In this episode, I share the story of two relationships that I had in 1989-1990. One of them left me bitter and angry. The other one left me fulfilled and affirmed. This was originally written for the writing seminar I’m attending. I hope you enjoy it.

Hi, this is Chris Young. Welcome to episode 38 of Contemplating Life.

This week I’m going to depart from my planned schedule for a special episode. I had been recounting my many years of ministry as a volunteer for St. Gabriel Church. I’ve also mentioned many times that I’m attending a writing seminar online with award-winning science-fiction author David Gerrold. Each week he gives us a writing exercise. Recently he suggested we write a story about a negative emotion. For the following week, we were supposed to write a story about joy in a relationship. I got behind on my homework and decided to write a two-part story to cover both of those assignments.

It somewhat relates to my current series because one of the relationships I’m about to describe was with someone I met at church. I’ve given them fictitious names but the story itself is completely true at least the way I remember events. I call it “A Tale of Two Ladies”. Apologies to Charles Dickens. I hope you enjoy it.

It was the best of relationships. It was the worst of relationships.

One left me fulfilled and affirmed. The other one left me bitter and angry.

It was 1989 and I was spending much of my time as an active volunteer in my church. Along the way, I developed several working relationships with women from my church. A few of these relationships were with women who were single or divorced and were my age. Those working relationships developed into serious friendships several of which have lasted decades to this day.

None of those relationships ever turned romantic but I had learned years ago that given my disability, it was going to take someone extraordinary if I was ever going to have romance in my life. I have learned to make the best of such friendships rather than constantly lamenting that they didn’t develop into romance. I found myself content and fulfilled by these relationships rather than being constantly depressed and disappointed over what hadn’t happened.

It was a strategy I had used throughout my life in other areas. I knew many disabled people who constantly lamented what they couldn’t do rather than trying to maximize what they could do. I’d used the same strategy in my faith journey concentrating on the parts of the faith that resonated with me and not being consumed by my doubts.

Along the way, I befriended a lonely divorcee whom we will call Sharon. At first, we would hang out in a group setting where three or four people from church would gather at her house or elsewhere. We’d play Trivial Pursuit or perhaps we would just order some pizza and sit around and talk. Eventually, we began getting together one-on-one. She would come pick me up using my wheelchair van, drive me to her house, and drive me home at the end of the evening.

I had developed a reputation as a good listener. Sharon was lonely and needed a friend. We’d met at church but we never socialized together until someone recommended we get together. It wasn’t like we had been fixed up to be a couple. But she needed a friend and I had room in my life for another one.

I liked the idea that I was valuable to people as a friend. I have to admit that even though I was okay that these relationships were friendships and not romantic, it was difficult to repeatedly hear women say things like, “I wish my boyfriend or husband was more like you.” Or “I wish I could find someone who was more like you.” It was tempting to reply, “If you’re looking for someone like me, why not me? I don’t know anyone who is more like me than me.” I never found the courage to say that.

Unlike when I was younger, I never went into a relationship with a woman with strong hopes that she might be “the one”. But I did realize that if I ever was going to have an intimate, lasting, possibly marital relationship with a woman, it would have to start out as a friendship. Let’s face it, no one looks across a crowded room, sees a severely disabled guy in a wheelchair, and says to themselves, “Wow… Someday I’m going to marry that man “ I never closed the door to the possibility that someone might be right for me and we could share our lives together but at this stage of my life, I never went into the relationship plotting to make that happen.

Sharon’s marriage had been a disaster which left deep emotional scars. Her ex-husband had a high-paying job. He saw her as a beautiful trophy wife he could show off at social and business gatherings. They had four children together. He tried to paint a picture of the perfect family. It was far from that.

She found out he was having an affair with someone at work. He acted like it was no big deal. He thought he deserved a little something on the side. He expected Sharon to be okay with it. After all, they lived in a nice house, drove nice cars, and the children were well cared for. Did she really want to throw all of that away just because he wanted something extra? Her answer was a resounding, “Yes!” She gave up that lifestyle to get rid of a cheating husband.

