Waking up is a drag. It's so much effort. First thing to do upon waking is to make sure I'm still breathing and take a few long and slow breaths to make sure there's enough oxygenated blood running through my body. Just in case I had stopped breathing during sleep and had woken up due to hypoxia.
After I am sure I am breathing, I have to go through each body part, slowly waking up all moving body parts, joints and muscles to try and make sure they would be able to move when I want them to later. I tend to start with the facial muscles first, until I can pull fake smiles with ease. Then fingers and toes. One appendage on one limb at a time. Once one limb was limbered up, I would concentrate on the other. And the next and the next, feeling joints creak and pop from stiffness, while muscles screamed with soreness, resisting the hard work they knew I was going to have to.
The scars of the old wounds pull and stretch with discomfort and that strange sense of wrongness. This is not how it should be. The deeper scars increase the resistance for my muscles, increasing the amount of effort needed and reduce my joint range of motion. The old, familiar pains make me wince and frown at the ceiling, hissing through my teeth. The muscles not wanting to stop being in guarding mode require some rubbing and poking with my crooked fingers until they began to ease up a bit. And then when I am able to lie on my back and draw my knees up with feet closer to my body, I practise pelvic tilts and rolling my knees side to side to loosen up my back. My spine cracks and pops, muscles stretch and the familiar yawn of darkness on the edge of my consciousness tells me that my blood vessels are still playing catch up with my heart in increasing blood pressure.
When my back is loosened up, I lay there for a moment, sweating and gasping for air, feeling exhausted and wishing I could just go back to sleep. But that isn't going to happen. Nobody but those who have been through this kind of chronic problem post severe traumatic injury or whose bodies have aged would understand just how painful and tortuous it was to get out of bed every morning, not knowing whether you would be able to make it through the day without your body giving up on you or not.
Once I have caught my breath, I slowly reach for those heavy pillows and pile them up at the head of the bed above my head with effort, stopping to catch my breath after moving every one or two pillows. A normal person wouldn't find a pillow heavy, but someone like me finds them as heavy as a five kilo weight. They aren't easy to move when I have poor energy or stamina and fatigue issues. Add to that the fact that every movement I make causes muscles, joints and scars to shift, move and scream silently in protest.
Shut up, body. It's just moving pillows. We do this every morning. We haven't even gotten to the sitting up part and you're already complaining so much.
Hands on either side of the body and feet planted in the bed, I slide myself inch by inch up the bed to prop myself into a reclining position atop that pile of pillows at the bed head. Hissing at the sharp pain lancing through both my unstable wrists, I grasp both wrists with both hands and look up at the ceiling, waiting for the pain to pass.
This happens every day. There is no need to cry. No need to make a fuss.
Propped up on that pile of pillows, I close my eyes feeling the dizziness and buzzing rush of blood flow that wasn't quite making it to my brain while my heart hammers away.
Come on, blood vessels. Time to get to work. Vasoconstrict. Increase my blood pressure. Make sure my brain is getting oxygen. Get rid of that lightheaded dizziness and vertigo that is making my head feel like it is drawing loops around the room. I really don't want to black out later when I stand up. It's annoying.
I don't like waking up to the stiffness and cold of the floor where my body may as well have frozen into stone given how difficult it is to get working again after passing out on the icy cold floor.
Once the roar of sea waves in my ears, the encroaching darkness in my vision and the dizziness have settled, I grab the monkey bar dangling above my bed with a little effort because of my sore shoulders. Then taking a few deep breaths to brace myself, I pull myself completely upright into sitting and once more wait for the blood pressure to equalise, the pain to settle and my breath to normalise.
Once in sitting, I have to slowly warm up all the joints and muscles again in case they have forgotten how to do their proper jobs during the brief time I have taken to catch my breath and rest for a moment. Slowly, bit by bit, I peel my back off the pile of pillows and bed board at the head of the bed until I am sitting free. Carefully shoving the blankets aside, I shuffle awkwardly toward the edge of the bed, grabbing hold of the short rail there to help steady my swaying torso. My heavy legs are dragged across the bed until one by one, they drop off the edge of the bed. My feet land on the cold floor with small twin thuds, making me wince once more. They prickle with the change in blood flow.
Catching my breath once more, more joint loosening exercises follow until I am able to sit unsupported and my feet have found the slippers that can protect them from the icy hard and cold floor. I march my knees up and down on the spot and pump my ankles, making sure to keep my blood pressure up until I feel ready. Then giving both legs a little shake to remind them to behave, I plant my feet on the floor, making sure they have a good distance between them in order to improve my balance when I'm upright.
Little by little, I slide and shuffle my bottom toward the edge of the bed so that the weight bearing process happens slowly. That way if any sharp pains shoot through any part of my legs, I can sit down quickly before the leg gives way beneath me. With one hand, I hold onto the short bedrail beside me. With the other hand, I have it firmly gripping the window sill, hard enough that my knuckles have turned white.
