Feels like cheating

I went for yet another hospital appointment last week, to see the Pain Specialist. It's always been a bit of a long walk from the car park to the clinic, but they've been refurbishing the hospital, creating a new entrance (it looks more like an airport, than a hospital - there's actually a Sock Shop in there!) and so now it's even further.

I'm having a particularly bad time with the pain at the moment anyway, so I was expecting it to be tough getting there, but it was far worse than I'd feared. The whole way (it's the kind of distance that would take an able-bodied person a solid 5 minutes to cover, at a brisk walk) I was having to stop and rest every third step, and it took me half an hour to get there. There was the horrid moment of trying to decide which would be less draining - trying to get up the 8 stairs linking two levels, or using the ramp which added another 50 yards to the journey (I went for the stairs) - and the humiliation of person after person walking past me staring at me as though I was putting on some kind of street entertainment. (I particularly enjoyed the obese porter who doubled back for a second look, whilst tenderly cradling his MacDonalds lunch.)

Finally, I made it to the clinic, which was mercifully quiet. The receptionist was just picking up the phone to make a call, and as I stood in the doorway, resting yet again, I said she might as well carry on, because it would take me 5 minutes just to get across the room to her. When the doctor called me in, he had time to go and do a bit of paperwork while I made my way to his room, but thank God he didn't just stand in the doorway and wait. It's bad enough hobbling round like you're 100, without feeling people's impatience while you do it!

When I left, the receptionist suggested a wheelchair and I was forced to agree - I knew I'd never make it back to the car - but I really didn't want to. I've only been in one once before, on holiday with a friend last year, when I knew she wanted to take a long walk along the boardwalk, and I couldn't, but didn't want to spoil it for her, so I agreed.

This time, as then, I felt terribly self-conscious, and like I was cheating somehow. I've been trying to work out why, and the only thing I can think is that subconsciously I see wheelchairs as only being necessary if you can't walk at all, which clearly isn't the case. But the fact that I can walk, even though often only a very short distance, and certainly not as far as I needed to, made me feel both times like I was faking it, making it up for attention. I felt like everyone was looking at me thinking 'get up you lazy cow, you don't need that thing'. (Maybe it's me that thinks I'm being lazy, not trying hard enough, but intellectually I know that's not true.)

And there's something about being pushed along with your handbag in your lap - it feels like you're passing judgement, somehow. I felt like people would think I was a Hyacinth Bucket-type - inspecting my surroundings with my nose in the air, thinking I was far too posh to walk and therefore making some poor sod push me. I know, it's mad, but it's how it felt.

And then today a disability assessor, talking about attending conferences and meetings, asked if I'd thought about using a wheelchair.