Although he paid child support, Indiana law does not provide for alimony. Sharon had to take a job cleaning houses in order to make ends meet.

I can’t imagine the emotional scars that she bore from that entire experience.

One evening at her house after sharing some pizza with me one-on-one, she was expressing her pain over her circumstances. She lamented her inability to move on with her life and seek out a new relationship. She said, “I just have so much difficulty talking to men. I’m too intimidated by men.” In an effort to try to help her see that things weren’t quite as bad as she thought, I said, “You don’t have any difficulty talking with me.”

“Yes,” she said, “but I don’t think of you that way.“

“What do you mean by ‘that way’?”

“Well, because you’re in a wheelchair.”

Like I said before, I never had any delusions that I was a great catch. My disability brings with it a lot of baggage and I could find no offense that someone would not want to have to deal with all of that baggage if we were in a serious relationship. Although I am capable of a physical relationship, obviously it would be much different than what one could have with an able-bodied man. But this wasn’t just about not wanting to deal with the day-to-day challenges of an inter-abled relationship. This was way beyond that. She did not see me as a real man.

I thanked her for brutal her honesty. We talked about honesty in relationships for a few minutes and then I asked her to take me home.

I never spoke to her again. I avoided eye contact with her at church and at church gatherings.

I’m not the kind of person who needs to have their ego stroked. I am quite self-confident and appreciate my value to other people and to the world. I’ve experienced rejection which is never fun but I’ve always been able to deal with it. But never in my life have I encountered anyone who so disrespected me as to emasculate me. Decades later I am still incapable of putting into words the rage and contempt that I feel for her.

In the writing seminar I’m attending, we have discussed the topics of forgiveness and redemption. We discussed how to forgive despicable people. The solution seems to be to ask the question, “What could have happened to make that person behave in such a way?” That can generate sympathy for their bad behavior. While I appreciate that she suffered significant emotional trauma in her life and I tried to be sympathetic to what she had been through, I still don’t understand how someone who had been so objectified could objectify me.

Well, I told you that story so I can tell you this one.

Fast-forward a few months to February 6, 1990. I’m riding in the back of an ambulance en route to St. Vincent Hospital ER. I have sharp pains in my abdomen from a flare-up of diverticulitis. I only recall the exact date because it happened to be a friend’s birthday and I was going to miss the opportunity to celebrate with them.

I was accompanied on the ride by a very friendly EMT we will call Mindy. We had a quite pleasant conversation which helped to distract me from my pain during the 20-minute journey. I asked how long she had been working as an EMT. I think it had only been a year or two. She began talking about her struggles as a single mother. She spoke of how her kids had been supportive of her as she studied for the job. She helped them with their homework and they would help her prepare for exams by giving her sample questions from her EMT textbooks. She also revealed that she was about to be a grandmother at age 35. Her teenage daughter was expecting a baby. I said, “I’ll turn 35 in July. It kind of freaks me out that someone my age can be a grandparent.”

She said, “How do you think I feel?” We both laughed and then I grimaced from the pain. She admitted that both she and her daughter had started motherhood a little bit too early.

I shared some details about my life story as well. I don’t recall what I said. I must have made an impression upon her. Later that day, while I was still in the ER waiting on the results of my CAT scan, she was back in the ER after dropping off another patient. She stopped by to check up on me. She said that she really enjoyed our little chat. She was frustrated that she never gets to hear how their patients turn out after she delivers them. I gave her an update on my situation which wasn’t very serious. Morphine was working wonders on my pain and I was feeling fine. Strong IV antibiotics would take care of the diverticulitis infection.

She then said, “I could get in trouble for this, but could I copy down your address and send you a card?” I said, “Sure no problem.”

I was only in the hospital for a couple of days. Soon after I returned home I received a get-well card with a really nice note from her. I returned the favor by sending her a Valentine which included a very flattering letter with the card in which I complimented her not only for her bedside manner which had made a very difficult day bearable but for the way she juggled her career and her family so successfully. I added my phone number.

