So when someone, seeing my feet sticking out from under the stall, asks if I need help, I say sure. It doesn't matter if I am sure I'd make it back into my chair myself. Eventually, I would, but it would take a while.
The sure is said cheerily, of course, but cheer is usually the last thing on my mind.
- I am sad I can't stand up myself. I am really pissed I can't even transfer from a toilet to my chair without falling.
- I am embarrassed that some co-worker has to help me when my pants are done. Thankfully, I usually have my boxers pulled up. And I am more embarrassed that this has become such a part of my life that I am not really embarrassed.
- I am thankful for their help and sorry for them that they have to do this.
- I am annoyed sometimes that some people have "not seen me."
- I am sick that this is happening with more frequency (twice in two weeks, and I teleworked three days last week).
- I am mad as I sit on the floor willing my legs not to flop over or my feet not to slide. It never works -- the willing, I mean. I am not surprised, just mad that I need help in this most-basic thing. I also run through why I fell -- did I try to pull up my pants instead of just sitting on my chair in my boxers, did a leg buckle, which one? Whatever happened usually irks me because it is often my fault. And, of course, I have to hide this anguish, which is further annoying.
I am a tempest in a wheelchair. No wonder I am always tired.