Handicap doors, a dance with the devil

I started attending our local community college earlier this year. I knew it was going to be a big change for me, but my one real worry was whether I'd be able to get around the campus safely and effectively; though the campus is not large compared to the big University I live near, it's dramatically bigger than the 100-student high school I came from. Since there are multiple buildings on campus, and I have a finite amount of energy, it is actually really important that I head in the right direction.

To my relief, the large campus has not been a big problem, and one of my parents is always available if I need to be driven to one of the farther buildings (I don't drive yet, so they always pick me up).

One thing the campus has that my high school did not is a lot of automated handicap doors. Although they seem friendly at first, do not be fooled, an automated handicap door is actually a dance with the devil. A few weeks ago, the devil gave me a taste of my first public fall. But not just a public fall, a nuclear public fall, that is a public fall where there is no obvious way to get back up and no one is around. Falling like this is one of my greatest present fears, especially the realization that I might not be able to get back up.

Here is the story. I'd just gotten out of class an hour early and it was the end of the day, so I was feeling pretty relieved and ready to just get home and relax. I walked down a few long halls while rolling my school bag steadily behind me; I took my time, knowing my ride wouldn't be there for another 15 minutes.

I finally reached the two sets of large glass doors, and casually pressed the handicap button to open them for me. Never assume the handicap doors are your friends, let alone safe--I learned this the hard way, for as I was walking through the doors (at a slow but steady pace, not unusual for someone actually needing this feature), one of the doors decided that time was up, it did this all on its own without consulting me. Wham. Shutting while I was still in the door obviously came as quite a shock, and, giving the devil his due, I promptly fell over very hard on my knees.

I'd been in similar situations before, and knew the steps to follow in handling it.

Step #1: Take a moment and check yourself for severe injuries before proceeding the attempt to relocate and eventually get back up.

I was relieved that I appeared to have no real injuries, although my knees had taken the force of the fall and were notably and understandably sore.

Step #2: Check your surroundings.

Still in front of the doors, blocking the path should someone come through them, I could imagine being cut cleanly in half if someone else choose to press the dreaded handicapped button. In fear, I slowly scooted myself off to the side where I could more clearly contemplate the situation. For me, I usually need something like a chair to pull myself up with--otherwise I'm pretty much screwed. A quick glance around proved that there were no chairs.

With CMT, you are forced to get creative. If there isn't a chair, then you have to use your head to find the best alternative, and figure out how you're going to get through each new difficult situation you're placed in.

Step #3: Formulate a plan.

It may sound like I'm taking way too much time in getting up, that I should just be calling someone for help or grabbing at any object in sight, but in my experience, you want to know everything about the situation, all the options available to you, and make sure you don't get yourself into a worse mess. Anyway, with CMT, you learn that there's no need to rush.

There were only three objects around me that were solid and might provide some assistance: my bag, a pillar, and a wall. Oh wait, there was a fourth object, my cellphone. I found my cellphone in the bag and quickly phoned my mom, letting her know she might have to find me and provide me with some assistance since she was coming to pick me up anyway; I also told her I'd be working on getting up. The pillar was immediately ruled out as something that could help me out. The wall, however, was not completely flat and had various ridges which I hoped I could pull myself up from.

Step #4: Initiate plan.

I got on my knees, and soon discovered I'd hurt my knee much more than I'd originally thought. I could almost hear the evil door laughing. I was scared to put too much pressure and weight on it, and after fighting and pulling at the wall for several minutes, I gave up that plan of action.

I should mention that being as proud as I am, whenever anyone would walk by I'd cease my efforts and pretend to be casually sitting there and riffling through my bag. Adding other people to the situation also just complicates it. People are often very sweet and will often you "a hand" when you fall, but for me that's not very helpful. On more than one occasion I've had someone almost rip my arms off trying to "help" me get up. No thanks.

I turned to my bag. If you looked at it the right way you could almost imagine it was a little stool. My last hope, as far as doing this myself was concerned. I got into position, my stool, my savior, but to my dismay, my bag started to roll away when I'd try to push off it! Those wheels, normally so helpful, do not make for a very stable stool. But like I said, you have to be creative, so I tried laying the bag on its side. This worked much better, but not well enough--it wasn't quite tall enough.

Finally I was beaten, and leaned against the wall as I waited for my mother to get there. She arrived before long, but after a few minutes of discussing the situation and her pulling on my arms (see, I told you so), we were at whits end. A kind man noticed our peril and offered to help. At this point, I didn't bother to hesitate. Pride be damned. We explained I was having trouble getting up, that I'd fallen and hurt my knee, and had had troubles with it before (which was true, and I didn't see the point in trying to explain CMT). Before we knew it he'd called over a security guard. I could see already that my little fall was turning into a big event. I was now getting much more attention than I had wanted. Security guard #1 and the man talked about how to get me up and questioned me. They were talking about me while using their security radios and calling for more backup! Meanwhile, my mom checked inside the building for a chair, which we hadn't thought of before. She brought one out and they managed to help me up onto it--it was harder than usual since my knee was rather banged up.

Within another minute, backup arrived, two more security guards showed up in their vehicles, first aid kits and all, communicating on their walky-talkies and declaring they'd been "dispatched" and the "situation was under control" and "the girl is now on her feet and doing okay." This was all said very loudly, just in case anyone withing 100 yards had not yet heard. I was questioned some more and they then allowed my mother to drive up right there so I wouldn't have to walk as far as the parking lot. Mission accomplished, you could tell they were happy to actually have something to do.

Step #5: Relax and remind myself to never trust handicap doors again.