With each increased bit of weight on my knees, I have to take a few deep breaths, preparing myself for if my body decides it's having a bad day. It's not too bad today. At least, there's no red or white hot lancing pain, jabbing me and causing me to collapse.
Now that I'm upright and standing on my two legs, I just need to straighten up my spine and then make sure I can walk on the spot without a leg giving way. In order to stand up from my bent over position, I move the hand on the bed rail over to the window sill and then using the vertical part of the window frame, I climb my way into a completely upright position, hands edging up the frame bit by bit.
When I taste blood, I know I've accidentally bitten my cheek again with all the effort. Those wounds on the inside of my cheeks may never heal with the amount of times I bite them these days. The scar tissue around them is pretty thick and not as sensitive to touch as it used to be.
Finally, standing on my two legs with a straight spine, I breathe out a sigh of relief. I stretch a little before I let go of the window frame and listen to the popping and cracking sounds in my back again, before letting out a sigh of relief. Carefully I lift and lower each leg to make sure it still works, before fumbling in the corner for where I had tossed my single forearm crutch last night. Once I have that in hand, I take slow and careful steps across the bedroom floor into the cold bathroom.
Every five steps, I need to stop and catch my breath.
No matter how urgent my full bladder says it needs the toilet, it has to be patient. It has to wait. We won't make it to the toilet if I end up falling on the floor and cleaning up after myself on the floor is very difficult if I have an accident. Getting up and down off the floor and reaching the floor with my hands is not as easy as it was when I was a normal person before the accident.
Once on the floor, it may be another hour before I can get back up off the floor and then I'd definitely be late for work. Even people with impairments are expected to be punctual for work. I don't like calling myself disabled. I may be, but I'm not completely unable to do normal activities. I may just take a lot longer than the average person to get things done. There's nothing actually wrong with my brain.
I like the punctuality rule. It makes me feel like a normal worker. Not somebody with problems who requires special consideration. There's a reason why I always strive to arrive at work early. That way I can prove to the normal able bodies people that even if I'm disabled with mobility impairments, I can at least be more punctual than most of them.
Reaching the toilet on time is a relief. While I'm on the toilet, waiting for the processes for the early morning deposit to the porcelain bank to be completed, I take off my clothes and drop them into the laundry basket that I placed by the toilet last night. Once all the clothes are in, I kick the basket so that it skids out of the shower zone.
A glance tells me that my clean and dry clothes are sitting by the sink, ready for me, where I had made sure to put them last night. I brush my teeth while I wait.
Like usual, I had put my toothbrush, toothpaste and cup of water by the toilet within easy reach. Once I've finished, I'll carry it over to the sink to wash. The rinsing water from my mouth is spat in the direction of the shower drain.
The deposit completed, I turn on the shower and remain sitting on the toilet to perform my usual shower routine. Hair first and then the rest of my body, methodically moving from one limb or body parts to the next. When that is done, now comes the hard part. Standing up again.
Thankfully, there are rails all around the bathroom/toilet space to improve ease of movement and reduce the risk of me losing my balance. Slowly and carefully, I dry and dress myself, using the ready shower chair with armrests that I use more as a rest station than for showering for those difficult parts like putting on undies, trousers and socks.
Holding onto my one forearm crutch again, I hobble back into the wet shower area with my slippers to fetch my toothbrush and all, bringing it over to the sink to wash and clean. Then I stand at the bathroom bench to do my usual facial care routine. With a final pat of my hands on my cheeks, the morning routine is complete.
Once out of the bathroom, I put on my coat and things, checking to make sure I look reasonable and neat for work. No matter how disabled a person is, they still want to look good, and considering I am one of the receptionists and admin officers for my company, I have to look neat. After all, as a receptionist, I am one of the first faces people entering the company see and first impressions are very important.
Slowly, I make my toast and morning hot cup of tea, sinking into my comfortable wheelchair with a sigh of relief, glad that I have finally completed my morning exercise routine, having managed to force myself to not use my wheelchair for most of the time. Before the accident, I never would have thought that just the act of getting out of bed and ready for the day could be such a difficult chore and an exercise all on its own. But now, it is one of the most important parts of my day and an important part of keeping my body strong and healthy enough to be able to live independently by myself without any assistance.
I still need to hire somebody to come and help me with a deeper cleaning once every 6 months, but I manage to do most of the basic stuff myself most of the time. It's nice to know that although it takes a while, I can still take care of myself and my little apartment by myself. It's not until you're in trouble and require assistance with your daily activities and personal care that you realise just how precious your independence, privacy and dignity are.
I had been there and never wanted to go there again. It was better to take care of myself, even if I was slow and unstable on my feet.
After breakfast and cleaning up my breakfast dishes, I left the dripping dishes to dry on the drying rack and resumed my wheelchair seat to grab my bag and leave the apartment. My single forearm crutch went into the holder on the side of the wheelchair, my backpack with a spare change of clothes and the lunch I had made last night was tucked between me and the wheelchair armrest and I made sure the apartment door was locked before wheeling myself into the elevator.
