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Blog > Thoughts > Other's Thoughts > Chloe's Thoughts > Party Time

Party Time

Written by Chloe on Friday, April 3, 2009

A friend of mine was having a housewarming party. I had not seen her since I stopped presenting as able bodied at social events. She knew nothing of my wheelchair or BIID. There would also be other friends there, as well as acquaintances, and people I’ve never met before. With just one exception, none of them knew. I was pretty nervous about going to this party.

I had lunch with my best friend the day before the party. All week we had been going over the options:

1. I could simply not show up at the party.
2. I could go to the party, but not in the wheelchair (or other assistive device).
3. I could be completely honest about the BIID, when asked about the wheelchair.
4. I could disclose to friends about the BIID, but ask them not to tell other people at the party.
5. I could stick to the ski accident story.

We quickly decided that a) was not an option, because I love parties and I wanted to see my friends; b) was not an option because I would feel like a complete fake showing up to a social event as able bodied; d) was problematical because at a drunken party situation people are going to talk to each other anyway; e) would mean lying to long time friends, and I just can’t do that.

That left me with the decision to be completely honest with everybody, no matter who it was, if they asked about the wheelchair. I probably would have chickened out had it not been for my best friend, who is 100% supportive and who was also going to be at the party. My partner wasn’t coming with me since she is rather more introverted than I am and is often not comfortable at parties.

Since this was a housewarming party, I’d not been there before. It was a dark street in an unfamiliar neighborhood, and I couldn’t see the numbers on the houses. As soon as I saw my best friend’s car parked on the street I felt very relieved.

As I wheeled up to the front door, I found that there were two significant steps leading up to it. They were separated from each other, so I figured I could pop a wheelie to get up them one at a time. My first tentative attempt convinced me I should first put down the bottle of wine I was nestling in my lap. I’d popped wheelies to get up steps before, but these were at least twice the size of anything I’d attempted before; more than six inches I think. After a couple more attempts I thought I had it figured out and went for it. Wham!! That was the back of my head hitting concrete. Note to self: stop hitting head; it hurts.

I had practiced at home getting back into the wheelchair from the floor. It was more difficult than I thought it was going to be. But that was with the wheelchair upright and locked. Here I was looking up at the stars with my legs up in the air, still in the wheelchair, and a bit dazed too. I figured I should rock myself sideways to fall over onto the ground, and then extricate myself from the chair. Then I set the chair upright, locked the brakes, and transferred back in from the ground. Wow, this was a pretty exciting party, and I hadn’t even made it to the front door yet!

Now what? I still had to get up those steps to reach the doorbell so that I could ask for help. Hmmm. No signs of any other guests arriving. However, I did have my cell phone. I called my best friend, who I knew was inside on account of her car. She came to the door with the hostess and one of our mutual friends. We all giggled a bit at the situation. My friends wanted to know about the wheelchair right away. I told them it was a long story and I’d rather get inside first, and I needed a drink. My best friend has known for many months, but had not disclosed anything to our mutual friends. They went off to find some strong guys to haul me up the steps.

My first time getting hauled up stairs in the chair had only been the evening before. After the intersex support group, we had all gone out to dinner as usual. However, there were no available tables on the ground floor, and no elevator. We decided the best solution would be for me to get carried up the stairs in my chair. My intersex friends were joking around that they might drop me so that I would fall down the stairs and become paraplegic.

Back to the party: I was introduced to a bunch of people I’d never met before, and then I hung out with my best friend for a while since she said she had to leave soon. After she left I looked around the room to see who I wanted to talk to next. There was a guy sitting alone on a couch, and I just knew intuitively that he would be someone with whom I would have great conversation. I wheeled up to him.

We talked about the usual trivia for a while: where we lived, how we knew the hostess, etc. He had briefly referred to having an accident during the course of this, and later I said “Would you tell me about your accident?”. He said “I don’t really like to talk about it”. I put my hand on his leg and said “That’s fine, we don’t have to talk about it”. With the pressure off, he proceeded to talk about it for at least the next hour. I’m a very attentive listener, and he clearly did need somebody to talk to about it. He’d had a TBI last year, was still recovering from it, was taking the same amount of Prozac as me, for depression. Somehow I can instantly spot people with depression and am immediately attracted to them.

Eventually he asked about the wheelchair. Without hesitation I said “I have BIID, body integrity identity disorder”. I explained it all at some length. This was the first time I’d talked about it with someone I hadn’t met before. He was completely understanding and compassionate about it. Maybe it helped that I’d already demonstrated that I am a genuinely caring person, rather than some weird freak.

After a while the two of us were joined by the hostess. She wanted to know about the wheelchair. I came right out with it. She has been a friend for more than a decade, knows me very well, and wanted quite a lot of details about it. She was completely accepting and supportive, and said that it was not at all surprising to her that I had this. I guess she does know me rather well.

Then I went to mingle, and talked a while with an acquaintance I’d not seen in about six years. He commented on how beautiful I looked. I’m still trying to get used to this. Nobody said these kind of things to me before I started using a wheelchair. The previous evening the psychotherapist who runs the intersex group had commented that I looked more stunning than he had ever seen me. My best guess is that people are picking up on my radiant and confident demeanor when I’m in a wheelchair.

Er, back to the party again. In due course my acquaintance asked about the wheelchair. I’m beginning to think there’s something about my delivery of this subject that makes it hard for people to be anything other than completely accepting about it. Over the course of the party I told around seven people about my BIID. I did not encounter even the slightest problem with it. Towards the end of the party I went back to the guy who’d had the TBI and had some more great conversation.

I was among the last five people to leave. The other four asked me if I needed help down the steps. I figured it would be a piece of cake going down by myself, so I slowly backed down the first step while leaning forward. Wham! Oops! At least I tucked my head in a bit more this time. After a couple of seconds I started laughing. I kept on laughing. The others started laughing too. We all laughed long and loud. What else do you do when you’re upside down in such an undignified postion, and one’s skirt isn’t really covering all that it should be?

This time there was a bench that I could easily transfer to from the ground. Then I asked the others to right the wheelchair, position it where I wanted, and set the brakes. Now I had an easy transfer from the bench to the wheelchair. From the ensuing conversation it was clear that people now believed that I was in fact paralysed, and that the BIID stuff had just been some bullshit story!

The guy who’d had the TBI accompanied me to my car, asked if I needed any help, gave me a big hug, and thanked me for our talks. We expressed a desire to see each other again before too long.

There’s a little detail that I’ve left out, which I am adding as an afterthought because I’m not sure if it has any relevance whatsoever. I am a Buddhist. My best friend is a Buddhist. The hostess of the party is a Buddhist. This was by no means an exclusively Buddhist party, but there were quite a few there. After some time talking to the guy with the TBI, he had said “You’re a Buddhist, right?”. I was a bit startled. What, do I have a barcode tattooed on my forehead? I’m not sure how he picked up on it, but it turned out that he is a Buddhist too. Please don’t think I would ever attempt to convert anybody to anything, but it crossed my mind that this might have contributed to the easy and comfortable time I had talking to people about my BIID at this party. Some of the core values of Buddhism are compassion and acceptance.

As I drove home from the party, I contemplated what a marvel it is that a wheelchair enables me to feel so comfortable and extroverted at parties.

Tags: Able Bodied, BIID, Body Integrity Identity Disorder, Paralysed, Paraplegic, TBI, Transfer, Wheelchair, Wheelie

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