Finding humor in the accessible restaurant bathroom that wasn’t

I’m sure we’ve entered the spooky season, a time when doing simple, normal activities feels more like a trip through the local haunted house. Goblins lurking in the shadows are ready to do their mischief. Who knew I’d find one hiding in the accessible stall of a restaurant’s restroom?

But before I get ahead of myself, let me tell you the story from the beginning.

Last week, I spent a sunny afternoon being a “go-along,” accompanying my husband to his medical appointment in nearby Tucson, Arizona. After the appointment, we planned to have an early dinner at a restaurant just around the corner from the doctor’s office. Because this was a big, nationwide franchise, I had full confidence they’d easily accommodate my ALS needs and the mobility scooter I used that day.

The goblin mischief began when we arrived at the restaurant. Looking at the steps leading up to the front entrance, we had to play the game, “Where did they hide the ramp?”

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I found it near the far corner of the building, rode it to the top, and made it to the front door. OK, OK, I forgave the franchise owners for the small patch of cement at the front door with its steep drop-offs on three sides. Real estate is so costly nowadays. I even forgave the small space between the outer and inner double doors. It was exactly the length of my scooter, which prevented the inner doors from opening. Luckily, the helpful restaurant staff came to our rescue and freed me from my predicament.

My husband and I went on to enjoy a delicious meal, although we did have a few laugh-out-loud moments. Our cutlery consisted of a large, heavy fork worthy of roasting marshmallows over an open campfire. That, along with a knife that would make Crocodile Dundee proud.

What a long, strange trip to the bathroom

After dinner, knowing home was still a one-hour drive away, I announced I would need to visit the restroom. On cue, my wonderful caregiver husband jumped up and went to check if it was indeed accessible. Reporting that it was, but he’d need to open the main door for me, we made our way to the back of the restaurant.

Peering inside, I could see the one large accessible stall at the far end of a long, narrow passage, past a row of regular stalls. The door was flung open, and I felt relief spying the silver glint of grab bars.

As I slowly scootered in, my husband lingered at the door to make sure I was OK. Reaching the big stall, I automatically took a sharp left turn to the area next to the commode where I usually park my scooter. But something on the wall stopped me short.

It was a full-size, wall-mounted sink! Whose idea was that? Suddenly, this accessible stall was inaccessible.

“I’m gonna need your help,” I shot back over my shoulder. He gingerly stepped into the restroom, peered in to where I was pointing, and agreed.

Fortunately, the restaurant was almost empty and no one needed to use the facilities, so we could proceed in private. With the authority of a senior trucker directing big rigs to their assigned loading docks, he commanded, “Back up, turn, forward, stop,” and so on, until my scooter was positioned the best it could be.

While I held on to a grab bar and my husband’s extended arm, we then performed a sort of slow-motion, almost comedy duet, just to lift me up, turn me around, and sit me on the commode. This, amid our giggles, shushes, and an occasional, “Oops. Sorry about that.” Reversing the sequence got me back on the scooter. We exited the restroom with nary a glance from fellow diners or the staff.

Of course, while on the drive home, we retold the entire adventure and our luck that no one heard us. “A sink!” I kept exclaiming. “Now I’ve seen everything.”

That’s the thing about ALS. It affects us in different ways, and our needs differ. But the one thing we share is the ability to see the humor in many of our situations. Do you find the funny? I invite you to join me as we continue to learn to live well while we live with ALS.

Note: ALS News Today is strictly a news and information website about the disease. It does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. This content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or other qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website. The opinions expressed in this column are not those of ALS News Today or its parent company, Bionews, and are intended to spark discussion about issues pertaining to ALS.