At 50, on a business trip to Cairo, I met someone and we really hit it off.
I cringed as it clanged and banged on the way down.
I felt like the Goddess of Thunder (not in a good way). It was hard for me to push the chair because of the cross slope for rain run off, but I didn’t want to ask for help and appear weak or needy.
It was wonderful, and scared me, and made me hyper self conscious about being disabled.
The prospect of romance is really the only thing that makes me think of myself as disabled. Everything I have to do because of it is background noise. The only way out of the building for me was a metal wheelchair lift.
We talked until two in the morning and he never asked me anything about my disability.
He didn’t see it, and it felt as if I’d known him forever.And I’m still able in so very many ways: I’m a lawyer, conflict resolver, leadership development expert, writer, professional storyteller, improviser, world traveler and kick ass spades player.I have a social life, opinions, ideas and feelings just like everybody else.(Of course, as so many women do, I see myself in the worst light possible).Then there were the nitty-gritty matters: my anxiety about how and when to tell a romantic interest that I control my bowel and bladder in a manner wholly unfamiliar to most people.Returning to college a year after the accident I was as insecure as the next girl about my body, and then some.