This led to a series of regular lengthy phone calls from her. She would sit around the ambulance garage waiting for a run and she would pass the time talking to me. We eventually made plans to go to dinner.

We had a wonderful evening together. She was completely comfortable with the need to load me and my wheelchair in and out of my van. I had explained the procedure in advance and the fact that I couldn’t feed myself. She seemed unfazed by any of that. Keep in mind that even though we had been talking for weeks, this evening was the only time we had been together in person with the exception of that ambulance ride. It was the first time she had ever seen me in my normal situation sitting up in my wheelchair.

We had a really nice dinner and then we went back to my house and sat in my office for more conversation.

At one point, a solemn look came across her face as she stared me in the eyes and said, “You’re dangerous.”

“What?”

“You’re dangerous. You scare me.”

“How the hell am I dangerous?” I laughed, “I’m sitting here in a wheelchair and can barely move a muscle. You had to feed me dinner. How am I my dangerous?”

“You could hurt me. Not physically but emotionally. If I’m not careful, I could fall in love with you. And you could fall in love with me but I’m certain it could never work between us. Once we realized that, we would both be devastated. Hurting you like that would hurt me. So I have to be careful. Because you’re dangerous.”

In my 68 years of life, those words “you’re dangerous” are the most beautiful and affirming things that anyone, female or male, has ever said to me.

You see, neither Sharon nor Mindy felt that they could deal with the day-to-day challenges of being in an intimate relationship with someone as severely disabled as me. That’s okay. It’s tough enough that I have to deal with my disability and I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy. I struggle to lead a productive and fulfilling life so I have no ill will toward anyone who understands that they are not capable of sharing those challenges with me. That’s okay.

The difference is, Sharon’s response to that reality was that she failed to see me as a real man. Her fear of men did not apply to me. She did not see me as dangerous. Mindy did see me as a real man. A man who could win her heart and break it. That made me dangerous.

I like being dangerous.

The only lasting scar I have from my experience with Sharon is that I get triggered by Pizza Hut pizza. It brings back a strong sense-memory of that night. After that, it was nothing but Domino’s pizza for me.

After my date with Mindy, we continued to talk regularly for several weeks. I had plans to attend a weekend seminar in Terre Haute about 70 miles west of here. I’d need to hire a caregiver to take care of me for the weekend. Mindy said that if I couldn’t find anyone, perhaps she could go with me. That would’ve been an interesting experience. Imagine the two of us sharing a room together with all sorts of opportunities. Danger danger danger!

I ended up hiring a home health aide who occasionally cared for my grandmother. That home health aide was happily married and we had a great professional relationship. No hanky-panky.

Eventually, my lengthy phone calls with Mindy became less frequent. I don’t think I ever had her work number or her home number. She always called me. We eventually drifted apart and I lost touch. But for that one brief shining moment when I learned I was dangerous to women, I experienced great joy and profound satisfaction knowing that Sharon was wrong about me.

If that’s not a sufficiently happy ending for you, Then I’ll add this epilogue. The confidence I gained in my relationship with Mindy and my success at flirting with her emboldened me in my next relationship with a woman. In October 1990 when Mindy was enjoying being a grandmother at the ripe young age of 35, I was losing my virginity at that age. That was something that might not have happened had I not been told I was dangerous.

So that was the story I wrote for my writers’ group. It was very well received. One of them commented, “Those were both meaningful stories… together they are POWERFUL!”. I agree. They really are connected stories. You can’t fully appreciate one without the other.

I’ve tried on several occasions to find Mindy through Google searches or Facebook searches. Her real name is similarly common. I’ve had no success. It would be nice just to touch base with her and express my thanks for her acceptance of me and tell her what happened as a result of the affirmation she gave me.

I’m not much of a “kiss and tell” kind of person so I don’t know when or if I’ll detail that other relationship I alluded to. But I do have some interesting stories I will share eventually about that third woman.

Next week, I plan to continue with other stories about my years of volunteering at St. Gabriel Church.

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