Crash

When I started looking for a condo to buy, I would get into the front seat of my Realtor's sedan and he would load my manual chair into the trunk or backseat. Sometimes, my little sister would come, too, and she'd be on wheelchair duty.

I didn't give the loading and unloading a second thought until about halfway through the process he bought a brand new white Ford Escape.

I can remember saying something like: It'll be a relief to get that first scratch on it, won't it? Because, my thinking went -- and still goes -- everything gets scratches on them. As long as they work, awesome.

This was not the way my Realtor felt. Oh, I hope I never get a scratch, he said, and just like that, getting into and out of his car became fraught with peril as I tried not to scratch the Escape.

I am going to feel the same way when we move into the new house. My brother-in-law and sister are pouring their blood, sweat and tears into the house. And here I come with my wheelchair and bang the heck out of a wall or doorframe.

I was thinking of buying a manual chair to use in the house. Insurance put the kibosh on that plan, although it is hard actually to call what I have insurance.

For durable medical devices like wheelchairs, the plan covers 80% and you pay 20%. You also have to pay a deductible -- $1,500 for in-network, $2,500 for out-of-network.

I might manage to meet the in-network deductible because of a $200 pharmacy bill every three months for just two drugs. Once again, it is hard to call that kind of coverage insurance.

But ... there are no in-network providers within 100 miles. Seriously. Insurance is on the list. I hope Teddy Kennedy is haunting insurance execs these days.

I know my sister will say it'll be fine and my brother-in-law already calls me "Crash," so he is probably expecting it. But it's not about them only. I don't want to ruin my house.