Walk This Way?

I am exceptionally grateful to have gotten a good report today. I pray I am on the mend to a full and complete recovery, but there are so many things about this experience that I never want to forget. One of those things happened today before I ever got in the doctor’s office. 

We arrived at the clinic, and the parking garage was an absolute nightmare. They have a designated drop-off spot for patients, but it was very confusing, so we just proceeded to the first available spot on the next level up. My husband carried all our accoutrements with us, so all I had to transport was myself and my walker (including all my pee bag tubes).  

My walker. At 35. This has given me a glimpse into what it is like to need adaptive technologies. It has shown me what our elderly must go through daily, and I don’t ever want to forget that. 

My husband tried to slow his long-legged pace and still stay far enough ahead of me to open doors and not let elevators close up before I could inch my way there. But as we approached the entrance (where you have to be screened), an older man carrying a paper with the details of his appointment cut me off (quite closely, I might add) and headed toward the table of temperature-takers. The attendant stopped him and told him that he’d gotten out of line and tried to show him that we were next. He stopped, looked quizzically at the attendant, and said, “I didn’t see them. I’m sorry... can I go now?” I sort of nodded to the attendant to acknowledge that I knew he tried, and it wasn’t his fault. This man hurriedly stepped up to the table declaring his appointment was in just a few minutes. (We were already late to mine because of my temporary mobility issues.) But I will extend this man some grace here. Who knows what results he was awaiting and whether or not he was as scared as I was?  I understand that anxiety and worry can “blind” someone to what others see as obvious. 

So we “passed inspection” with the temperature-takers and walked toward the elevators to get to the designated floor. There must’ve been a dozen or a couple dozen people there, but it seemed like so many more. With about three or four elevators on each side of a little foyer, we kept waiting for our turn. The “doorman” only allowed 4 people per elevator, but there were 2 of us so we had to wait until there was availability for us both. We must’ve been there for over 5 minutes waiting because each time we thought we were going, someone else cut around us at a dizzying pace. Person after person had to have seen us there and scattered around us to secure their spot on the next “ride”. Were they all blinded too? 

My heart sank, and I absolutely teared up. I became frustrated because we were late to my appointment. I felt invisible. I felt like I couldn’t move fast enough for everyone around me. I felt insignificant. 

It made me stop and question how we treat our elderly. We are so hurried that we skirt past their walkers and wheelchairs. We hope to “beat them there” because we know they’re moving slowly. We dismiss them as insignificant or confuse them, bypassing with such a daredevil pace. Today reminded me that I never want to make someone feel the way I felt today. It wasn’t my fault I couldn’t move fast enough, yet I couldn’t get where I needed to go without someone making a bit of a sacrifice to wait his or her turn. May I never again be so self-involved that I cannot hold the door for someone, secure the elevator for them, or even give up my place in line for another’s comfort or respect. 

We love the “new and exciting” as a society and are quick to discard anything that no longer shines and shimmers as it once did. Does the way in which we conduct ourselves communicate to the elderly or immobile that they aren’t worthy of “being kept or treasured” either?  I see a light - albeit a small one - at the end of my tunnel, but for some others... walkers, wheelchairs, canes, etc. are a permanent way of life. And that could be me or my husband one day. I pray I mark today down as another lesson learned in this experience and carry it forward with me, always remembering to offer the respect that others deserve and to never be in such a hurry nor so “blind” that I can’t simply wait my turn.