Conquering the Improbably Impossible

The word adventure carries with it connotations of thrills, discoveries, fear, frustration, challenge, and even defeat. The tale I am about to relate is aptly considered an adventure, for it had its thrilling moments, the event was full of discoveries, indeed several people involved were afraid, I, the central person in the event, experienced frustration, and there was a point when the challenge was so great that I considered surrender. But I am happy to report to all who read that through perseverance, through determination, through the support of friends, and mostly through the fear of wondering what I would do if I did not succeed, I conquered the task of using the handicapped stall in the Warrensburg Wal Mart.

It was summer of 2004. For many years, I had struggled with balance and coordination, and for the past four years, I had been a physical therapy patient to help me regain said balance. While the therapist and I became fast friends and remain so to this day, we both agreed that the concept of therapy was that the patient get better. I, however, did the opposite. I walked in, needing occasional help, and through the years, advanced to needing an arm to lean on, then an occasional supportive cane, then a quad (or, as my niece Elizabeth dubbed it, the granny) cane, then the quad cane and help, then the quad cane and occasional wheelchair. Christel, the therapist, and I both agreed that therapy didn’t seem to offer the answer, so we decided to take a break from the therapy but not the friendship. I look back now and wonder just how frustrated she was, working so hard to help me and watching me go downhill. Finally, in July, 2004, after some events, various medical tests made it clear to the doctors that I had a progressive neurological disorder which affects balance and coordination negatively. I entered the hospital walking with a cane and, 16 days later, left the same hospital in a wheelchair.

The trip to Warrensburg was my first outing of fun since that time, and we were all very naive about the concept of handicapped access. We had eaten at a Mexican restaurant (name available upon request) which serves the best Mexican food this side of the border. Naturally, Amy, Carolyn, Pauletta, and I had a lot of laughing and crying to do, and because the servers at this restaurant are wonderful people, they happily refilled our drinks (water with lemon–Carolyn; sweet tea–Amy; Diet Coke–Pauletta and me) every time the glasses were a quarter empty. This meant that the need grew urgent.

Why, you may be wondering, did we not deal with the need at the restaurant? Well, the good people at the restaurant believe in providing as attractive an environment for the ladies as possible, and this includes providing aromatherapy. The provision for the olfactory sense is as enthusiastically provided as the servers’ refill of beverages. I have asthma which is not mild to moderate. A major trigger is scent. Thus, my friends took care of their business at the restaurant and we headed to Wal Mart, where we knew handicapped accessible stalls were readily available, because we had seen the stalls and we knew they were there. In fact, as I recall, I and my friends beamed with joy and said, “Oh, good! We can go there!”

The plan was as follows: Carolyn would pull up in front of the store and Amy, great with child but much the youngest, would jump out and procure a wheelchair. If there was no wheelchair, we would use “my” chair. We deemed the Wal Mart chair an advantage because of the basket which is attached in front, for my seated balance was and is somewhat iffy. Amy trundled the chair out; Pauletta attached my gait belt, and successfully I was transferred from the van to the chair. The basket was put down and feeling somewhat like a child in a high chair, I was then whisked to the door of the Wal Mart restroom. There the fun began.

See, Pauletta had stayed with Carolyn. So there I was, in the chair. In the basket were two purses. Amy was behind me, pushing. We arrived at our destination to discover that the ladies’ restroom door opens in. No problem! Amy opened the door. I stuck out my leg to hold open the door, and wheeled myself into the room. And smack into the trash can.

“You need to turn a bit,” Amy advised.

We were still friendly and optimistic then. I smiled and agreed. I backed up and prepared to try. I am so very glad that before I began to move, I glanced up and caught the young woman’s look of alarm. You must understand that the Baby Changing Station is just inside the Wal Mart restroom. You enter, and if you wish to take care of personal business, make a sharp right and proceed to the area and deal with the need. If you wish merely to deposit trash, you simply take two steps into the restroom and toss your trash into the trashcan beside the baby changing station.

Wise mothers who have a baby put the baby carrier on the floor under the Baby Changing Station. Mother who have twins change one baby at a time, placing child number two in the carrier on the floor under the BCS, which certainly seems reasonable. This young woman had twins. Do you see why she seemed alarmed at the picture of my wheeling over her second child? I do. And I agree.

Crossing my legs, I assured her there was no hurry and we discussed how best to deal with the situation. Amy leaned in over my shoulder and said, “Oh, dear.”

That seemed a good summation to me, but it really didn’t comfort my bladder. Amy, an experienced mother, decided to whip me back outside, turn me around, back me in, and sort of wiggle me toward the sinks, thus protecting the twin in the carrier on the floor. We all agreed (except for my bladder) that this was the best plan. What we forgot was that wheelchairs don’t wiggle. They lurch. They lock. But they do not wiggle.

