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Home / Thoughts / Other's Thoughts / Chloe's Thoughts / In the Deep End: Part 1

In the Deep End: Part 1

Written by Chloe on Saturday, August 23, 2008

I recently attended a week-long convention out of town. I chose to bring the wheelchair as I thought it would be more convenient than leg braces. My only previous experience out in the wheelchair was a short trip to the airport.

DAY 1

I wake up early in the morning. There is a long drive ahead of me. Usually, when I wake up, I put my hand out to touch the arm of the wheelchair. It is usually a comfort. This morning I don’t even want to look at the wheelchair. I am scared of it. Instead of the usual routine I just get out of bed and walk to the bathroom.

My back brace comes off and goes directly into the already half packed suitcase. I’m not going to wear it today. I’m planning not to wear it any day during the convention. I want to look hot and sexy in my wheelchair. The back brace doesn’t seem hot and sexy.

By the time I have showered, dressed, packed, and done makeup, my partner has cooked a large breakfast for me. Finally I am ready to sit in my wheelchair. My back is already hurting like hell, and I tell my partner about it. She has some issues to talk about too. We are always there for each other.

I am sitting in the car in the driveway, everything packed, ready to go. I have an OCD moment. I check that the wheelchair is still there a LOT of times before I can start the car. Then I check a LOT of times before I pull out. Then I keep checking it in the mirror until I round the first bend. Then I’m alright. OCD is a bit like BIID. You know it’s irrational, but you can’t just make it go away.

The new wheelchair smell gradually permeates the car, and it starts to take away some of my fear. At a rest stop, where I also have some crackers for lunch, the sun has heated the car so that the wheelchair smell is very strong. It is so comforting. At the first rest stop I limp into the restrooms. At the next one I use a crutch. I am saving the wheelchair for the hotel lobby.

Ten minutes away from my destination I start getting nervous; VERY nervous. My heart is pounding. Where the hell is that hotel anyway? I don’t know this town. I pull into the parking lot. There is an empty space right next to the handicap parking. That will work well. I see somebody I know just outside the lobby entrance. I am literally trembling with fear.

By the time I have calmed down enough to crutch round to the back of the car, sit on the bumper, haul the wheelchair out, transfer, and am ready for wheeling, there are only strangers in sight. That’s a relief.

Check in goes fine. They change my room to the first floor without my asking. That’s nice. I hadn’t planned on a wheelchair when I booked my room.

Finding my room does NOT go fine. They didn’t give me a map. I can only find the odd numbers. I have an even number. I twice ask employees which direction my room is, and I still can’t find it. Everything is carpeted. Wheeling on carpet is a LOT more strenuous. My wrists feel buggered already. I wish I’d brought leg braces. They work great on carpet. I give up and go back to front desk. Somebody escorts me to my room. It wasn’t even close to where I had been directed. I start cursing at myself. Shithead! What the fuck do you think you’re doing! I’m completely exhausted after fifteen minutes of wheeling on carpet. I don’t have much upper body strength. My arms and shoulders are in constant pain anyway. Fucking shithead!

My room has an outside door, so I go back to the car and drive it to the space just outside my room. Now I have to get all my luggage inside the room. I won’t even try to describe the inelegance of this procedure. Fucking shithead! I curse myself far more than I could possibly write down here. What was I thinking?! Now I am shaking from being so upset with myself. This is NOT going well. I am definitely ready for a beer, or five.

The hotel has restaurant, so I figure that’s the easiest place to get dinner. I wheel in. There is a small bar area, then the entire restaurant seating is down some STAIRS! You have got to be kidding me! Someone shouts over that they’ll get the manager to see what they can do. It is suggested that I can sit at the bar. What! Can I really be the first person in a wheelchair ever to come to this restaurant? Everyone seems flustered. I wheel up to the bar. It is really awkward, and very hard to reach the bar. There’s a guy next to me, also having dinner at the bar. I’m a very sociable person; even more so in leg braces or wheelchair. I smile sweetly at the guy.

I order a beer, then dinner, then another beer. Later the waitress asks if I’d like a free glass of wine. Duh! The guy next to me and I have a lively conversation throughout dinner. He lives in town, is lonely, unlucky in love, often goes there for dinner. He asks about my husband, presumably seeing my wedding ring. I talk about my partner as if she is male. I don’t feel like admitting I’m a lesbian. I feel guilty about it though. Later he asks about my wheelchair. I don’t mind talking about it at this point, since he has taken the trouble to get to know me as a person first. The universe has provided me with the gift of a back injury. It is very easy for me to respond to any questions about the wheelchair with truthful answers relating to my back injury. People hear what I say, see the wheelchair, and make some assumptions.

