Today we went to the Richter exhibition at the Scottish National Gallery. In my pre accident days this would have meant a simple pedal to the gallery, chaining the bike up outside, purchasing a ticket - and then wandering around, looking at the paintings and feigning an intellectual understanding of the arts. But not now.
First we had to phone the gallery to find out about access, parking and wheelchairs. Then we had to navigate Edinburgh's tourist infested streets and tram works to get to the back of the gallery. After an illegal left turn onto The Mound (sorry officers - but it would have been impossible otherwise), we encountered a set of bollards blocking our way. A man in tartan trousers (uniform of Scottish gallery workers) quizzed us. We don't have a Blue Badge so don't have legal access to the disabled parking areas. After a bit of discussion, and a wave of the crutches to prove our case, he dropped the bollards and we drove to the back of the gallery. A short hop up the ramp, a minute's wait for the wheelchair and I am set - well almost. We have to be accompanied to reception for our tickets.
Then into the first gallery. A couple in their 30s smile at me, and then, thinking they are out of earshot, are overheard to say 'skiing accident'. I'm outraged (skiing accident tends to come without sympathy - generally deemed self imposed and justly deserved) - but also perplexed - after all - I don't have a sun tan. What prompted the interpretation? Was it my red fleece? Or my shapeless brown cotton trousers? My perhaps just my radiating good health?
In the next gallery a rather smart woman in her 60s walks straight up to me and asks me what Ive done to myself - 'run over by a truck' I say surprised. 'Looks like it hurts' she says and heads back to her male companion. Very odd. Would this woman walk up to me if I wasn't in a wheelchair and ask me a similarly personal question? Was it just her way of connecting with me - a kind gesture but actually totally inappropriate?
Its all very strange. Later in the restaurant my good friend attempts to help me into out of the wheelchair - I am brusque and independent - refusing the help. Half an hour later I am critical of a stranger who doesn't open the door for me. I pondered this apparent hypocrisy later with a friend on the phone (my friend has a colleague with MS who has to use a wheelchair). We concluded that, in general, people are generally kind and they want to help. Those of us on the receiving end, however, have set an invisible line - on one side - this help is gracefully received - on the other it is refused. But the line is not obvious - and it may change from time to time - or in different circumstances. I resolve to be more gracious with those offering me assistance - to consider it not as a patronising act - but as a gesture of generosity and good will. I wonder how long I will last!
First we had to phone the gallery to find out about access, parking and wheelchairs. Then we had to navigate Edinburgh's tourist infested streets and tram works to get to the back of the gallery. After an illegal left turn onto The Mound (sorry officers - but it would have been impossible otherwise), we encountered a set of bollards blocking our way. A man in tartan trousers (uniform of Scottish gallery workers) quizzed us. We don't have a Blue Badge so don't have legal access to the disabled parking areas. After a bit of discussion, and a wave of the crutches to prove our case, he dropped the bollards and we drove to the back of the gallery. A short hop up the ramp, a minute's wait for the wheelchair and I am set - well almost. We have to be accompanied to reception for our tickets.
Then into the first gallery. A couple in their 30s smile at me, and then, thinking they are out of earshot, are overheard to say 'skiing accident'. I'm outraged (skiing accident tends to come without sympathy - generally deemed self imposed and justly deserved) - but also perplexed - after all - I don't have a sun tan. What prompted the interpretation? Was it my red fleece? Or my shapeless brown cotton trousers? My perhaps just my radiating good health?
In the next gallery a rather smart woman in her 60s walks straight up to me and asks me what Ive done to myself - 'run over by a truck' I say surprised. 'Looks like it hurts' she says and heads back to her male companion. Very odd. Would this woman walk up to me if I wasn't in a wheelchair and ask me a similarly personal question? Was it just her way of connecting with me - a kind gesture but actually totally inappropriate?
Its all very strange. Later in the restaurant my good friend attempts to help me into out of the wheelchair - I am brusque and independent - refusing the help. Half an hour later I am critical of a stranger who doesn't open the door for me. I pondered this apparent hypocrisy later with a friend on the phone (my friend has a colleague with MS who has to use a wheelchair). We concluded that, in general, people are generally kind and they want to help. Those of us on the receiving end, however, have set an invisible line - on one side - this help is gracefully received - on the other it is refused. But the line is not obvious - and it may change from time to time - or in different circumstances. I resolve to be more gracious with those offering me assistance - to consider it not as a patronising act - but as a gesture of generosity and good will. I wonder how long I will last!
No comments:
Post a Comment