I nodded at the apartment concierge on my way out even as he was on his way in, and took myself to the nearest bus stop. The recent changes in the bus fleet to make the busses more wheelchair accessible have been one of the best inventions ever. It meant that it was easier to get around and I didn't have to move to a more expensive but accessible location. The bus driver was used to me by now, anyway.
When the bus arrived, the bus driver gave me a cheerful morning greeting, lowered the bus ramp and the bus driver helped me to park myself in the wheelchair parking area on the bus, otherwise he'd be waiting for me for another five or ten minutes just to get up the ramp.
If you've never used a wheelchair before, you won't know, but moving yourself around in a wheelchair requires a lot of arm and wrist strength. Strength that I am sorely lacking. An electric wheelchair was too expensive for me, so I had to get a manual wheelchair. Thankfully, there was a contraption attached to my wheelchair like a lever that only needed to be pushed forwards and backwards in order to make my wheelchair move. With this lever, I could easily drive myself forwards or in reverse. I still needed to hold onto the hand rim on the wheel to turn, but that was a lot easier than propelling myself forwards using the wheel hand rims only.
"Have a good day!"
The bus driver and I greeted each other when I arrived at my stop, the train station. There, the usual train station staff greeted me as I passed the office and I swiped my card to pass through the barriers. I made my slow way to the top of the platform where the train driver would be able to put out the ramp and help me onto first carriage. In the previous years before disability accessibility wasn't a thing in the city yet, I had been pretty much limited in transport options, only able to take a special wheelchair accessible taxi. Which was pretty expensive and not very reliable as the taxi drivers were often late or didn't come at all. Not as reliable as good old and much cheaper public transport.
Once the train had pulled into the station and stopped, the train driver got out of her cabin to put out the ramp and help me onto the train. She was new and I had to ask her for help getting onto the ramp so as not to delay the train leaving on time.
"Disabled people who can't even get on the train with the ramp shouldn't even be allowed to take the train," I heard her mutter to herself under her breath when she was putting the ramp away. She seemed to not realise that I could hear her grumbling. Unless she was speaking just loud enough for me to hear on purpose.
I lowered my head. Getting angry over this type of everyday discrimination wasn't worth it. Humans are mean and rude creatures. People like this weren't worth the effort and emotions. I needed to conserve my energy for the rest of my work day as it was. The snide, subtle discrimination and bullying there was something I had to put up with everyday. People didn't always mean to be mean, but sometimes they didn't realise just how hurtful some of those off hand comments could be.
At my station, I wheeled my wheelchair in front of the doors only for the train driver to ignore me. Another passenger had to knock on the drivers' cabin to get her out to help me with the ramp.
The new train driver tried to erase her scowl, but it was too late. Everyone at the doors had seen her disgruntled expression as they were exiting. She threw down the ramp with a loud clang.
"It's not her fault she's disabled," a passenger scolded her. "Don't take your bad temper out on innocent victims."
The train driver noticeably sucked in her temper and gave me a fake smile, reaching for the handles behind my wheelchair.
"No need to help me," I told her. "I can get down the ramp myself. Thank you."
She wasn't likely to do anything to me, but it was better not to take the risk.
I thanked the passenger who had helped speak up for me and took my time getting to the train barriers. It was easier to move around when there were less people without accidentally crashing into somebody's legs. The problem with these push-pull levers was that it wasn't as easy to control the speed of my wheelchair and changed directions when there were a lot of people around.
At the back of the crowd, I exited the train station and wheeling myself down the street, glanced up at the overcast sky. I had forgotten to bring an umbrella. Hopefully it wouldn't rain later when it was time to go home.
I nodded and waved to the cheerful and friendly café staff whom I had never met before. Just the fact that I passed by everyday had resulted in us greeting each other every morning anyway.
The office wasn't actually very far away. Maybe five to ten minutes away as a normal person walks. But for me, it took fifteen to twenty minutes and it felt more like a marathon than an easy walk. It was normal to be soaked with sweat by the time I got to the office.
Nodding at the security guard, I wheeled myself towards the disabled toilets where I had been given a locker. In the locker was my work uniform and a towel. Due to being soaked with sweat, I always had to take a quick shower and to change into clean clothes that wouldn't smell while I was working. Once I had freshened up, I was ready for the work day and still had half an hour to spare before I officially started work. Just enough time to check today's work tasks, prioritise them and get organised.
The people arriving for appointments also often arrived early, so it was good to have the computers set up and ready to roll before the o'clock ticked over. It made the company seem more organised and professional. Then those potential future business partners with their first impressions would hopefully feel more likely to be willing to sign those contracts and partner with our company.
Parking my wheelchair in its usual corner, I hobbled my way over to my desk and sighed as I settled myself into my specialised office chair. My forearm crutch was propped up into its usual corner where it would still be within reach, but out of the way and where other people wouldn't trip on it.
