I am driving to my favorite shop at the mall to search for something that will make me feel better. Ahhh, retail therapy. It begins wandering aimlessly for an item that I had no idea I couldn’t live without… nothing can compare to the rush you feel as you swipe your credit card. You feel alive! But only till you scoot home and come to the realization that you are a proud owner of an emerald-green alligator pendant with cubic zirconia accents, and you still feel like monkey crap.
But today is different. I have staples going up the side of my head from the brain surgery I just endured, thanks to a broken wire in my “Deep Brain Stimulation” shenanigans… (Very scientific term, I wouldn’t expect everyone to understand the professional terminology). I still have the residue of iodine in my hair and a lovely bald spot, which I have attempted to cover up (poorly I might add) à la Donald Trump comb over.
I pull into the mall parking lot and begin to search for a spot. The mall was unusually busy. Maybe everyone was there for the big sale of alligator pendants at Macy’s. Good thing I already have mine! Still feeling fuzzy from my medical trauma, I look down at my Disability Placard and wave of anxiety floods my body. I think to myself, “Really Ms. Perky Parkie? You’re afraid to use your placard because someone might say something rude to you? You have staples in your head! Who cares what people say?!”
I go over all the logical explanations that I could tell someone if they were to come after me with pitchforks and torches. Then it hits me, people are judging a book by its cover. I am handicap, and some days are worse than others. Walking can be a challenge and especially this very moment. But because of my perfect soul, I am able to see other people’s point of view. I don’t look like I have had even one day of bad health. So to others it is hard to believe that I am struggling. But it seems absolutely ridiculous to act like my symptoms are worse just to make others feel comfortable with where I park. With this dilemma, I pass it onto my readers…
I AM A CAREGIVER. MY HUSBAND HAS P.D. WE BOTH HAVE PARKING PERMITS. HIS IS THE YELLOW AND GREY ONE WHILE I USE THE BLUE ONE. IF I AM GOING ON AN ERRAND I WILL USE MY BLUE PERMIT. IF MY HUSBAND IS WITH ME AND WE BOTH GO INTO STORE, I WILL USE HIS PERMIT. HE NO LONGER DRIVES AND STRUGGLES TO WALK ALL THE TIME. HE IS IN HIS 14TH? YEAR WITH PD.
haha…your pithy witticisms just get better and better! You should take advantage of you war-wound and scare people outta your way – more space, more freedom of choice:)
Keep it up Alison!!