Dr. David Card never looks down on his patients.
The 41-year-old family practice and urgent care physician at U.S. Health Works Medical Group in Bellevue has been confined to a wheelchair since he was 16.
And yet, he says, he feels blessed.
"All I know was in my heart, this is all I ever wanted to do," he said from his office in the clinic. "I was willing to do anything it takes."
Card has worked in the Bellevue clinic for six of his 12 practicing years. He doesn't know of any other physicians in wheelchairs, and wonders if it's because others think the road is too tough.
At 16, Card was a junior and a self-described "basketball jock" at Cascade High School in Everett, "chasing girl and playing guitars." He was riding in a car with his best friend one day when his friend took a turn too sharp. Card spent the next six months in a hospital bed. He'd never walk again.
That kind of diagnosis can crush a spirit, especially in one so young. But Card insists his faith and his family -- five siblings, and parents that have now been married 60 years -- would have never let that happen.
"I knew I had two choices. I could be angry at the situation. Angry at God. But I just didn't like the way that made me feel as a person," Card said. "And so for me, it just seemed easier to accept my disability and move forward."
Card never fell behind on schoolwork. He did his homework on his back in a full body brace and graduated on time, keeping in mind what a nun at the hospital told him when he was still scared he might not be strong enough:
"You can't dwell on the hundreds of things you can't do anymore, but really enjoy the thousands of things that you still can do."
So when friends and family encouraged him to go into computing, Card refused. He'd wanted to be a doctor ever since he was 4 years old. He'd split his lip open, and as a doctor sewed it up, he felt something few toddlers do in similar cirumstances: fascination.
On the first day of school at St. Francis University in Pennsylvania, where he would graduate third in his class on his way to med school at Nova Southeastern University in Florida, a crowd of students watched from a window as Card wheeled up to a staircase leading down to his classroom. There were no ramps, but that was no problem.
Card wheeled down the stairs like he'd taught himself to do years before, when his parents announced they would make their home handicap accessible and Card -- whose bedroom was on the second floor -- wouldn't allow it.
"Doing so would make me feel handicapped," he said. "So I learned how to grab the handrails and pull myself up the stairs by myself."
These days, Card drives to work in a red Eclipse convertible. Parking at handicapped spaces still gets him dirty looks. "I guess it's because I'm not driving a minivan with a lift," he said.
As much as his wheelchair is a part of Card's life, longtime patients say they barely notice.
Shelley Stiren says she's referred at least 15 people to Dr. Card since he treated her for a burn about six years ago. Since then, he's been the 34 year old's "sounding board," helping her cope with the death of her sister from breast cancer and her father's battle with cancer.
"He's the kind of person who will email you out of the blue: 'How are you?'" said Stiren, who works in Bellevue. "I consider him a friend as well."
As for the wheelchair, she sees it only when Card jumps himself up to get something from a cabinet -- which usually leaves her awestruck. "It's just kind of a circumstance. It doesn't define him," Stiren said.
Being the doctor in a wheelchair does have its perks. Card has become a bit of a local celebrity at his gym and the grocery store, where strangers will sometimes start conversations with, "Are you a doctor? I think you see my neighbor." His girlfriend likes to tease him about it, but it keeps new patients coming.
"He has been an asset and an inspiration," said Dr. Stephen C. Sorsby, regional medical director for U.S. Health Works in Washington. "He also may be the most cheerful person I have ever known."
Card takes the attention in stride. When his patients stop by with their kids so they can meet him and see what he's accomplished, he's happy to oblige.
"They realize I'm not perfect," he said. "I hope that I inspire people with whatever limitation they have to overcome."
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