"Haidee? Is that you?"
My manager, Tamar Zebulon, poked her head out of her office door to look at me.
"Good morning, Mrs Zebulon," I greeted politely.
"Good morning, Haidee," Mrs Zebulun gave me a tight smile. "Sara has called in sick, so there's only you and Feather on the front desks today. It may get a bit busy, but I'll jump in if you girls can't handle it all. Later today, there are two potential business partners coming in. The boss advised that the deals they're coming in to discuss are very important and we can't neglect these guests. At 10:20am is Mr Levy Worth and at 11:40am is Mr Lawrence Dawne. Please ensure that you and Feather give them a little extra attention. Mr Dawne will be seen in the Sunrise Meeting Room when he arrives. Please ask Feather to show him the way there when he arrives, as you would have trouble getting up the steps to that part of the building."
I nodded my understanding.
"Got it, Mrs Zebulon."
"I'm going to be busy trying to get through my work tasks early this morning, so that I can help you girls when things get busy later in the day. It looks like things will get hectic just before lunch according to the schedule. Try not to disturb me. Let Feather know what I just told you when she comes in, won't you?"
"Sure," I nodded with a smile, noting down the important information into the shared notes system that the receptionists used to help keep track of tasks and information. I made sure Feather's name was in the list so that she would hopefully see the note in case I was busy later and didn't get the chance to tell her.
As expected, visitors and guests started arriving early and by the time Feather turned up right on the o'clock so that she wouldn't clock in late, I didn't have the chance to verbally pass on the message. I could only hope that she would see the digital message. I took a second to point at the message shortcut on her screen to inform her that there was something she needed to see, but she ignored me since she had already started answering the phone calls that were filling up in the phone holding places and got stuck into work.
When the first important guest, Mr Levy Worth arrived, seeing Feather was busy, I dealt with him myself. Getting out of my comfy office chair and trying not to wince, I hobbled over to my wheelchair with my crutch and led him to the waiting room, where after getting his coffee order, I went to make his coffee in the kitchenette.
A colleague from a different department stalked in while I was busy and without saying anything, used my wheelchair handles to push me out of the way. The hot coffee got spilled all over my lap, making me yelp.
The man just rolled his eyes at me, made himself a coffee using his personalised coffee mug and then stalked back out without an apology. Gritting my teeth, I mopped up the coffee in my lap as best as I could and hurriedly made another coffee, putting down my wheelchair swivel table over my my lap this time, so as not to accidentally spill anything on myself again, even if somebody bumped me.
In the special waiting room, I served Mr Worth his coffee, apologised for the wait and informed him that the person he was meeting was still in another meeting, but should be out within five or ten minutes.
"Thank you," Mr Worth thanked me and glanced at my coffee stained lap while I was putting my swivel lap table away, moving it back by the side of my armrest. He paused. "Is that why it took you a while?" he gestured at the stain. "Are you alright? Did you get scalded? Will you get into trouble with that stain?"
"I'm alright," I smiled and thanked him for his concern, taking off my woollen scarf to spread it out over my lap. "I'll just cover up the stain with my scarf for today."
"Alright," he said, sitting back down where he had half gotten up from his seat.
"Have a good meeting," I nodded and levered my wheelchair out of the waiting room.
When I returned, there was a brief moment where the phones stopped ringing and visitors stopped arriving. Then I asked Feather whether she had checked the important messages that our manager, Mrs Zebulon, had asked me to pass on to her.
Feather just rolled her eyes at me and gave me an exasperated sigh, looking up at the ceiling.
At that, I knew that Feather hadn't checked and wasn't going to listen to me. I still tried to tell her about the important visitor arriving later this morning, but she abruptly cut me off by standing up.
"I'm going to the toilet," she snapped, grumbling about me and my nagging as she walked away. Apparently she seemed to think that I thought myself so great because of all the special attention and consideration given to me because of my disability.
This kind of attitude just made me feel frustrated. I was just trying to do my job properly. How about she try being stuck in this wheelchair with chronic pain, chronic fatigue and poor mobility?
With a deep breath, I counted to ten and then waited for her to return so that I too, could get a chance at going to the toilet while we could. Feather didn't even look at or acknowledge me when she returned and I told her I was going to the toilet. She just mumbled something about how people with disabilities seemed to shirk their work by going to the toilet all the time.
I needed to do more deep breathing and counting. Neither of us had been able to take a break or catch our breaths until now. There had been no time to go to the toilet. What was she going on about?
When I returned from the toilet, I saw Mrs Zebulon telling Feather off for poor attitude and an unhappy man at the front desk, waiting impatiently. Mrs Zebulon took him to a waiting room herself.
Feather muttered under her breath how everyone was out to bully her today.
I didn't understand. Where did this mentality and attitude come from? Was it her personal life affecting her work? What was wrong with her?
