Me Vs. The Bathroom

Today was Erin's birthday. She arrived back to the hospital early this morning after cutting her vacation short. It was really good to have her back.

Due to said birthday Sarah and I decided to surprise Erin and take her to The Imperial for lunch. The Imperial IS the finest hotel in Delhi, maybe in all of India by my impression. It is quite enormous and filled to the brim with "hello madam"s, marble, food, gold trimmings, classy businesspeople, and well-overpriced souvenirs.

After being shooed away by the thought of swimming in their Olympic-sized pool, we settled on lunch at one of their various restaurants. The meal was good. This was my third veggie burger, although it is more like a falafel patty. Everyone satisfied, we were ready to be on our way, but of course--I HAD to use the bathroom.

Now public bathrooms and I have never gotten along very well. Not because I am even remotely worried about foreign, crawly bacteria; more so because of a width issue. My wheelchair, being as wide as it is (by the way, far wider than necessary) has an extremely hard time fitting through bathroom doors. Whether it be a restaurant or even a friend's house, bathroom doors are not my thing.

Needless to say, after entering a very polished lavatory with my gastronomically satisfied companions, I took a quick turn and yelled something to them as I left, something about seeing if there was some other bathroom for me.

I spoke with this beautiful woman in a velvety red saree (not sari, I've been told). She said that she would personally escort me to the bathroom. I followed her eagerly for my bladder but reluctantly for my brain. When we arrived to this new bathroom, it appeared much the same. I explained the issue as best I could using few words and many gestures. Velvety woman felt horribly almost immediately...I could tell by her face. She quickly summoned another worker to find me something suitable. I felt like I was a guest in a palace, but nonetheless pretty uneasy about the special accommodations. Velvety woman and I sat in the bathroom for a few minutes alone.

She asked about the reason behind my wheelchair. She asked about getting better. She asked about my friends. It all made her tear up, every last word. I am not entirely sure why. I am pretty sure that I didn't have to say anything for her to tear up; she had her own story of me inside.

Within only a few minutes I had left Velvety woman to her compassionate thoughts and was quickly following another hopeful helper. This time I was even more eager in both bladder and brain. The attendant unlocked a large room door with a card key and I motioned me in. The room was full of desks and brand-new computers. To the side, a long hallway of coat hangers, and near the end of sight a very wide door and toilet. Nirvana. I thanked the man immensely and lost view of everything except the toilet. I closed the door behind me and was relieved at all ends.

Feeling much better about it all, I left the toilet, walked through the coat hangers, back to the computers and out the...wait...the door...it's locked.

Panic set in immediately. No card key, no key at all. I am not a guest here. I don't even know what wing I am in at this point. How do you get out of here? Jiggling the door handle way too hard seemed like the only appropriate approach.

After only minutes, or maybe it was seconds, an attendant walked by. I heard a, "Can I help you?" Which I followed with a very quick, "Yes, I am stuck!" He opened the door expecting that the me being stuck was in my chair...so he politely asked if he could push me to where I was going. I declined and made it back to my friends who were now enjoying themselves on some big leather couches.

"Why is your trach scar red?"
"Because I was freaked out, I guess."
"In the bathroom?"
"Yes."