After dinner I try to exit the restaurant. The door is completely impossible from this side. I can’t figure out a way to get through. Someone comes to rescue me. I wheel back to my room. The nasty carpets seem endless. My room could not be further away from the restaurant. My arms hurt. I start laughing at how fucking difficult everything is! (sorry about the fucking language). Being disabled SUCKS! I mean, REALLY! What are you all thinking of? Are you all crazy? I wheel past the large indoor pool. Suddenly I have the urge to wheel right into the deep end. I think I am already in the deep end.

I am so happy with the day’s events that, as soon as I get back to my room, I get out of the wheelchair and jump up and down with joy in front of the mirror. Seriously. Yeah, alright, I know that’s a little weird, but you should see the smile on my face.

DAY 2

The scariest part of going to this convention is that I shall be having social interactions with hundreds of people, many of whom are friends and acquaintances that I have known for years. Nobody here knows anything about my BIID, and I’m not going to mention it. It is time for breakfast, where I am very likely to see someone I know. My heart is pounding.

After several miles of interminable carpet I am at the hotel’s breakfast buffet. I head straight for the coffee. It comes in a very squishy styrofoam cup. When I stuff it between my thighs it looks dangerously close to spilling, so I take a few sips before heading to a table. Some spills onto the chair anyway. Shit! At least I’m wearing shorts, so none gets on my clothes. I put the cup on the table and head back to get some food. ALL of the food is out of reach. Just great! I ask someone for assistance; no problem.

As I’m eating, someone I know sits down a few tables away from me. We wave in recognition. He, like me, is partially deaf; so we are able to carry on a soundless conversation with lip reading and gestures from across the room. He asks about the wheelchair. Since we have known each other for many years I don’t mind the question. I would do the same. I explain about my back injury from skiing. I marvel at how cool it is to converse at a distance like that.

I go to the convention site to register. By now I have mastered the routine of crutching to the rear of the car, sitting on the bumper, pulling the wheelchair out, and transferring. As I wheel into the registration area someone immediately comes over to hand me a handicap parking permit for the convention site. I’m pleased. I feel validated.

After I wheel out of registration to check the schedule of events, I keep runnning into people I have known for twenty years or so. I immediately have to field a LOT of questions about the wheelchair.

I’m finding it very difficult to get around the convention site. It’s not as flat as I thought it was going to be. People offer assistance when they see I’m in trouble though. I gladly accept the help. Most of the restrooms do not have accessible stalls.

I go to the competitors’ meeting at the designated area. It is definitely not accessible, and I have to wait for help to get in there. In fact I need a lot of help with a lot of things. Most of the wheeling is on dirt. I’m beginning to wonder if I should have worn leg braces instead. At least people are always eager to help me out.

I am invited to view the entire art exhibit in order to test it’s accessibilty. I am happy to oblige. A couple of tables need to be moved. The organiser also asks me to be a judge for the art competitions. I decline, since I have a scheduling conflict later in the week, when the art judging is to take place.

I go back to the hotel room in the middle of the afternoon. I feel exhausted. My upper body strength is waning. My wrists feel buggered. This is not a good sign. I haven’t even been here 24 hours. My back hurts because I am too vain to wear my back brace. I am addicted to wearing clothes that show off my nice boobs whenever I am in leg braces or the wheelchair.

I get in bed and watch TV while I paint my nails; my favorite metallic purple. Then I turn off the TV and take a nap. I am woken up ten minutes later by minor muscle spasms in my left quadriceps; nothing unusual. I start crying; not because I am stuck in a wheelchair all week, but because I am pissed off about having BIID. I do accept that I’ve always had it and that it’s never going to go away. But sometimes…

I go to a nearby restaurant for dinner; not particularly keen on a repeat of yesterday. The hostess looks at me as if she has never seen a wheelchair before. I’m actually starting to wonder if I have the only wheelchair in town. She clearly has no clue how she is going to deal with the situation. I suggest that, if she removes a chair from a nearby table, I will be able to back into the space; no problem. People I know from the convention stop by to chat while they are waiting for a table. I have lost count of the number of times I have had to explain why I am in a wheelchair.

Back to the convention site: it seems like I’ve got the hang of car-wheelchair transfers without using my legs at all. I’m pleased with myself. The opening ceremonies begin. For the first time in my life I am unable to stand during the national anthem; more tears. This experience had not crossed my mind ahead of time.

When I take my clothes off for bed, I feel surprised that I am still wearing what I put on this morning. That seems such a long time ago. This was my first ever full day out in a wheelchair. A long day. A good day.

Tags: Accessibility, Back Brace, Back Injury, BIID, Crutch, Leg Braces, Wheelchair

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