That wouldn't work

Manic today.  I always seem to be manic when I see Doc [scratching head]. 

Ron kept checking on our ride, because, unlike work, we actually had an appointment.  Sure enough, there were problems, but they fixed it. 

We got one of our favorite drivers.  Even better, she stopped at a gas station.  I bolted and bought some snack foods while the driver pumped gas. 

I was a little worried about putting Ron in the back, because the backseat driver's side passenger was an autistic guy in a helmet.  I have seen autistic clients beat up the vehicle, grab the steering wheel while in transit, and hit the drivers, so I'm wary. 

I really did not want Ron in the back. 

Yes, I know most autistic souls are lovely people.  Two of my favorite relatives are high-functioning autistic.  Let's just say, the ones I've met on paratransit can run the gamut of behavior. 

Ron decided to play some music on his talking book machine, which made him the immediate star of the show.  The other client began clapping along with Gloria Estefan, and vocalizing, as we went down the road.  It was a rather surreal moment. 

One of those "I have to put this in the blog" moments - but today I actually remembered. 

We got the client dropped off at his day program, which is in a terrible area.  Don't any caregivers actually do research?  I wouldn't want anyone I loved in that area unless they were helping me with a Bible Handout. 

Maybe he lives in a group home and they don't care. 

Yet another reason I would never have Ron in a group home.  The ones I have seen really take advantage of the clients.  The clients are usually dirty, unkempt, hungry.  Behavior issues.  The drivers agree. 

We finally got to the office.  The driver overshot it a bit but I told her that was OK, let us out in the street.  I used a parking lot entrance as a "ramp".  I went up to the front of the buliding, which is set back from the street. 

I got a little irritated as I viewed the flights of stairs, leading into the building.  Well, that wouldn't work. 

I went around the side of the building.  Aha.  There's a switchback wheelchair ramp leading up to the building.  I failed to notice: it did not have an exterior door handle.  In fact, when I got to the top, I realized it was the "emergency exit" egress ramp.  That wouldn't work. 

I was pretty upset.  Ron begged me to park him on the sidewalk so I could walk around.  "No, I won't do that" I told him grimly.  "I'm going to get you in the building." 

I spotted some office workers walking past. 

"Excuse me!" I said loudly.  They stopped.  "Where is the Federally required Americans with Disabilities Act wheelchair ramp?"    They paused and gaped at me. 

"Um, in the back?" one replied.  "You didn't see it when you parked?" 

Some of us are crippled!  I didn't say that, though. 

"We took public transit" I replied.  "Not everyone can drive a car."  They gave us a pitying look as they walked past, in the street, as though Ron might be contagious. 

Ron kept telling me to calm down.  At the very least I told him, they could have had a sign up at the other doors, telling wheelchair users to go around back.  Agh. 

I was not happy walking into the building, but I didn't want to present angry.  I take pride in my label as a "very stable" patient and knew Doc would have a resident on hand to observe.  I enjoy both. 

I walked around the ground floor, pushing Ron in his wheelchair, as I calmed down.  I found the office easily and went in when I felt ready. 

The office is a lot smaller.  No view of the skyline.  They must have been raping him on the rent at the old place.  This place looked a lot more reasonable.

I did wish they had a vending machine, but, [sigh] they don't. 

A resident came out and got me, we talked a little, and Doc came in.  "I can tell you're manic" he said cheerfully "I could hear you down the hall." 

We discussed my case, and I shared Ron was uncomfortable with my level of depression.  "It's my understanding, you want me functional.  If I can bathe, work, eat, take care of the cats, that's OK. If I'm not functional then we need to talk?"  He agreed. 

"I just don't like the illness beating her up" Ron replied.  Doc agreed. 

I asked for more phenergan while they were doing my prescriptions.  It works very well for me, against migraines, and minimal interactions.  It isn't addictive either - always a primary concern for me.

My birth mother always made it clear she had a lot of addictions, and it was important for me to stay away from anything that might cause a problem.  My adoptive mother completely backed that up.  As I got older I realized it was just a good policy. 

Other than that it was pretty standard.  We left. 

I did give Doc a scripture booklet in a bag of candy.  I've been seeing him for 8 years.  He is about the only important person in my life I haven't really shared my faith - I felt it was time.  He can read it or throw it away, it's up to him. 

We had a long wait afterward, an hour and a half on our pickup.  Doc actually walked by, going to the bathroom.  "You're still here?" he asked with concern. 

Ron explained: paratransit. 

I cheerfully noted we don't have to buy car insurance, and he laughed.