I had purchased the tickets pre wheelchair status and didn't even think about it until we were there looking up at the 20 steps we were required to climb to get to our seats.
This is where I have to give props to Donna at the Oakland coliseum. She was amazingly helpful, compassionate and caring.
As we stood (well, I sat) there discussing with Donna, the usher, what our options were, many more ushers and staff filtered over with opinions and help. And we all know how much I love to draw attention to my disability (meaning NEVER, NOT AT ALL, HATE IT). It was decided that I could hop up the stairs to our seats and they would store my wheelchair somewhere.
Up I went on one leg hopping on cement steps. My leg gave out on one but luckily I had copious amounts of employees watching my every move and one caught me and helped the rest of the way.
As I reached the top of the steps, without any apparatus to help me walk, I asked which ones our seats were. He pointed down....way down the row to two sections away.
"Can we please please please just sit here?!" I begged standing on one foot with what I can only imagine was a pathetic look in my eyes.
"Ok, yeah sure. Just sit here. If someone comes we'll figure it out."
OMG thank you. I plopped down on the plastic seat sitting in 104 degree sunshine. It was like sitting on the sun. Both kids proceeded to plop down next to me and immediately started to cry.
I smiled and poured our cold bottled water on their seats but, having been burned before, they were extremely wary of touching the molten plastic again. M and I were desperately trying to make the best of it when our savior, Donna, queen of Oakland coliseum came up the stairs to check on us. Seeing our obvious discomfort she said,
"I can't stand to see you like this. I have seats for you down stairs in the shade."
So up I levered, thanking the gods and Donna, and hop hop hopped my way back down the steps in 104 degree heat, in flip flops, holding the hands of two lovely gentlemen I didn't know who were trying to prevent me from breaking open
Around the little corner and two rows down lie 4 seats that were cool to the touch, in the shade and only two short hops back up to the concourse. Ahhhhhhh..... Have I mentioned that Donna is our new favorite person?
My wheelchair was tucked away in another section, so we sat back, chowed down on hot dogs, beer and cracker jacks and watched the Indians vs Oakland A's. Sadly the Indians lost, but a warm (ok insanely hot) beautiful summer day at a ballpark is glorious no matter what, in my opinion.
Around the 7th inning M wanted to take the kids to the "fun zone" two floors up. Realizing I would be alone I begged like a child to be taken to the bathroom before he left.
As the game ended M learned that they could go run around the bases on the field. We motored on down to the other side of the concourse where I said "have fun!" to my family as they walked into a line that was moving down multiple flights of stairs to the field. I rolled away with ears in my eyes. These are the times it's the hardest. When the three of them get to go have a magical, unique, memorable experience together and I get left behind. I don't under any circumstances begrudge them that, nor do I ever say anything about it to any of them, but when my little boy came up saying "it was awesome! Why didn't you go mommy!?" My heart broke a little and the tears I had dried threatened to reappear.
So goes a day at the ballpark for someone with a disability. I guess the moral of this story is that disability sucks, it's embarrassing, frustrating, painful and heart breaking, but it also brings out the best in people - getting a team of ushers and
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