I didn't dare or want to say much more when Feather kept glaring at me out the corner of her eyes and muttering unintelligible things under her breath.
The phones started ringing again before long and we were back to fending off phone calls and a new round of visitors. When the next special visitor, Mr Lawrence Dawne, arrived, he was seen by Feather first, who marked him in the schedule as arrived and waiting.
"You take him to the Sunrise Waiting Room," Feather told me.
I blinked.
"Mrs Zebulon said that you're supposed to..."
"Can't you see I'm busy?" Feather snapped at me in front of all the visitors. "I'm manning the front desk. It's not like you can't take him up, you lazybones. Hurry up."
"Excuse me, Mr Dawne," I apologised after a pause, feeling taken aback. "Let me just finish this phone call and I'll be right with you."
"No worries. Take your time," Mr Dawne smiled and nodded.
What a nice and polite young man. He didn't look much older than me and was rather pleasant to look at, not that I had time to look at him. There was only time for a quick glance before returning to my phone call and apologising to the person on the line for the interruption.
Once I was done with the phone call, I fumbled for my crutch and then tried not to wince as I eased myself off my seat and slowly hobbled over to where my wheelchair was, seating myself and sticking my crutch into its holder on the wheelchair.
I could feel the eyes of almost everyone in the lobby watching me. There had been a few gasps of shocked surprise when they realised that I wasn't normal.
Someone leaned over the reception desk to say something to Feather who only gave me a mocking look of derision and disgust. I pretended I hadn't seen anything.
"Miss, there are big brownish stains on your skirt that are visible from behind," Mr Dawne whispered to me.
"Oh. Thank you for telling me," I said loudly so that the other people giving me strange and amused or scornful looks could hear. "There was an accident in the kitchen earlier and a cup of coffee was spilled on my lap. I haven't had the time to go and find new clothes yet. Please do excuse me."
I rearranged the scarf on my lap and lever-wheeled my wheelchair over to the older part of the building.
"Are you alright? Did you get scalded?" Mr Dawne asked as I laboured to push myself and he considerately slowed his big strides to match my pace. I looked at his healthy, strong legs and wished mine weren't so ugly and useless.
"No, no, it's fine," I reassured him.
I had seen a couple of blisters earlier when I had gone to the toilet, but it didn't look like anything I hadn't had before.
"Where are we going? I haven't been to this part of the building before," Mr Dawne looked around the older part of the building with interest. There were more art pieces on the wall here and there were antiques in glass cases along parts of the corridor.
"You've been here before?" I smiled up at the tall man.
"Yes, once, but we weren't able to come to a conclusion," the man said to me.
I paused at the corner and shook the soreness out of my levering hand. Feather was going to grumble at how long I was taking later. I wanted to hurry, but knowing I was going to have to climb the stairs, I needed to try and conserve my energy.
"Well," I tried not to pant too hard and maintain talking in long sentences, "you're in luck. When they use the Sunrise Meeting Room, it usually means that whoever is in charge of the case or project or cooperation is taking it very seriously. It means they sincerely want to find a way to cooperate with mutual benefits for both sides and they want to come to an agreement with you. In short, it's pretty much a VIP meeting room where you shouldn't be disturbed and will in all likelihood have a very good and productive meeting."
"I see," Mr Dawne looked thoughtful. When we rounded the corner to the staircase, he looked at me in the wheelchair and at the staircase meaningfully. He looked around for the non-existent elevator. "I can also see why the other receptionist was meant to bring me up."
"Plans change all the time," I waved a flippant hand and then struggled to get out of the wheelchair. Where I had been panting lightly before, I was blowing like a steam engine now. "I'm going to apologise ahead of time for my slowness and for my inability to chat. There's no elevator in this old part of the building."
"No hurry," Mr Dawn reassured me. "Take your time."
With my crutch in one hand and the stair rail in the other, I struggled up one step at a time, focussing only on the stairs and barely even noticing the man who was behind me. When I glanced back, I realised that he was behind me, shielding my backside with his suit jacket, just in case somebody else came up the stairs.
"Sorry, but the coffee stain makes it really looks like you had some other type of accident," Mr Dawne apologised.
I blinked and rested on the step to catch my breath for a moment. Patient and kind people like him were rare. Meeting an endangered species was quite the highlight of the morning so far.
"I'm so sorry for the unprofessional look," I grimaced and wiped the sweat pouring down my face and neck. My clothes were already soaked with sweat. "Thank you."
"You know, you could just tell let me go up the stairs myself and tell me which room this Sunrise Meeting Room is. There's no need to go through so much trouble for me."
"I'm sorry for holding you up," I immediately apologised, feeling myself flush with shame and embarrassment. "Your visit was flagged as important and I've been told to escort you to the meeting room. It's a rabbit warren up there. The room is hard to find even with directions."
I took another step and was glad to find that we had finally reached the wide platform step that signified we were halfway up the flight of stairs. Sharp pain lanced through one knee and it nearly buckled beneath me. Had I not been holding onto the hand rail, I might have ended up on the floor.
