Hanging wif my Peeps

I just back from "Abilities" expo. These seem to be good to go to every three or four years. The pace of innovation isn't exactly breath-taking.

I have to come down off this high I'm on because all I can burble right now what how cool it was. How people looked me square in the eye and shook my hand. I was taken at face value - except for one guy who was in a chair, in KAFOs, who asked me within two minutes "what happened". And I replied - truthfully, as it turns out - lesions at t-12 and l-5. He said he was a polio. 'Scuse me if I'm skeptical.

Don't get me wrong. I am grateful for the chair I have now....but...but... as I was cruising down an aisle, a Quickie rep came up to me and said, "Aren't you kind of worried about that left wheel?" Yes, as a matter of fact, I was. It had a wonky feel to it, and as I was wheeling along, I kept it slow. I asked if anyone was repairing chairs and he pointed directly over my head at a sign in the next aisle for free wheelchair repairs.

Free! Free wheelchair repairs, although I imagine you would have to pay for the parts. I rolled over there and within five minutes, all was set in order. There were nuts loose. (Stop. Don't say a word.)

I went over to a major, major, major w/c manufacturer. They let me take two different chairs out for a test drive. One was good, but the second was the one I fell in love with. It fit me perfectly.

There was a demonstration of wheelchair/AB dancing on the other side of the convention center, so I zipped over there to watch. A female dancer was teamed with an extremely buff para. Be still, my heart. At first, I wasn't impressed but when it was just the two of them, things got muy caliente.

I saw a big open space away from the dancing and I went over there to dance. It was so freeing. The chair was a dream. What a wonderful thing! I take back every snotty thing I've ever said about wheelchair dancing.

I zipped all around the convention center - still in the test drive chair. In ten minutes, I saw what would have taken me hours in my own wheels. I went back to the sales guy - who turned out to be the international production manager. I asked how much the chair was and he told me a figure that would fund a two week deluxe trip to Europe. I gulped. And then I said, "I know you guys get asked this all the time, but do you ever sell demo chairs?" The sales guy pointed to a guy in another chair. "Ask him. He's the head honcho. He's the president of the company."

The Prez wheeled over and Sales Dude introduced us. We shook hands. Sales Dude put the question to him and then walked away. The Prez, who looked to be about my age, pondered the question. He went through a legal disclaimer about only selling through dealers, etc., etc., etc.

I have learned that the most amazing things happen if you just stand there. By just standing there at a mattress store, the price miraculously descended several hundreds of dollars. I just stood there.

"Insurance," he asked.

I shook my head.

He sighed. "E-mail me when I get back into the shop next week. Remind me about our conversation. Sales dude! Get the measurements on that chair she liked! Sometimes we have things that have just...amortized out. Maybe $500?"

I nearly wept. These gorgeous chairs. These swift and beautiful chairs!

Then he whispered, "But you can't, for God's sake, tell anyone we did this. The distributors would kill us."

I zipped my lip, locked it and threw away the key.

Everyone who saw my current chair looked at it and then back at me, in the spiffiness. They shook their heads pityingly.

With great regret, I got back into it. But make no mistake - I am grateful to have this one.

And I'll just wait for the spiffiness.

When You Hire A Negro

Welcome to the XYZ Corporation handbook on interviewing and hiring a Negro.

As we all know, laws have been passed to make companies a more hospitable environment to Negroes. It is important that we learn to feel comfortable around people who are Negroes.

Interviewing a Negro
First, make sure the Negro understands where and when the interview is to be held.
When interviewing the Negro, do not judge the person by how dark or light his skin is. Sometimes, it might even be hard to believe a person is a Negro!
Do not make a point of mentioning the person's skin tone.
Do not judge a Negro's ability to do the job based on the person's Negro-ness.

Hiring a Negro
It is up to the Negro to identify himself as a Negro. Again, sometimes you can't tell that they might need extra help (also known as "accommodation") to perform the job they were hired to do.
Ideally, the person would identify himself as a Negro before beginning work in case accommodation is needed.
Before the Negro's first day, gather your staff to explain that the new team member you have hired is a Negro. Explain a little about the exact kind of Negro-ness the new hire has.
Don't stare at the Negro. It is perceived as an insulting and threatening gesture.
Make sure the Negro feels included in team meetings and activities.
You will find that Negroes are loyal and tend to stay longer at companies more than non-Negro employees. They are tremendous assets in this sense.

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Honestly, this is what I read online today at the company where I'm consulting these days. Oh - except "Negro" was spelled "person with a disability".

Well, Blow Me Down

It doesn't happen so often anymore, but there are times in my life when I realize something or am made to see something I have not wanted to see.

When that happens, I tend to shut down. Before, I've deleted blogs or sworn that I'm never coming back, etc. etc.

I'm not saying that now.

But what I am saying is that I've had the wind knocked out of me and I'll be taking some time off here for awhile.

Fair wind and smooth sailing.

No Limits

One of my fantasies is that I'm allowed to try every form of disability that I want to. Miraculously, I am restored to my ordinary self within a fantasy day or two.

I saw a video once of a Japanese woman who had an insert in her ear that made her gait spastic. I would love to get hold of that ear piece for a day or two.

Blindsimming is easy. All I have to do is take off my glasses, put on a pair of dark glasses, and I'm in business. Actually, it's a lot like every day life.

Deafness? I think my hearing is already impaired. Once upon a time, I had to use ear plugs to get to sleep, but I never took them out for a spin in public.

Most of my interest lies in mobility or lack thereof.

