The Five Stages of Busted Wheelchair Grief

Susan once told me her dream lover man would be a Marxist-Leninist wheelchair repairman.

That’s how a  Marxist-Leninist quadriplegic views romance. I don’t know if Susan is still a Marxist-Leninist so I don’t know if that particular dream lover trait matters anymore.  I also don’t know if the “man” part is a deal-breaker anymore for her either. But Susan is still a quad so the wheelchair repair criterion is probably more desirable than ever.

If I was cruising the matchmaking sites, I know that’s what I’d be looking for: Single white male seeks….  What would be the acronym abbreviation for wheelchair repairwoman? WRW?

SWM seeks WRW. She’s the only woman who can soothe me in my time of deepest sorrow and pain, which is when my wheelchair breaks. When your wheelchair suddenly refuses to move, you are plunged into a state of despair. You long to return to that joyous time in the past when you could get about at will, like five minutes ago.

A WRW understands all that. She can make my spirit whole again, with just an alluring turn of her wrench. That really turns me on! You can’t get any sexier than that.

A WRW also fully understands the five stages of grief every cripple goes through when their wheelchair is busted. Stage one: Pissed off!  Goddammit! I can’t move! And I won’t be able to move again for months! The repair shop isn’t open til tomorrow! And they won’t send a truck to pick up my chair until a week from Tuesday! And it’ll be the Tuesday after that before they let me know what’s wrong with it! Goddammit!!! After working through that stage, the cripple proceeds to the next stage. Stage two: Pissed off! And then I’ll have to call Medicaid and beg them to pay to fix my chair! And they won’t return my call until a week from the following Tuesday! And then they’ll send me a form 96Z Repair Preauthorization Affidavit! And the form will get lost in the mail! GODDAMMIT!!! And then comes the next stage. Stage three: Oh quit whining! Oh quit whining! At least you broke down in your living room! You could’ve broken down in the street, in the middle of a blizzard no less! And what about the cripples in Guatemala, huh? They don’t even have wheelchairs! They live in mud huts! The Guatemalan capitol building is a mud hut with a rotunda! But that stage is quite fleeting and is quickly replaced by the next stage. Stage four: Pissed off! Fuck Guatemala! I’m stuck in my living room! And finally comes the last and most devastating stage. Stage five: Paralyzing sticker shock! Say whaaat? With my spend down and copayments I’ve gotta pay $6,725.38 to get my chair fixed? And all I need is a fuse? What am I supposed to do, sell my fucking kidneys? God I’m so depressed!

At a time like this, my sweet WRW knows just what to do. She has that magic touch. She restores my mobility. She restores my manhood.