I can’t make this sh*t up!

Sometimes I feel like there is no one in the world that understands how my life works.  Surely if there were more people who understood the ins and outs of daily life for people like me, more people would be considerate… right?

I have to tell you a story about a time I went to St. Augustine.  I have a son with special needs; he uses a wheelchair type stroller on long trips because walking for a long period of time is very hard for him.  We took our children to see the Fort there in the city.  We drove around for what seemed like hours to try and find a parking space.  Finally, we found one at the very back of the parking lot.  As we unload and approach the fort, I look at the handicapped space at the FRONT of the parking lot.  What would you guess was parked there?  A MOTORCYCLE!! I was outraged!  There is no way that someone driving a motorcycle could possibly be handicapped enough to require a handicapped parking space!  For my daughter and my husband’s sake I kept my cool.  But I really wanted to go in there and tell the attendant that the motorcycle had left their lights on, just so I could confront him/her about the lack of common courtesy for others who have a giant van and wheelchair for which those spaces were designated.  But I didn’t.  Sometimes I fear that my ranting will soon send my husband and daughter off to start a new, calm life without me.

Tuesday I was at the neurologist for my son.  He HATES elevators!  But we cannot very well walk to the 4th floor can we?  I have even been that crazy parent who closes the elevator doors even though I hear people coming, just to avoid such encounters described later.   So into the elevator we go.  I pray a silent prayer to myself, “God, please don’t let anyone have to ride in this elevator with us, and please OH PLEEEEEEEASE lets not have to stop on any other floor”. No such luck.  In piles a mom and her 3 kids and a businessman of some kind.  Elevator doors closes… and the screaming starts.  I am trying to restrain my son so he won’t hurt himself, or someone else for that matter.  The people on the elevator are MORTIFIED!! They are staring, they are gathered in a small corner of the elevator, as if my son is about to turn into the hulk and start hurting people.  I watch the floors go up, “God could this take any longer?”  Finally 4th floor, do you think any of the people on the elevator are going to let me off this damn thing?  No, they all bolt for the door, so much that all 4 of them can barely squeeze out.  They react as if they were hostages in a violent bank heist!  How do I feel now?   How would you feel?

Into the office we go, now my son is perfectly fine, as if nothing happened.  He’s happy and singing like nothing in the world bothers him.  We see the doctor and we chat about the progress he is making and what not.  “Well, it sounds like your son is going through puberty”… Excuse me? Um, I don’t think so lady… my reaction?  “Is there something you can give him to stop that?”  Sounds like a ridiculous question right?  And I know that most people with an opinion have something to say about that.  But hey, you don’t live my life.  Don’t judge me.  Do you know how much pubic hair will hinder the diaper changing process?  OMG!! “Is he too young for laser hair removal?” Yes, I actually think these things. In most instances people are like “Oh, puberty when a boy becomes a man” while giving them a stern pat on the back accompanied by a manly grunt of sorts.  I’m thinking “Puberty!  Oh my God!! How am I going to change his diapers?  How am I going to deal with TESTOSTERONE?  How in the Sam hell am I going to attempt to shave his face?  Can we give him a shot or something? How can I stop this from happening?”  You can imagine that this line of questioning comes with some sideways glances and judgment about my son’s reproductive rights. Listen folks, my son doesn’t have reproductive rights, how would he ever care for a child? He’s almost 11 and he still wears a diaper and sucks his thumb… shhyeah, not going to happen.  These are the things that run through my mind at a million miles per second!  I guess the only solution is to let him look like Chewbacca and be on my way.  What other choice do I have?

People are so quick to judge and stand up for my son’s rights, but they have not lived one day in my shoes.  Not one day in any of our shoes.  How dare you judge me, or anyone else for that matter?  I have to take my son into the bathroom with me in public places; he cannot be outside alone.  He would walk away with any random stranger.  So in we go.  I hear you in the next stall, talking about that “big boy” in the stall next to you.  I guess my question is why are you even looking over into my stall?  Don’t you have your own business to take care of?  And yes, my son is in the stall with me and no there is nothing going on!   I have contemplated on many occasions, making him wear pink shoes just so no one says anything.  I also change his diaper in my minivan.  I know this seems to common folk that I must be doing something else to him, but trust me there is nothing going on here.  If you have time to stop and talk about it, perhaps you could lend me a hand?  The doctor has suggested that I had out cards “explaining my son’s disabilities”… yes let me grab that card and attempt to give it to you as you pass by and I am elbow deep in a poopy diaper.  Or better yet let me chase you down the road to give you the cards, yes that sounds like a great idea.  Not only do you think I’m a pedophile, but now I’m chasing you.  Sounds like grounds for an arrest to me.  I’m just saying.  Ok, all joking aside, I guess my point to all this is, no I cannot make this sh*t up, yes this really does happen.

And please please, if you see some poor ragged mom trying to juggle a wheelchair and all her bags, or a mom that’s just trying to get her son off a God forsaken elevator, HELP them.  Open the door them, ask if you can carry a bag for them, offer to help them.  It won’t cost you anything.  My son’s cooties will not rub off on you, I promise.  And who knows, the mom you help could be me.

These are the days of our lives… drama like the soap opera but far less sexiness! Ha ha ha!

Rebekah 

Do you have a story to share about taking your special needs child out into the world?

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Powered by WordPress | Rileys Smile