Again, my very rich fantasy life sometimes has been spending days in the House of Solange, an ordinary-looking woman (with the exception of her long leg braces) who can arrange to have many fascinating things happen.

Some go beyond the pale, but it's my pale and I can go beyond it if I want.

It's always satisfying to spend some time chez Solange, but it doesn't do to stay there very long. At all.

Dark Wonderland

Last week when I was transferring from my chair to a chair in the restaurant, it took careful planning and a couple of tries because my lower body did not want to move.

I've experienced this a couple of other times in my wheelchair.

What surprises me is that I'm not faking anything. My lower legs aren't working. I don't trust my quadriceps to hold me up.

I don't get a thrill that "oo, look at me, I am what I want to be" because I'm concentrating on the situation at hand.

Those moments of struggle and plotting every move are as real as real can be. For one or two brief seconds, they have been alarming.

After it's over, I'm a little amazed that my mind is that strong. Because surely, that's what's orchestrating my lower body's non-cooperation.

No doubt it is my mind, perfectly willing to hypnotize myself into believing what I want to believe.

I don't know how to emphasize how real and how striking these moments are, how they go into a quiet internal space that I don't think my conscious mind has ever seen.

What, I wonder, is that place like? And what else is in there?

Maps Lie

I went to a world-famous museum today, wheeling. I did my due diligence first. The blue badge parking lot was just here. The museum's accessible entrance, right next to it. There was an accessible ladies room next to the restaurant.

What the maps didn't tell me were that:

1. The blue badge parking was on a relatively steep slope. I wheeled down it, but it took extra help getting back up.
2. There is only ONE accessible rest room and it's faux accessible. I couldn't fit my chair into the stall.
3. The restaurant (which was very nice and very pricey) was at the end of another incline. One of the security guards came over and pushed me the rest of the way. Going back down was fun and I have to admit, I was very tempted to just keep rolling and maybe run over some people.
4. Unlike the NY Metropolitan Museum of Art that stocks all of its stores with the same things, this museum didn't. I mean that if, say, you see a book on Andrew Wyeth right outside a Wyeth exhibit, if you don't buy it there, it will be at the museum store. If you find, as I did, a couple of cute doo-dads and expect to see them at the museum store, you won't.

There was something about this trip that took a lot out of me.

For one thing, after awhile, I gave up telling people that I was fine and I didn't need any help, thank you. At least ten people asked me. Ten! And honestly, my shoulders and hands were done. So at the end, someone could have wheeled me home and I would have been just as happy.

I was disappointed at how much the maps lie. I know they don't lie at the Metropolitan Museum, having gone there and rented a chair. And I didn't need anyone to push me anywhere.

I'm taking some Aleve. And then I'm taking a nap.

In Retrospect

Despite what I think most of the time, I really have been fortunate in my life. My physical maladies and injuries have been few. I have no lingering health problems. I think it makes doctors angry that I can be so overweight and yet be so healthy.

I've had the usual scrapes since childhood. A broken foot. Badly sprained ankles. Some cases of road rash when I fell off my bike a couple of times. All in all, well done, me for not being more of a klutz and managing to be in the right place most of the right times.

There have been some close calls, though, some circumstances that would have proved painful, if not deadly. Or really, really inconvenient.

Four or five years ago, a friend had invited me to drive into the city with her to pick up her daughter and go out for dinner. I don't remember why I declined, but it turned out to be the night of a massive blackout in New York City. I think it took her until one in the morning to get home.

On 9/11/2001, I had been scheduled to be at my then-company's Wall Street offices for training. There was a change in my job duties, so the training was canceled two weeks before.

Then much further back, there was the impromptu trip I turned down with my parents. I was going to college in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia. It was a gorgeous spring day in March. My mother was recovering from hip replacement surgery and she wanted to get out and about. Although they lived about two hours away from where I was going to school, they called me and asked if I wanted to go for a ride with them.

It was so tempting. Really, really tempting. But I'd done badly during my first semester and was working like mad to rescue my GPA. Despite how gorgeous the day was, even though at first, I said yes, when I looked at the stack of books on my desk, I knew I had to spend the day at the library, studying.

They called me four hours later. They'd been rear-ended by some drunk going 50 mph while they were going 45 mph. Luckily, my parents were unhurt, although I think it set back my mother's recovery a little bit.

The car wasn't driveable so they got my aunt to come pick them up and had the car towed back to town.

Later when I went home for spring break, I saw the car.

I saw where I usually sat. The drunk's car had pushed the trunk forward to the point where, if I'd been sitting there, I would have gotten hit hard (if not smushed). It would have hit me a little below the waist.

At the time, I thought, my legs would have been broken. My knees would have been smashed.

I think that would have been the least of it, really.

Set forward, who knows what would have happened to my mother?

And what damage would have been done to me? Specifically, my spine.

I'm grateful I wasn't in the car that day. The physical damage would have been the least of it. If I had caused injury or worse to my mother, that would have been nearly impossible to live with. If she had survived intact, what would have followed would have been years of unbearable dependency on them. My mother's attitude would not have been good.

The house they lived in was completely inaccessible. I know I would have wanted to go back to college as soon as possible, but would have found that campus inaccessible.

Now I would like to think, maybe it would have forced the issue sooner for me to be out on my own. Perhaps I would have moved to the West Coast, found a college there. And likely would have stayed there.

There are so many points in our lives where we don't realize that we're making a life altering decision. Taking this road or that, going for a Sunday drive or staying at school to study.

I wish there was a machine to let me see what that one decision, reversed, would have meant to me.