"Are you alright, Miss?" Mr Dawne held out a hesitant hand, looking unsure as to whether he should help me or not.
"I'm fine," I gave him a tired smile and began climbing the stairs again.
"If you don't mind me asking," Mr Dawne said, "how did you become like this? I don't mean to pry or anything. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."
"An accident," I puffed. "A very big, freak accident that happened on the road just outside the lobby door," I gestured toward the street below.
"Oh. That accident that was in the news three years ago? You were the girl caught between two cars?" Mr Dawne gave me a look of pity and sympathy.
"Yeah," I gave a shaky laugh, shaking my head. "It was almost as if they were coming for me. There was no way to dodge or hide. I was walking on the pavement one moment and then there was screeching and a bang and I was all mangled up. I'm very lucky to have even gotten back this much movement when they didn't think I'd survive the first few days."
"You're a fighter."
"Huh," I puffed and didn't reply to that statement. I didn't agree with it.
I hadn't fought for anything but to survive. I had hung by a thread and tried to let go so many times. Given up so many times, but the medical staff had pulled me back from the brink over and over again. I'd say that my current condition was thanks to their expertise and professionalism moreso than anything I did.
"So have people been bullying you since you returned to work?"
"No," I gave a reflex reaction. "Things happen all the time. I can't blame it all on other people."
"You have a good attitude," Mr Dawne smiled at me. "You obviously wouldn't pour a whole cup of coffee on your own lap. As far as I've seen, you're very careful and deliberate in your movements. If there was an accident, it wasn't your fault. From the way you're walking, even with your limp, you probably have blisters from the scalding but still tell everyone you're fine. That's a work injury, my girl. You're entitled to get it seen to and to make a fuss. Your co-worker knew you'd struggle with the stairs but still insisted you come, when as the first point of contact with me, she ought to have been the one to bring me up here."
While he talked to himself about workplace culture and bullying and deducing what had been happening to me in my workplace, I finally made it up the last few steps, and then leaned against the wall and rail to catch my breath and try and let the darkness in my vision and whirling dizziness recede.
When I opened my eyes, the man had finally stopped talking.
"I have no complaints," I told the man, wiping the sweat from my face with the back of my hand and not making much difference since even the back of my hand was moist with sweat. "I'm just grateful that the company allowed me to stay. I need this job."
"You must be an optimist," Mr Dawne shook his head after a long moment of silence, while watching me trembling and trying to catch my breath.
"I wish," I replied and cleared my throat, straightening up, "but I'm too pragmatic for that."
I had only been up here once or twice before and I had to comb my memory files to try and remember the way to the Sunrise Meeting Room. When I had vaguely recalled the way and mostly caught my breath, I gestured to the man and tried not to let him notice when sharp pain jabbed through my knee and it nearly gave way on me again.
A hand supported me at the elbow and I felt that I might have grown a little redder than I already was from all the physical activity.
"Please excuse how I must look," I said, gulping a few deep breaths and then getting my body back under control, "and for wasting your time like this. Although I am not as able as the others, I still want to fulfill all my duties where possible. I can only apologise for taking so long about it though."
"No need to apologise," Mr Dawne retracted his hand once I was steady again. "I'm not in a hurry and it's good to slow down once in a while. I gave me a chance to look at the various things in the corridor on the way. I am quite impressed by your perseverance though."
"We're a bit short staffed today," I said, "otherwise you wouldn't need to be putting up with me."
"Don't belittle yourself, Miss. There are many other women in your shoes who would have already given up on themselves by now, but here you are."
I blinked at the compliment, feeling it strange and uncomfortable. It had been quite a long time since someone last complimented me in any way.
"Thank you for your patience and your assistance earlier," I said at last and gestured down the corridor. "The meeting room should be this way."
"I've heard," I said, noticing how the man was shielding my backside with his suit jacket again and smiling my thanks at him, "that the Sunrise Meeting Room was so named because of the glorious views of the sunrise that can be seen when there are early morning breakfast meetings. The window glass is special and so when the morning sun rays hit the window, it makes the room inside dance with colours."
"Have you seen it before?" Mr Dawne asked me.
"Actually, no," I rubbed my nose and continued to talk through my almost gritted teeth. "This is perhaps, only my second time up here. The journey here is a bit too... arduous for me."
"Arduous. Nice word," Mr Dawne smiled. "I hope I get to see the famous sunrise from the meeting room one day. Maybe I'll get the chance to have a breakfast meeting here one day."
A door at the end of the corridor banged open and an irate voice was directed at me.
"Where have you been, girl? You were meant to bring Mr Dawne here ten minutes ago. Everyone has been waiting for ages. Where have you been dawdling? Don't tell me you've been flirting with your ugly looks. Look at what a mess you've become. What will other people think of our workers and our company's professionalism? You realise that as a receptionist, you're meant to be the face of the company. Look at you. People would think you'd been in a downpour or fallen in the toilet or something. And what's with your skirt?"