However, Amy, being a determined woman, managed to get me inside without harming a child, including the as yet unborn Katie Joy, who was now dancing on Amy’s bladder and occasionally delivering swift kicks to my head as she objected to the new activities her mother was performing. Amy muttered something about needing to cross her legs. I had a swift thought which was somewhat uncharitable, but we still were fairly optimistic about Wal Mart’s handicapped accessible facilities, so we smiled at each other, laughed at the problem, and proceeded to apologize to the three teen girls who were occupying the sink area. They were not washing their hands, and they were not drying their hands. As far as I could tell, they were earnestly gazing at themselves in the mirror, and they appeared to be somewhat negative in their emotions when Amy pivoted the chair and caught one of them in the child’s petite derriere with the Wal Mart wheelchair basket. We apologized prettily, however, and began the seemingly simple task of traversing the path of stalls to the end, where the handicapped stall is located.

The mother of twins wished us the best, which I thought odd but kind, and then switched children. Amy figured out that the best way to get the chair around the BC station was to do a sort of tilted side wheelie, which was fun, but the Dear Sweet Lady who emerged from Stall One was not impressed. Nor did she seem to think that she should yield ground and let us pass. She reminded me of Apollyon in Pilgrims’ Progress. Finally, Amy backed me up, DS Lady stalked past us, nose in the air, muttering something about the types of people who come to Wal Mart, and left without washing her hands. Amy again performed the wheelie maneuver and we were off on the straight path. At last! Home base was in sight.

Oh, dear. Someone was in there. Altruistically, I told Amy to grab Stall One, the late throne of She Who Would Not Yield, and take care of Katie and her own need. While that took place, I backed up so that the handicapped person in the hc stall would have plenty of room to exit (Mom of twins had left). Amy emerged (Please note: My friends wash their hands), and we waited. And we waited. I pondered the concept of redesigning a normal stall, but I decided that, what with the medical bills and all, I couldn’t afford to pay Wal Mart for the repairs, so I crossed my legs more tightly.

Finally, the door lock clicked and the door began to open. I whispered to Amy that since the poor dear soul had taken so long, it might be a good idea to offer to help her. Amy agreed. We, I believe, grew a tad dewy-eyed at the pathetic sight we expected to see emerge and both of us were counting our blessings. I distinctly remember thinking that while I faced a rather grim prognosis, at least I had many friends and an incredible support base. I even remember trying to think of ways to get this lady’s name to see if a local church body could rally round and help her. While I sat, thinking these thoughts, Amy stood, poised to abandon me and help the poor dear soul who was all alone in the handicapped stall and had to traverse what we had learned was not a simple path.

The door opened fully. The PDS emerged, walking smoothly, no handicap at all, pushing her Wal Mart shopping cart – her empty Wal-Mart shopping cart – and glared at us. We obviously were in her way, and she obviously expected us to yield. Frankly, I felt this was the wiser plan, and my feet began to paddle the floor to help Amy reverse the chair quickly. The PDS, along with the empty cart, left the restroom. She did not wash her hands.

Amy, I think, summed it up best when she said, “Well.” After all, what else was there to say? Silently, we traversed the few feet to the handicapped stall; silently, I entered and gave thanks to God that I had been a teacher for nineteen years and thus had developed the holding power of a camel. After relief was complete, I completed the transfer back to the wheelchair and Amy helped me to the sink. I glanced up at her as I washed my hands. Her eyes were as big and round as could be.

My question to you all is this: What could possibly be so precious about a Wal Mart cart that anyone would need to take it even into the restroom? I surely have not figured it out yet, although I have risked what is left of my reputation for sanity and have asked even perfect strangers and if they have a favorite Wal-Mart cart. To my lack of surprise, each person who has answered has indicated that he or she has a minimal emotional involvement with the shopping carts provided by the discount emporium. I can only hold to the hope that this dear lady is able to get her cart and her cart only each time she shops at Wal Mart.

Before I lived on this side of the chair, I had very strong convictions about handicapped parking spaces, using handicapped stalls in restrooms, and generally doing my best to reserve those places for those who really needed them. Now that I’m one of “them,” I have discovered something unusual. My convictions have not changed, but my compassion for those who do not share those convictions has grown enormously. I am still surprised each time I realize that – oh, yes! I do park in the handicapped slot – and I still feel guilt because someone more needy might come along. As I watch my motor function decrease, I find that my sense of humor increases exponentially. I just that if I become proprietary over a cart in Wal-Mart, I will not choose the cart which introduced me to the art of mastering the handicapped stall in the Warrensburg Wal-Mart.

Note: Although there will be many references to Wal Mart in this book because of my socioeconomic status, this is a business which is genuinely committed to making a shopping trip possible for the disabled. All you have to do is ask, and the store will meet your need. I have asked for someone to go with me to put things in carts and the employee has not only done so but also has guided me to better bargains. I have asked for help in buying a surprise for the person who drove me and after picking out what I wanted and giving the employee the money, not only has the purchase been made, but it has been brought to me gift wrapped as well, free of charge. My purchases are always taken to the van and loaded; I am assisted in the van, and I really think they’re disappointed because they can’t go home and unload my purchases and put them away. There are few stores, upper and lower scale, as committed to helping the disabled as Wal Mart.