The Dating Game

Everyone wants to love...and to be loved.  Everyone wants intimacy.  Everyone wants someone to grow old with.  Finding this person is the end game of many trials and errors.  This game is called dating.  It comes with optimism, discovery, anxiety, awkwardness, and self realization.  Dating is a challenge to everyone...especially for me.  This game  started for me in high school and continued to my early 30's. The most common question people have about someone with a disability is if they can have sex.  Let's put it this way, I didn't go through my vasectomy for a good time.  However, this question was always in the back of the mind of  everyone I dated.  Over time I wanted to have my opening line be, "Hi, I'm Dave...and I can do it".  I can disappoint a lady just as well as my walking peeps can.

I didn't start dating until later in high school.  I had to wait until girls got their driver's license.  I realize that dating a disabled guy might not be considered cool, but having my mom drive would have made it worse.  My mom's singing along to her 8-track of Glen Campbell singing 'Rhinestone Cowboy' would not have set the right mood for the date.

Caveman used clubs to begin their courtship.  Our generation used mixed tapes.  I know I'm going to get heckled about admitting this...but I'm sure I wasn't alone in doing this in high school.  When looks are not your selling point, nothing sealed the deal like spending hours making a mixed tape that included  'In your Eyes' and 'Somebody' for that special lady.  If you were smart, you used your dual tape deck to make multiple copies of this love potion in case that week's attempt didn't workout.

When preparing for a date I would think ahead to what I might say.  Obviously she isn't going to be interested with my boring self...so I have to portray what I would be like if I was interesting.   I guess telling her that I scored 4 touchdowns in the high school championship would be a stretch...

In addition to this I would have to manage how much I drank during the day.  No,  not 'liquid courage' but ANY fluid.  I would quit drinking anything at 2pm for a 6pm date.  I didn't want to take the chance that the restaurant washroom wasn't accessible, and asking her to help me might be considered a perverted request.  Gigity!  Alternatively, wetting my pants would not likely lead to a second date (unless I was lucky enough to connect with her freshly after a really bad relationship).

I did not use my wheelchair on dates too often.  Since I'm able to walk with assistance, I would have my date walk me.  Something I discovered while dating, and verified over my 5 years of marriage,  that women do not wear practical shoes out.  Walking me is usually easy...unless you are wearing 4 inch heels.   It was like being walked  along a tight rope.  Having my date walk me assured that at least we would hold hands during our date.  Who's got game?  Davey's got game. Plus, I got to make sure she didn't have 'man hands'.

In an attempt to be independent I would always order chicken fingers so I would not have to ask her to cut my meat up.  Chicken fingers is one of the last socially acceptable thing to pick up and eat with your fingers.  The fact that chicken fingers were on the menu tells you the type of places I would bring my dates too.  Shut up, I'm frugal.

We have all been exposed to being on a date where the other person will talk your ear off over the most uninteresting things imaginable.  When this happened to me, she would say, "You are such a great listener".  Not really...I just can't walk away.  Falling out of the booth and crawling away might have given her the hint.

Even though dating was excruciating, I would not change anything  After a long time playing this game, I finally won my soul mate.

Until next time...

Davey Day

A friend at work today was telling me about his upcoming vasectomy, so I thought I would share my experience from a chair side perspective. My wife and I decided to not have kids. I will share my thoughts and feeling about our decision in a future post as it is a deeper topic than this one. I think being a parent is the most important job in the world and I have the highest admiration to you parents out there.

This story begins when we go to the Doctor for our 'conciliation' where he explains the procedure. The doctor explains that he will give me a local sedative and freeze the area so I will be awake for the whole procedure. Having Cerebral Palsy - I'm spastic. This means I startle very easily. I explain to the doctor that I jump at the slightest tap on the shoulder let alone a razor blade approaching my goods. He tries to comfort me by saying that the sedative will make me feel all loopy and we will be talking to each other all the way through it. "It's like drinking and talking with your buddies", he explains.  I had three major problems with his explanation:

1. When I drink with my buddies we don't 'snip' each other.

2. We're not on talking terms - dude, you're snipping my berries

3. You shouldn't be talking to me - keep your eye on the prize

The day finally comes and I'm scheduled to be the first patient.  I like to handle these things head on and get it over with.  It did feel weird to be the only one in the waiting room.  I was rolled in on a bed to the operating room.  The nurse says, "Mr. Dame can you please jump up on the table".  My anxiety hits the roof...obviously she did not read my chart.  I politely asked her to read my chart.  She reads the chart and is embarrassed.  Given that my professional occupation revolves around reducing high risk and performing validation checks, I ask her to review what was to happen...one can't be too careful.

