You don't know what you don't know

Ah, the lazy days of summer are now upon us... Unfortunately this often means air-conditioning hibernation for many MS patients-myself included.  However, this summer I have been blessed with central air so I may have to hibernate, but at least it’s not just one room.  In my old digs, I spent many a summer day stuck in my bedroom, for it was the only room cool enough for me to function in.  So today, I shall give thanks for my improved housing situation and the dehumidified freedom it provides.

 

But alas, this week I must share a gripe as well. On Monday I had an appointment with my primary doctor whose office is in Budd Lake.  So let’s count the multiple variables that were working against me that day: It was quite hot out. My aide called out that morning so I had no help getting dressed or putting on my shoes. I was as devoid of energy as I have been the past month.  So-the odds were already somewhat stacked against me.  I did not even bother trying to wrestle shoes on so I just went barefoot.  I somehow made it to my car where I was blasted with heat and had to sit and be immobile for a bit. But I ultimately made it into the car and used my handy cloth belt to drag my legs into position. Hooray, it only took me 90 minutes to get dressed and to the car!

 

The drive itself was quite fun actually- I hadn’t taken Falcor for an extended journey in a long time.  When I got to the doctors office parking lot, the handicapped spaces were taken.  Mind you, even the ‘accessible’ space often IS NOT due to insufficient room to deploy my wheelchair ramp.  So I parked diagonally across two spaces, trusting that the handicap placard AND the writing on the van that states, “ramp installed, do not park within eight feet” would excuse my having taken two spots.  After my appointment was over, I hauled myself back into the drivers seat (only 15 minutes that time!) and was about to start the car when I saw it: a note tucked under the windshield wiper.  I couldn’t reach it from the window and NO WAY was I getting out and in again  just to fetch it, so I called back up to the office and one of the receptionists came down to get it for me.  My heart sank before I read it because I just knew it was going to say something ignorant or worse.  It went something like this, “Just because you have that blue tag doesn’t give you the right to park anywhere you damn please...” There was more written about how rude and inconsiderate I was, but I stopped reading.  The receptionist, who’s always been nice to me, said she thought she knew who wrote it, that it was someone from another office in the building and that I shouldn’t take it personally because that woman is a notorious b***h.  But of course, my hyper-emotionally self was crushed.  Somewhere nearby was a person who probably felt vindicated in writing that note to me, not knowing the real reason I took two spaces.   It’s not like I drive a friggin Ferrari, it’s a minivan!   It made me so unbelievably sad to think how justified that schmuck felt, how he or she probably drove off thinking they put me in my place.  If only they’d opened their eyes a bit to see the warning on the van door OR the folded up ramp, were they to peek inside.  That jerk got to feel righteous about writing that note and I just cried out of frustration.  I realize the ‘able-bodied’ world around me cannot always grasp what it’s like to be a slave to a wheelchair. But there are days when I just wish they could roll a day in my life-or any handicapped person’s life for that matter.  I often feel there is an unconscious conceit in being able-bodied, that state of ‘ignorant bliss’ that enables the average person to take their legs or arms or brain for granted.