Woman with disabilities meets man of her dreams on Internet
Woman with disabilities meets man of her dreams on Internet

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By Susan Ager

Published: August 3, 2008

DETROIT — Some of us worry we won't find true love because our noses are too big, our breasts too small, our hair too thin.

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Shannon Wiltse, however, was born without several standard parts and never imagined her disability would inhibit romance. Yet well into her 20s, every guy she asked for affection replied: "No, thanks. Let's just be friends.”

She had plenty of friends. She wanted a lover. At least she wanted a date — a good time with a guy that could turn into something more. So, at 28, she took what felt like a last, desperate step: She turned to the Internet.

Six days after she listed herself on a dating service, a man in New York, 350 miles away, sent this simple e-mail: "I was checking out the profiles and came across yours. You seem like a nice person to get to know.”

Allen DeWall knew from her photo that she had blond hair, lively eyes and a million-buck smile. From her profile, he knew she loved cats and Pink Floyd.

She used a wheelchair. He didn't know anybody else in a wheelchair. But it seemed like no big deal.

At first, she didn't share details of her disability. Instead, they chatted long hours each day, about their cats, work, their families, even watching NASCAR and movies. Finally, six weeks in, they made a plan to meet midway in Cleveland.

The time had come for frankness.

"You need to know,” Shannon told him, "I'm missing everything from the knees down, on both legs, and on my left arm from the elbow down, and on my right hand I have one digit, just one finger.”

Allen remembers thinking, "What am I getting myself into?” But he did not say "Let's just be friends.”

He said, "So what?” She replied, "I'm telling you, it's a big deal.” No, he said. It would be no problem.

Shannon says, in words anyone who has found love on the Internet might use: "We got to know each other from the inside out.”

No coddling allowed

Shannon's parents were shocked to see their newborn. Her mother hadn't swallowed so much as an aspirin during her pregnancy. But the Wiltses never pursued an explanation and never pitied or pampered her. Their home had no ramps, no easy door handles, not even a stool to help her into bed.

She wore artificial legs and arms as a child, but hated the sores, the awkwardness, the tumbles and the constant refitting of the contraptions. At 14, she rejected them, telling her doctors, "I want to go to college, and I can't put those legs on by myself.”

Henceforth, she would get around by electric scooter and, when she's at home, with the power of her own two thighs and a muscular torso that propels her across the floor.

At her graduation from Clarkston High School, with a 3.8 grade point average, her classmates gave her a standing ovation.

She chose genetics as a career, not because of her own genetic mystery but because she loved science and logic. In 1998, she earned a master's degree at the University of Michigan.

By 28, she worked as the sole genetic counselor at St. Joseph Mercy Hospital in Ypsilanti, Mich., and owned a home nearby, which she shared with a cat named Kozmo.

But she'd never had a man, in any sense of the word. "I wasn't asking for a million bucks,” she said. "Just somebody to love me.”

Face to face

Allen DeWall's first marriage lasted four years. "She moved out,” he said, "and it was the happiest day of my life.”

From his home in rural New York, where he worked as assistant manager at Kmart stores, Allen looked for someone new. He had been raised in an old-fashioned American family by long-married parents and had earned a degree in communications. But he couldn't put words on the kind of woman he wanted after his brief marriage.

Those he met on the Internet bored or failed to stir him. Until Shannon.

She drove to Cleveland for that first weekend. But her brother was so worried about her vulnerability that he insisted on following his older sister, paying her Ohio Turnpike tolls and keeping an eye on her and this new guy from afar.

After they shook hands to say good-bye after their 50-hour date, she drove home thinking, "That was nice, but I won't be hearing from him again.”

But waiting on her computer was an e-mailed photo of a dozen pink roses, with this note: "Had fun this weekend and missing you already. Hopefully we can do this again real soon.”

She thought: Oh my God. Hope.

He thought: She's smart, beautiful and bubbly. What a catch.

Allen waited seven months to kiss her, and he waited almost five years after they moved in together to propose. Shannon was ready but says: "I didn't want to ruin it by demanding anything. Good things are worth waiting for.”

He didn't want another divorce. He had to be sure.

But Shannon said she knew very early how right and sturdy their love was. Shortly after they became lovers, she ruptured a disc while visiting Chicago, requiring surgery to fix the terrible pain. He took a week off from his work, riding the train to be with her, then slept at her hospital bedside for five nights, bathing her and helping her in the bathroom. Later, she found he had even gone to her home and fed her cat and paid her bills. He exceeded her hopes.

In February 2007, while admiring a river together during a vacation, she was clueless when he asked, "So, do you think it's time?” "Time for lunch?” she said, then saw the ring in his hand.

A NorthRidge minister presided May 3 at a country club in her hometown of Clarkston as Shannon Wiltse, 35, took Allen DeWall, 37, as her husband.

Now they live in a condo in Livonia, Mich. and share the day-to-day challenges involved with living with her disabilities.

And the ring on her only finger is indeed the first thing strangers might notice about her now: She is married. Somebody loves her.