After the procedure my wife rolls me out in my wheelchair.  The fear that was in the eyes of the men in the waiting room was priceless.  Since we know that 'Disabled people can be bastards' , it should be no surprise that I announced to everyone that  I walked in there that morning.

On the way out the nurse hands us a container.  She tells us that we have to bring a 'sample' to the lab for testing in six weeks to make sure the operation was a success.  The hugest smile appeared on my face as I looked at my wife, holding up my hands and shrugging my shoulders.  For once in my life having gimpy hands was going to work in my favour - I was going to be the 'self-serve' gas pump.  My wife blushes.  The nurse cautions that the sample needs to be tested within the hour of 'procurement'

Six weeks later ...Saturday morning (forever known as Davey Day) arrives.  My wife gets everything ready as she only has less than an hour to race the sample to the lab for testing.  Unfortunately we could not get a police escort from our home to the lab so time was precious.  She 'procures' the sample and races out the door.  Having a new appreciation for what cows go through on a daily basis...I felt the need for a nap.  My wife returns home and she brings me to the barber to get my haircut.  This was a real old school barber so he used a straight razor, tonic the whole works.  This was followed by a nice afternoon walk and an awesome dinner and nice wine.  I don't know what a day at the spa is like...but this had to be pretty close.

Until next time...

Disabled people can be bastards

To help provide insight to the dark side of disabled people I thought I would share a story of a practical joke that me and my disabled friend 'pulled' on a helper (PSW) that we both shared. This helper had been working with my friend for a lot of years. This helper only had been working for me for six weeks when we played this practical joke on him. As you will read, he is quite gullible. I wish I could take the credit for thinking of this, but it was my disabled buddy who thought of it.

I scheduled this helper to accompany me on an off-site management meeting for the company I was working for at the time.

While working with my buddy this helper says, "I'm going out of town with Dave for a few days."

My buddy replies, "Did Dave tell you what he needs for his 'bedtime' routine?"

The helper replied, "No".

My buddy proceeds to tell him that because my spasticity is so bad that the only way I can relax to fall a sleep is to be 'massaged in his private place' at night. After a bit of back & forth words between them, my buddy has him believing the story.

That day my buddy called me at work and told me what he had done. He encourages me to play along...I was just hoping I could do it with a straight face.

The next day this helper was working with me and brings up the conversation that he had with my buddy. I cut him off before he could finish and said, "Look, this isn't a rose garden for me either and rather not talk about it"...the truth is that I wouldn't have been able to keep a straight face if the conversation went on any longer.

The day before the trip this helper asked my buddy if he had any last minute advice. My buddy told him, "If I was you, I would bring condoms. If Dave is a 'quick trigger' you really don't want to clean that up"

My buddy calls to give me the update of their conversation. I decided to share this story with my wife, giving her another opportunity for her to shake her head in disbelief at me. To my surprise, she played along. When my wife filled my suitcase she packed condoms. I feel lucky to have found a woman that has a gimp fetish AND a twisted sense of humour!

When we got to the hotel the helper opened my suitcase to find the condoms...I still remember his look of fear as he noticed them.

Like every company offsite there is the usual team building exercise at a bar in the evening. My helper was taking every advantage of the free liquor to prepare him for what he thought he would be doing later. Near the end of the night I told him that I was tired and ready to check in for the night. My helper downed 3 drinks and proceeded to push my chair back to the hotel. I NEVER recall being pushed so slow in my life. It was like the final walk of a death row prisoner about to go in the electric chair. All we needed was the Imperial March theme from star wars playing in the background to set the tone better.

Before I continue on with the end of the story I think it's important to pay tribute to this helper's dedication to his job. This dude was about to 'churn my butter' out of commitment toward his job. The military would love to get this blind loyalty to duty!

We got back to the hotel, put my pajamas on, and asked for instructions for the rest of the routine. I said there is one thing before you start...can you sing "I'm a little tea pot"?

At that moment he realized we were 'pulling' his leg. He said, "You crips are warped bastards"...and to all a good night.

Until next time...