"I'm sorry," I began and then recognised the admin officer scolding me as the same man who had moved my wheelchair without a by-your-leave this morning and caused the coffee to spill all over me. I stopped talking when Mr Dawne stepped in front of me to block me from view.
"Excuse me, but Miss Receptionist has been most kind and polite, doing her best to help me reach the meeting room despite her difficulties," he said smoothly. "She has explained and apologised for the state she's in, but all of that was hardly her fault. She's already done the best she can."
"Well, her best isn't good enough," the admin officer scowled at me. "People like her shouldn't even be working if they can't do their jobs in a timely and proper manner. She can't even keep herself neat. She's a complete waste of time and money."
I lowered my head.
"Mr Dawne," I said, looking at the clenched fist hidden behind the man's back where only I could see, "please follow him to the meeting room. I'll go make you a hot drink. Would you like tea or coffee?"
I felt embarrassed that he might feel any emotion on my part. There was nothing to be angry about. After all, the mean admin officer whose name I couldn't remember right at the moment wasn't wrong. He wasn't the only one who felt that I should be replaced with someone faster, more able and who could keep up with our fast paced workplace.
"I'll have tea, if you please," Mr Dawne glanced back and me and gave me a doubtful frown that I answered with a small smile, encouraging him to go ahead and not worry. "Black tea, one milk, two sugars."
"Coming right up," I said and then watched him leave with a small shrug of his shoulders.
"Take your time with it," he told me. "No rush."
"Of course," I smiled and side stepped my way into the small kitchen tucked away into a small corner of this section of the building.
After making the tea, I leaned against the kitchen bench for a short moment and was just picking up the cup and turning around when somebody came in to snatch it impatiently from my hand and spilling the tea all down my front.
The impatient and irritated admin officer gave me a right dressing down, telling me off when I tried to quickly dab the excess tea off with a tea towel. He really lit into me, mocking and making fun of me, telling me how horrible I looked and made fun of how I moved until tears I had not she'd for a long time trembled rebelliously at the bottom of my eyelids, threatening to overflow.
He had me make another cup of tea while telling me off and scoffing at my tea making skills, before snatching the mug from me once more, this time without spilling it. He stalked off, while I stood trembling and dripping for a moment.
I had just started wiping and cleaning up the mess when he returned to demand why I hadn't cleaned up the mess yet, yanking me down so that my crutch fell and me with it, onto my hands and feet. He threw a few more paper towel pieces at me.
"I'm going to talk to HR to get you fired. There are so many much better people who can do twice or three times the job you can handle. Don't just crouch there sniffling. Get moving," the man stomped his foot. "The front desk has already called up so many times demanding where you are and to ask me to make sure you're not shirking your job again under the guise of your disability. If you can't do your job, you shouldn't be here. Your poor work and slow abilities reflects badly on the rest of us, don't you know? Why should I have to get into trouble when it's you who is so slow?"
The man shoved me with a foot and used me and my uniform to mop up more of the spilt tea.
I struggled to get upright from where I had fallen, and to wipe the floor properly.
The irate admin officer couldn't seem to stand watching me. He strode away.
I crawled to the bin to throw away the dirty paper towels and then did my best to climb back up onto my feet. It didn't feel like a very long time had passed by before the mean admin officer was back.
"You're still here?" he growled with frustration, sneering as he watched me trying and failing to get up off the floor. "Forget it. I've already talked to HR and they heard about the mess you were in earlier. Everyone in the lobby saw you in your dirty dress. So disgusting."
"That was coffee," I growled back at the man in exasperation. "That was the coffee you made me spill all over myself when you suddenly moved my wheelchair this morning. I have blisters on my leg and on my chest now, thanks to you. If you'd have given me a few extra seconds, I'd have been able to complete my tasks without making a mess."
"It doesn't matter. You've taken so long and your fellow receptionist at the front desk has had to hold the fort all on her own, while you have been dilly-dallying on your way here. Being absent without leave from your post and taking an abnormally long amount of time, and all the little things added up, you've been fired. When you get back down to reception, just take your things and wheel your sorry arse out of here. I've already called my cousin to come and help Feather at the front desk. Even without training, she'll still do a better job than you do."
"You've been targeting me today on purpose," I accused, trying and failing to stand up once again. In the end, I could only sit and reply to the mean person, while wiping the tears from my cheeks. "You pushed me down and now I can't get up. Feather was meant to bring Mr Dawne over for the meeting. It would have been easier and faster. Mrs Zebulon said so this morning but Feather wouldn't listen to me. And now you want to blame all sorts of things on me when it wasn't my fault?"
"Look at your attitude," the mean admin officer sneered. "Why can't you double faced bitches ever admit when you're wrong? You always have to argue and blame other people when it's your own damn fault that you got yourself into such a mess and got like this."
