The Duel

I’m a pusher — and my drug of choice is oxygen.

My little tank goes where I go, advertising my limitations to the world. However, it also presents an opportunity for people to prove themselves ‘nice’.

To allow me to pass, pregnant women, burdened with bags and babies, hold doors open for me. So that I can negotiate a corridor, sturdily-built individuals press themselves against walls. To allow me to walk freely in the parking lot, drivers brake hard, causing (horror of horrors) their children to look up from their smart phones!

I receive concessions from everyone and his granny, and I’m beginning to expect it.

But I am not merely someone who uses an oxygen tank; I am also undergoing cancer treatment. My time is spent in cancer treatment centers where every third person looks frail. Here, indeed, is a challenge to my newfound sense of entitlement! These patients expect the same advantages to which I have become accustomed. They and I are in competition for the world’s consideration. Now, it is necessary to weigh the privileges of a person leaning on a walker against those of someone using an oxygen cart.

The greatest challenger in the competitive world of disability is the wheelchair user. The overarching question is who should yield right of way. Imagine the scene: We encounter each other in the hallway, the mid-morning light throwing our hairless profiles into dramatic relief. In a silent contest, we size each other up with cold eyes, each measuring our challenger’s weaknesses: His big wheels pitted against my small ones. His thin arms pitted against my skinny legs. Almost audible in the ether, the evocative theme song from The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, enhances the scene. Our eyes narrow further (or is it just the effect of the desert sunlight). Will either admit the other is more vulnerable?

Advantage me! He has an agile grandson pushing his chair. Oh, no! The youngster disappears and is replaced by a fragile, elderly spouse.

It’s a final shot to my pretensions. The wheelchair user wins the disability duel!

Vanquished, I shuffle to the side. Gracious in defeat, I smile as he passes, but he fails to gloat. He simply looks sad.

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Who needs a dog? I have life-giving oxygen on the end of my leash.