I wrapped up my apparently broken foot and went grocery shopping at Walmart this afternoon. I thought about using one of those scooters, but then I pictured me having to stand to reach items — stand, sit, stand, sit — no thanks. If I get to a standing position, I should stay there. I tried to use the buggy like a crutch, but it wasn’t working too well.
By the time I got to the check-out, I was sweating bullets. The back of my hair was drenched and for a second, I thought I must surely be in hell.
As I was checking out, I asked for help to my car. There was a change in shifts and three women were chatting around the register as I checked out. As the cashier approved my check, I asked again: Can someone help me out, please? By the time I was ready to go, they were still gabbing away. I finally said forget it and left.
By the time I got to my car, I was in a lot of pain and couldn’t hold back the tears. I tried to lift my case of bottled water into the trunk and the plastic ripped in my hands. Finally, a customer passing by offered to help me. Thanks, dude.
I really thought I would get more help from the people at Walmart. Employees, customers, anyone. But I have never felt so alone than I did today at Walmart.
All Things Chronic 