Who Needs Pride?

LGBTQIA+ folks, yes. Fat babies and me, no.

I’ve been finding myself thinking a lot about Lyle Lovett’s “Fat Babies,” and not just because it’s a great song that I think sums up my marriage pretty well (“I like you cuz you like me, and you don’t like much”). But also because I have learned (repeatedly, ad infinitum) that pride is ultimately not very useful for me if I’m going to insist on living the life I want in all the places I want with a disability that I don’t want but can’t seem to get rid of.

So, for example, I own this thing which I bought for the beach.

This sexy conveyance is a Liberty Trike. I’m being snarky about it because it is a tricycle for adults, which is already not a sexy thing, and then on top of that, if you are me and have very poor balance, you wear a helmet and you are thus a grownup on a tricycle wearing a helmet. I do not have a picture of this and I will not have a picture of this.

HOWEVER. If I am at the beach and I want to cycle around with my patient Spouse, as one does at the beach, this is the only way I can manage it. And bicycling at the beach is one of the loveliest things about being at the beach. And as Lyle Lovett sings, “Who needs pride?” Because here’s the thing: You don’t get credit for being disabled but having too much pride to do something that makes your life easier. There’s no one around to see me sit alone at home while Michael is out bike-riding, who would think, “Wow, she’s so cool for not embarrassing herself on an adult tricycle!”

Reminding myself of this is also what got me to use a Rollator when I finally needed one and now the wheelchair. Because again, no one looks at me struggling and stumbling around and thinks, “Sure, she’s having real trouble but at least she’s not using a wheelchair, that would be so weird!” This has been a major realization for me as someone who spent most of my life utterly convinced that people were looking at me all the time. This is not only wrong but stupid. Who knew?

On that note, I have bought a Rollator for my not-very-accessible beach house, because look what I discovered was happening with my wall-surfing!

That’s the doorjamb to our bedroom. Apparently every time I grab it while surfing (i.e. not using a walker) I scratch the walls. Oops. (I suspect my family is not going to be terribly impressed with the fact that these scratches mean I was powering through. . .) It’s a good thing they love me.

So it’s been gorgeous and sunny here, but not super warm (72 degrees F), so I’ve been going to the beach in a hoodie. Super Spouse goes in the water every day and insists it’s warm, but for me, the sticking point is getting out. The water may be warm but the air is cool and breezy, and it takes me a LONG time to stagger from the water to the towel. So I go bundled up.

It’s a look. Also, when it is even slightly cloudy, I enthusiastically embrace alternative activities. You will perhaps be unsurprised that this included a winery visit! Which we were very hesitant about because beach wine is notoriously terrible. At least when the beach is on the east coast. But we went beyond one local place, which produces a sort of combination Yellow Tail-antifreeze style that is undrinkable, and drove out to Westport Rivers instead. And not only did they have a food truck that served pulled pork “poutine” (pro tip: pulled pork+gravy+french fries = brillz) but they had a couple nice wines! Which we bought!

Pretty accessible too, especially with the former nurses who helped me get my chair into the restroom, and waved it off when I thanked them for going above and beyond. Because that’s OK, who needs pride anyway?