And a Door Opens

It’s been another week full of highs. For reasons of expediency, I’ll limit myself to documenting just one of them today. Rest assured, though, that you can expect more gloating in future entries.

I’m currently in the lobby of my building sipping a coffee and breaking up my afternoon with a welcome change of scenery. The sun is shining, I’m listening to the soundtrack of a cheesy ’90s movie, and I’m keeping a running tally of the dog-owner duos that pass the picture window in front of me. (Five thus far, and it’s only been ten minutes.)

The best part? I left my place at my leisure, when I felt like it rather than when my husband was off the phone and could let me out.

On the off chance you’re inwardly—or outwardly—scoffing, I’ll provide some unsolicited context for my excitement. See, until Tuesday morning, I had to rely on others to release me from my apartment. Our door is one of those heavy slabs that automatically close behind you—good for fire prevention, bad for people who lack the strength and/or mobility to prop open a giant door made of wood and metal while wedging their way through a hard-won and rapidly disappearing aperture.

Now, I’ll admit that I allowed that oppressive barricade to take on a symbolic weight that was undoubtedly unfair to it. It’s true: I could’ve been a little more accepting of the fact that I lacked the freedom to enter and exit my own apartment as I pleased, more accepting of the fact that were I to wake up from a nap to find my apartment engulfed in flames while at home by myself I’d have had no choice but to sit in my wheelchair and inhale smoke until the firefighters showed up. This is not to suggest that I spent a weird amount of time running through these scenarios in order to rile myself up, but yeah. I spent a weird amount of time running through these scenarios in order to rile myself up.

The safety piece was certainly a concern. The independence one was, of course, the bigger of the two (from my perspective, at least). I can’t go outside alone since it isn’t safe for me to navigate bumpy sidewalks and weave in and out of unpredictable pedestrians in my manual wheelchair, plus there are those pesky seizures. But I can and do hang out downstairs, sometimes a few times a day, and having to disrupt the flow of my husband’s work also disrupted the flow of my life, which is rapidly becoming bigger, fuller, and busier. After weighing the pros and the cons and considering the literal door it would open for me (sorry), we decided that we were willing to fork out the moola for an automatic door opener.

My research confirmed that you can put a price on freedom. It’s expensive.

I discussed the door opener with my OT. She agreed that it would be beneficial and suggested that she reach out to the management of our building to ask for permission for the door opener and about their willingness to pay for it. The next day, she crafted a diplomatically worded email and sent it off.

Much to my delight, they agreed. Not only that, but they did so quickly and without hesitation. This true accessibility win accurately reflects how wonderful and accommodating they’ve been about making this a fantastic place to live. If only the whole world would adopt such a generous attitude.

There was a slight delay as the contractor waited for backordered parts to come in. In the meantime, my excitement grew, reaching peak levels when my husband and I were on our recent staycay a few weekends ago; our room was accessible, and I took advantage of the door opener by going to the lounge while my husband was still asleep in the morning, a real taste of what was to come. And come it did: three workers spent much of Tuesday installing a top-of-the-line, remote-control-operated mechanical wonder of a door opener in our unit. I’ve been aggressively letting myself and guests in and out ever since.

I could spend hours waxing poetic about my new BFF, but I’ll spare you the agony. Besides, there goes the thirtieth dog-person duo, which I’ll take as a sign that I’d better stop writing, publish this post, and wheel back up to my apartment, the door to which I’ll open with almost no effort and absolutely no human assistance.