When I speak with other disabled people with heart or lung disease, one subject is always discussed: disability parking. Everyone has a story. Here are a few of mine:
There is something call Activities of Daily Living. I found that I could do two activities a day without having to “pay” for it the next day or two. For example, I could go to rehab and take a shower; food shop and cook dinner; or yard work and go out to dinner. Sometimes, with the muscles and stamina I have gained with rehab, I could begin to add a third activity maybe once or twice a week.
A disability parking space allows me to not have to carry heavy oxygen into stores and it saves just a bit of energy that I don’t have to use walking across a parking lot. I imagine gathering all these energy saving nuggets we learned about in rehab so I can add one more activity that day. It really makes a difference by the end of the day. I could maybe even cook dinner!
Within a year of rehab, I was so proud to be able to food shop by myself and later, actually lift the groceries into the trunk. One afternoon, I was thrilled and very proud of myself for being able to do it all without oxygen. As I shut the trunk, a man walked by and said, “Disabled? I don’t think so!” and kept walking. I was furious. I wanted to run in after him and tell him what I had and how it has been a struggle just to do minimal tasks. Instead, I drove home. I had been so surprised that I didn’t reply quickly enough though nasty responses flooded my brain for days.
It is always men who confront me.
The first time it happened, we were in a very bad period of the disease. We had planned all week to go out on Friday night to our sweet Chinese restaurant 45-minutes away. A real treat. We agreed not to talk about the disease at all that evening. It was going to be a special time for us to forget, just for one night.
After dinner, we parked the convertible in a disability spot at Trader Joes. Heading back to the car with one bag, we were laughing and feeling great. An older man stood in front of our car and said, “Which of you is disabled?” with disgust in his voice. I raised me hand, “I am!” “You don’t look disabled,” he replied. With that, Michael said, “Mister, you shouldn’t have said that,” then climbed into the car to watch the fireworks.
It took me just over five minutes before he apologized, hugged me and wished me good luck. My sweet husband told me that I had totally verbally humiliated the old guy. Good. I didn’t want him to ever do that to another disabled person again.
Not all disabled people appear disabled.
Next: Private Investigators
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