing it. No one else. That feeling of independence? I didn't realize how much I'd missed it until I got it back."

The lift assist wasn't the only game-changer. "The wheelchair's gait training mode let me practice standing while holding onto the armrests. At first, I could only stand for 30 seconds before my legs shook. But I'd do it while looking at my old paintings, thinking, 'I'm coming back.' Slowly, I worked up to standing long enough to hold a brush again. Now, I prop my canvas on an easel, use the chair to support my weight, and paint for an hour at a time. My hands still shake, but my art? It's more vibrant than ever. I paint about resilience now—about finding strength in the tools that help you."

Lena admits there are still hard days. "Battery life is a constant stress. I once ran out of juice at the grocery store and had to wait 45 minutes for my sister to bring a charger. And tight spaces? My kitchen is tiny, so I've learned to 'park' the chair in the hallway and shuffle to the fridge using the counter. But those are small prices to pay. Last week, I sold a painting at a local gallery. The buyer asked what inspired it, and I pointed to my wheelchair. 'That,' I said. 'That chair gave me my life back.'"

"At 78, I thought I'd seen it all. But a fall during a morning walk changed everything. A broken hip led to surgery, and suddenly, I couldn't walk without help. My wife, Meera, had to help me bathe, dress, even go to the bathroom. I felt humiliated. 'I'm not an invalid,' I'd snap, but deep down, I was terrified I'd never be independent again," says Raj, a retired teacher from Toronto. His doctor recommended a gait rehabilitation robot as part of his recovery, followed by an electric wheelchair for daily use.

"I was resistant. 'Why can't I just use a cane?' I asked. The therapist smiled and said, 'Raj, this robot will teach your brain and legs to work together again. Think of it as a tutor for your muscles.' Reluctantly, I agreed. The first session was awkward. The robot wrapped around my legs, and I walked on a treadmill while a screen showed my steps. 'You're leaning too much to the right,' the therapist would say. I wanted to quit, but Meera sat in the corner, cheering me on. 'You've never quit anything in your life,' she said. 'Don't start now.'"

After eight weeks of robot-assisted therapy, Raj transitioned to an electric wheelchair. "I was nervous about driving it. My hands shake a bit from arthritis, and I worried I'd lose control. But the joystick was sensitive but steady—like steering a golf cart, if a golf cart could also help you stand. The electric wheelchair had a 'stand assist' button that raised the seat, so I could reach the top shelf in the kitchen or greet neighbors eye-to-eye. Meera jokes that I now 'hover' around the garden, pretending I'm supervising her planting. 'Raj, the wheelchair isn't a throne,' she teases—but I know she's happy I'm outside again."

Today, Raj uses the wheelchair for most outings but can walk short distances with a walker. "I still use the gait training features a few times a week—10 minutes of standing, 10 minutes of slow steps. It keeps my legs strong. And the wheelchair? It's given me back my freedom. Last month, Meera and I went to our grandson's soccer game. I sat in the wheelchair, cheering louder than anyone. Afterward, he ran over and gave me a hug. 'Grandpa, you're the best,' he said. That's the real magic of these tools—they don't just help you move. They help you stay connected to the people who matter."

"Fibromyalgia stole my 30s. The pain was constant—sharp, burning, like my muscles were on fire. I could barely make it through a day of teaching without collapsing. By 35, I was on disability, stuck at home, and spiraling into depression. My rheumatologist suggested an electric wheelchair with gait training options. 'It might reduce the strain on your joints,' she said. I was horrified. 'I'm not old or disabled,' I thought. 'I'm just in pain.' But when even walking to the mailbox left me sobbing, I gave in."

Aisha's first electric wheelchair was a revelation. "I took it for a spin around the block, and I laughed—actually laughed—for the first time in months. No pain, no exhaustion. Just the wind in my hair. The gait training feature was a bonus: it let me stretch my legs without overexerting them. I'd 'walk' for five minutes, then rest. Slowly, my pain levels dropped. My physical therapist said, 'Aisha, you're not just resting—you're retraining your body to move without triggering pain signals.'"

Encouraged by her progress, Aisha decided to try working part-time. "I was terrified. What if I couldn't keep up? What if the kids stared at my wheelchair? But my principal was supportive. On my first day back, a student raised her hand and asked, 'Is that chair magic?' I smiled and said, 'No, but it helps me do what I love—teach you guys.' That day, I didn't just teach math. I taught them about resilience."

Now, Aisha works three days a week and uses her wheelchair to commute. "It's not perfect. Some mornings, the pain flares up, and I have to stay home. But most days? I'm up, dressed, and ready to go by 7 a.m. The wheelchair's battery lasts all day, and the patient lift assist helps me get in and out of my car. My students even decorated my chair for Teacher Appreciation Week—they covered it in glitter and stickers. It's become part of who I am, and that's okay. I'm not 'the teacher in the wheelchair.' I'm just Aisha, and this chair? It's how I show up for the people I care about."