The three little steps

Recently, I went to see a play in my new home city. This was pretty exciting! The play was terrific—Chasing Rainbows by Bob Powers. I highly recommend it if it comes to your town. But never mind that. This is about something else.

When I walked into the theater, which is a neighborhood affair and very intimate, I saw a row of seats on, basically, the theater floor. I made a beeline for them, knowing how easy it would be for me to exit the theater when I wanted to. To my consternation, an usher came up to me and told me they all were reserved. I would have to sit up in the higher seats.

Knowing what I do now, I would quietly have told the guy that I’m disabled and needed to sit in the lower seats. But I didn’t. There were three steps up to the next row of seats. Just three steps, and normally this is no big deal for me. But there was no railing. Nothing to hold onto anywhere. I gamely struggled up those stairs, looking like…well, I won’t even say what I looked like. But I made it and plopped into the nearest seat.

When the intermission came, I told my friends I didn’t need to get up, so they left and went outside for some fresh air. Then I started squirming and thinking I should really get up, as the intermission was 15 minutes. So I did. And faced going down those stairs with no help whatsoever.

I stood at the top of the stairs and looked down. At that moment I understood why the Americans With Disabilities Act had been passed by congress. Clearly, the theater was not in compliance. If it had been, there would have been railings beside those stairs. As it was, there was nowhere to fall except on the theater floor, where you could break every bone in your body and then some. I did something I’ve never done before—sat back down in my seat. It wasn’t worth breaking every bone in my body to get up for the rest of the intermission.

A kind stranger materialized beside me and asked “Do you need a hand?” Boy, did I! Gratefully, I accepted his outstretched hand, and in a flash I was down those three steps. Without risking any broken bones.

I wish I could say that was the end of my problems, but after the play was over, after I once again had help going down those steps, I had to walk to my car alone in the dark. I don’t walk very well in the dark. It had been a long time since I had used a cane, but I found myself wishing I had brought mine.

When I was in rehab, my PT suggested that I learn to walk around my house with sunglasses on. I thought it was overkill so I never did it. But he was right. If I had, it would have been a breeze to walk to my car.

I’ll be better prepared next time. I’ll bring my cane no matter what it looks like. Because I was figuratively brought to my knees by three little steps. What’s the worst that can happen to you? Be prepared for it.