I had no words. Absolutely no words to say to this mean prick. I wanted to reply and report, but I was so angry that my throat had closed over and I couldn't make a sound.
I had worked my hardest, done my best to fulfill all the requirements of my job in a timely manner and any messes today weren't even my fault. And now he wanted to call black white. Blame everything on me and say it was my own fault.
"Look at your attitude," said a quiet voice into the silence. "You really embody a cowardly worm of a man, picking on a disabled woman and bullying her all because you wanted to push your cousin into her job. This type of behaviour really makes me want to reconsider our agreement. After Miss Receptionist had me convinced that partnering with your company was a good idea, after hearing and seeing all that she has to put up with, it really makes me wonder whether the rest of the company is equally superficial, saying one thing to the face, but doing other things behind the back."
Two warm hands supported my wet and soggy elbows, helping to lift me back up onto my feet. My crutch was wiped clean and pushed back into my hand. Even then, I had trouble staying upright. My entire body felt cold and uncomfortable. My joints felt like someone was stabbing me repeatedly. I wasn't about to go anywhere anytime soon.
"Did he just use you as a mop?" Mr Dawne looked at me critically and I lowered my head. "I also heard you say you have blisters from the scalding? And you've been fired after receiving workplace injuries? Unfair dismissal, much? Should I contact Fair Work or the Ombudsman on your behalf? Come on, Miss Receptionist. I'll help you back down the stairs." A suit jacket covered my body, but I tried to push it away, not wanting to dirty it. It was probably expensive. "Put this on. Then you won't have to be embarrassed later when we have to walk through the lobby to collect your things."
Somebody from my company pulled the mean admin officer aside to scold him while the other apologised and chattered unceasingly, promising to help me get my job back and all sorts of things.
I was really tired. Exhausted. I closed my eyes, wondering what to do. An arm wrapped around my body to stabilise me.
"Excuse me, Miss Receptionist, but you aren't looking too well. If you don't mind, I'll carry you back downstairs," Mr Dawne said.
I shook my head, taking a few breaths and then trying to take a step, but my legs buckled under me.
Before I could react, I felt myself being swept up off my feet and whooped with fright, accidentally dropping my crutch.
"Let me think about it," Mr Dawne said to the man who was blabbering away at high speed. "The most important thing is to get Miss Receptionist to the hospital. She doesn't look right and she's just been bullied by your own people. She told me that she needs this job and doesn't feel that she's been bullied earlier, but irregardless of whether a victim feels bullied and whether she really is being bullied or not, you and I can see clearly. I also need to return and reconsider with my people what I should do."
It seemed just a blink and I was already being seated in my wheelchair. Mr Dawne pushed me down the corridor with long strides and was met by Mrs Zebulon just short of the lobby. Mrs Zebulon was carrying the rest of my things from my locker and she placed my bag in my lap.
I wondered how she had gotten my things out of my locked locker, but upon spotting the broken combination lock in the box of my things I understood.
Mrs Zebulon crouched down so that she could be about my eye level.
"I heard what happened and I know it's not your fault," she looked me in the eye. "A lot has happened today. Go home and get some rest for a few days. I've fought to keep your job and got suspended instead. I may not be able to help you much more, but I've passed my protests onto the HR manager. He may have not been informed of the whole story. I'm sorry, Haidee."
"It's ok, Mrs Zebulon," I sighed and looked at the things in my lap. "I'm sorry for causing you trouble. I guess I should take my office chair with me too."
I wondered how I would go about getting my office chair home.
"That office chair was specially made for Haidee, so that she could sit at the reception desk and do her job. She's a really good girl and a very hard worker," I heard Mrs Zebulon saying to Mr Dawne. "Even if she does get her job back, I think it would be better for her to resign than have to keep putting up with the scorn and behaviour of other people who don't know any better. This may be presumptuous of me, but I don't suppose you could help her find her a better job in a more accepting workplace?"
"I can see that your company didn't spare expenses to modify things and make her main work area disability accessible, so what went wrong?" Mr Dawne pursed his lips for a moment, looking around.
"I apologise," Mrs Zebulon rested a hand on my shoulder and I looked up at her as she stood back up. "That's not for me to say. I think I'll be looking for a new job during my suspension as well."
"Then you might as well come with Miss Receptionist over to my company," Mr Dawne rubbed his chin, looking thoughtful. "We recently acquired a new company that has an open employment policy, with a few other people with disabilities working there. It may be a good opportunity for you and Miss Receptionist here might feel more comfortable working there. Of course, I'll have to think about it a little more. Give me your phone number and email. I'll send you an email that you can send your CV to. For now, I need to send Miss Receptionist to the hospital for a checkup."
"My office chair," I said, looking across the lobby at where Feather had already taken over my office chair. There was a pang of anger that she should think that she could smugly take what was mine.
"Don't worry," Mr Dawne patted my shoulder. "I'll come back to organise its delivery. Let's go."