Post by dannygilman on Jun 19, 2014 5:30:02 GMT -8
I began typing a dairy (journal) about 2 years after my spinal cord injury. It has been very theariputic for me typing to myself about my fears, anger, moods etc... I read this entries once in awhile and then reflect back to where I was, and how am today. decades later I look forward to each day as a "bonus day" , and not try slip back in my previous mental health conditions.
This was in my "...Dear Dan...' about 1973-1974. *Warning-- long read!
People Watching
After my injury I was embarrassed, and at times petrified, to be seen in public. Because of my powered wheel chair, I sensed everyone was staring at me. I felt queasy at the mere thought of going to a movie theater.
I remember one of my first public appearances was going to a movie theater to watch the movie Walking Tall. It had been about seven months since I had fractured my neck.
My friends raved about this movie and urged me to see it. I gave them all kinds of excuses about why I couldn’t go: my leg bag would fill, causing my catheter to leak; I was tired from the physical therapy workout, or the movie theater wasn’t accessible.
Luckily for me, I had persistent and caring friends who had an answer for every excuse I concocted. I finally agreed to go the movie theater after exhausting my list of excuses. I overheard someone mentioning, “Maybe I was a scaredy-cat.” I faced a dilemma: If I didn’t go to the movie theater, my friends would presume I was terrified of being seen in public.
I remember, as we drove the van past the movie theater, the queasy feeling when I saw the group of people waiting in line to buy tickets. We found an open parking spot across the street from the movie theater. My friends unloaded me and the powered wheelchair from the van. We went to the end of the line and waited our turn to buy a ticket. I caught people glancing at me as we slowly worked our way to the ticket booth.
I felt relieved after we purchased our tickets. The theater usher told us to follow him to the section for wheelchairs. I assumed we would be ushered to a secluded area in the rear of the theater.
I was wrong.
The management had a section for wheelchairs in a mini-balcony to the side of the regular seats. My anxiety skyrocketed when the usher said I was going to be only several rows from the movie screen. I followed the usher as he showed us where we would sit. I had to drive my powered wheelchair down the sloped walkway, passing all the people who were standing in front of us waiting to buy tickets. My heart raced. I just knew everyone in the movie theater was watching me as I navigated into the wheelchair section. My friends were ecstatic that we had the best seats in the theater. I remember one friend saying, “Wow! We never got to sit in this area before.”
My anxiety lessened and I felt more at ease as we waited for the movie to start. The overhead lights were bright enough that I could watch some of the antics around me. People walked into the theater, hunting empty seats. After several minutes I became engrossed watching people as they moved about, trying to find a seat. I stared at some people as they stumbled and dropped their popcorn in their furtive attempts to sneak about without drawing attention. The more inconspicuous these people tried to be, the more I stared at them and watched them. Other people walked about as if they were at their home, oblivious to the people already seated. Those people appeared comfortable and at ease, and they didn’t draw my stares, unlike the people who stealthy walked around frantic to find a seat.
I noticed a person in a wheelchair being pushed down the sloped walkway. I wondered why he needed someone to push his wheelchair. Was he completely paralyzed? Did he have a health condition that he always needed to be pushed the wheelchair for mobility? Gee, my wheelchair was newer and better than his. He glanced in my direction and I immediately shifted my gaze to something else. I didn’t want him to think I was staring at him.
The lights dimmed. The movie was about to begin. Some people cheered and clapped as the movie screen brightened. The movie was about a real-life sheriff, Bufford Pusser, who was in a small Southern community. The plot centered on Bufford becoming elected sheriff and about his adventures when he tangled with corruption within his jurisdiction. Early in his tenure as sheriff, Bufford was famous for carrying a long stick made of hardwood. He enforced the law using “the stick” instead of using a handgun. Several times Bufford was ambushed and nearly killed. Bufford’s wife was killed in one particular ambush and Bufford was shot in the face. During this ambush, Bufford sustained massive facial injuries from a gun shot. A plaster cast covered most of his face that had been shattered by the gun shot.
The movie had a dramatic ending: Bufford attended his wife's burial. After the burial services, Bufford was able to slur to his son the word, “Stick.” His son retrieved “the stick” for Bufford. Bufford knew the identity of the culprits responsible for killing his wife. He managed to awkwardly enter a patrol car and drive, in spite of the massive facial injury and the cumbersome plaster cast. He crashed the patrol car into the building where the culprits were celebrating and avenged his wife's death.
People in the theater cheered as the movie ended, and the overhead lights brightened. I noticed people looking at me as I maneuvered my powered wheelchair, but now their eyes were not staring eyes. The eyes looking at me were now eyes of compassion and admiration. Some people stood aside and gave me a friendly smile and a nod.
Something had transformed within me while waiting for the movie to begin and watching a rousing movie such as Walking Tall. I was no longer embarrassed, and didn’t feel that people were staring at me because I was paralyzed and in a powered wheelchair.
People were doing what I had been doing just hours ago. Human curiosity causes people to look at someone who appears different, to stare at someone who doesn't fit“ the norm.” To this day I still stare at people who are different. I don’t see them as grotesque or ugly. Why do I stare? I wonder what kind of wheelchair is the person using. Is it the newer model with a tilt-in-space that relieves pressure on their buttocks? Is he using a seat cushion that is similar to mine? If not, is the seat cushion better than mine? I want to stop and talk with the person. But, I wonder, will the person take offense if I ask questions?
Many times I catch myself watching able-bodied people at large sporting events, at shopping malls, and at airport terminals. Each person, couple, and group that walks past is different than the people I saw previously. I find myself wondering, Why does she have her hair in long braids? Or, Look! That guy has sandals for footwear and he is wearing yellow socks.
I realized that that watching people is a natural occurrence and it helped me to regain my self-confidence. Today, when I’m out in public, I feel at ease and I’m not distressed that people are staring at me.
