Originally written on 12 January for the
Wheelchair Junkies board
This happened to me at the hospital on Monday. I broke
another rib, and my husband absolutely couldn't take more time off work just then so I took myself to my doctor's office. That meant I hobbled in, since I couldn't get the wheelchair out of the car by myself. Luckily for me, the knee brace I'd been waiting on for over a month finally showed up last week or I'd have been SOL. Doc decided he wanted that knee xrayed as well, since I fell on the bathroom tiles about 3 weeks ago and it still looks bruised. During that appointment, I ended up with involuntary tears pouring down my face from the pain of the doctor gently prodding at my ribs to see which one I'd cracked this time. That's the point he pulled out the prescription pad and said, "I can write you a prescription for long acting morphine. You're not allergic to morphine, are you?" Remember, this is the guy who's paranoid about opiates! So I must've looked absolutely pathetic.
So not being entirely stupid, I get the prescription filled and eat something before I hobble over to the next building to have the xrays taken. The tech ends up twisting me into new and painful shapes, but it's neccessary and she apologizes. I get out of there and hunt for the bathroom. I meet another tech in the hall. The conversation goes something like this:
tech: You lost?
me: Looking for the bathroom. There's one right down there, right?
tech: No, the one you want is back that way and around the corner.
me: That's the handicapped one right here, isn't it? I need the grab bars.
tech: But you're not handicapped.
me: Uh, I am. [twitches skirt aside to show ankle and knee braces]
tech: that doesn't make you handicapped.
me: It does.
tech: You're not in a wheelchair.
me: [starting to get annoyed] Honey, I normally use a wheelchair. I have too many broken ribs to push it right now.
tech: You don't have the handicapped parking tag.
me: I do.
tech: So where is it?
me: [getting really annoyed now] In my car, where it's supposed to be.
tech: I'm just giving you a hard time. The bathroom's right back there. Remember there are two doors, lock them both. Happy Holidays.
Maybe it was because I was so tired and in pain, but...
I don't think that would have been funny even if I wasn't just barely keeping it together. The tech was just a $#@!head who really ought to know better, especially given where he was working. It really felt like he was
playing "Taunt the Fat Gimp." He stopped just before I got to the point
of yelling,
"What the fuck is your problem?"
It's helpful and understanding professionals like that one that make me want to never leave my home. If that's how the people trained to deal with the ill and disabled act, what can I possibly expect from the uneducated public who most often still think that disabled people should be hidden from sight? And even when I'm out there in public with my flaming red hair, piercings and tattoos, the wheelchair or braces and cane makes me invisible to an awful lot of people. Or paints a big "Easy Prey" target on me for the nastier types to see.
infuriated