Unprepared

So yesterday I implored the general public to be generally nicer...and today it happened. So you'd think I'd be prepared, right?

In the words of my 3 year old, “No, nope, never.”

I was actually outside the preschool of said-3 year old when it happened. It was 20 minutes before closing and I had been driving for an hour, having left Old Boy's outpatient OT appointment right at rush hour.

Puggles and the Poodle were sleeping in the van.

Monster's preschool is in a large building in the back of an old mill complex. Since there is no view of the parking lot from his classroom and picking him up is often an unnecessarily long process fraught with odd rituals and delays, I am uncomfortable leaving the two little ones alone in the car.

Since I can't walk well and neither of them can walk at all, the only choice the three of us were left with was to use the double stroller. Luckily, our double stroller is light (enough). However, I was completely exhausted, so the thought of lifting anything more than a banana felt overwhelming. And I knew that getting the stroller out was only the first of several undesirable steps including probably waking two children, rushing in to pick up my anxious toddler (who hates being picked up when “the sun is sleeping”), then repeating the whole process to get back into the van and home.

I must have looked as tired and miserable as I felt at the moment that I opened the rear door of my mini van and pulled out the stroller because another mom a few cars over asked, “Do you need some help?”

I was so taken aback by the question that I didn't quite know what to say. I'm fairly sure I stared at her blankly for a moment.

 

--Am I dreaming? Is someone actually offering help?--

Of course, I graciously accepted stammered something unintelligible before saying, “No, I'm ok.”

She gave me a look of complete non-belief.

“I just have to pick up my son,” I continued, as though the sling, brace, limp, and obvious exhaustion were commonplace... “My two little ones are sleeping and I have to bring them in with me. It just takes a little longer, that's all.” Oh lies, lies, lies.

“Oh, ok,” she said, probably half-relieved and entirely confused. “It's just that you look so--” Disabled? Exhausted? Forlorn? All three? “But as long as you're alright.”

“I'm alright,” I parroted. “Thank you, though.”

She drove off and I slowly got the little ones into the stroller, managing to keep the Poodle sleeping and Puggles hooked up to her feed. I hobbled in to get Monster, who ran happily to meet me, which temporarily eased the exhaustion. I gladly chatted with him and piled everyone back in the car in what I felt was a reasonable amount of time.

Still, I could have accepted this kind stranger's assistance. I could have asked her to stand with the kids for a minute or to run into the preschool for me, or something. For goodness sake, I'm a mom and beyond that, I'm human. If I had seen anyone in the shape I was in tonight, I would have offered to help them--and not just out of obligation, but because I'd genuinely want to do so. Instead, tonight I was just too me—shy and stubborn and independent and leery all rolled into one.

Jeez. No wonder people drop the door on me.

Week in Review, My Thoughts on Public Hobbling

 

This past week has been crazy-busy with appointments of every kind for me and the kids. We also seemed to have wrapped up the week of stomach-yuckiness, until I was stricken yesterday afternoon. I think I made out much better than my poor kids and wife, though. Everything has stayed in, perhaps as a result of the many painkillers, but I feel gross. Thankfully, the big guys had school today and Cam took the Poodle out with her, so Puggles and I just maxed and relaxed. It's funny—Puggles is exclusively tube fed as a result of her genetic disorder and dysmotility. (I will eventually get her blog to be more than a figment of my imagination), but I swear sometimes she wants to eat. Either that or she's teasing me. Today, as I was forcing myself to eat Saltines and sip ginger ale so that I could take my regular meds, she was practically wiggling out of her seat whining at me. Out of common courtesy, I offered her a cracker. She looked at me like I was crazy!

So aside from my current stomach woes, I've actually been getting out of the house recently—to places other than the hospital and pharmacy, no less. It's still a work in progress. Some days I feel fabulous. On Sunday, we had the Poodle's birthday party, and I had so much fun.

We have some pretty awesome friends and family. One of Puggles' little friends, Skye, came over after the party with her parents, and we all enjoyed feeling normal for the evening.

I notice now when I go out in public (right arm in sling, left in brace, limping with a crutch), I'm met with one of two reactions:

1. The Over-Reaction
   People keep their kids away from me and generally treat me like I'm dying. Also, like I'm deaf. A very strange conversation took place behind me at Stop & Shop. It was between two women trying to figure out how to pass me in an aisle and was **VERY** dramatic. I felt like turning around and informing them that I was able to hear them or like whacking them with my crutch as they attempted to rush by. I didn't.
2. Complete Ignorance
   People either have no common courtesy, are completely oblivious to what goes on around them or think that a person with a physical disability would be appalled at any offer of help. This past weekend I went to Old Navy to get a Halloween costume with Old Boy. After shopping for a while and standing in line, he was even more wired than usual; I was even more tired. We walked to the doors with a group of people no more than three feet behind us. Instead of taking a step forward to grab the door for me as I struggled with a large bag, a crutch, a heavy door and a hyperactive child, the group pushed into us and huffed.

For cripes sake. It isn't that difficult. To the over-reactors: If I were in some critical condition, it's unlikely you'd find me at the grocery store or Old Navy. You don't need to whisper near me or avert your eyes. To the second group: have some decency. I'm not suggesting that anyone make a big show out of helping a person with a physical disability if they appear to be doing fine on their own, but if someone seems to be struggling, it doesn't hurt to ask if they need a hand. Furthermore, this doesn't just hold true for a person with a cane, but for any person. (After all, I'm still disabled on days when I'm not wearing the sling and using the crutch.) What's the worst that could happen? You might get snapped at. But chances are, you won't. And as a person with a crutch, I've really appreciated door-holding recently!

So overall, a pretty good week. I actually had two very productive appointments with new providers (for myself.) I have a great deal of anxiety when it comes to seeing new providers, especially since I am prescribed a lot of pain medication and have had some unpleasant experiences along those lines. To my pleasant surprise, both the neurologist and the gastroenterologist took the time to research EDS and were thoughtful and kind. Wow.