Dominican Decision Part two

The resort was stunning and we had already called about a handicap room so we weren’t worried in the slightest. Here was our problem, the resort isn’t handicap accessible.  I wait in the golf cart while Michael checked us in because of the five giant stairs he had to climb to get into the office. It also serves as a breakfast option in the morning for adults only and is the main hub of the adult only option we paid extra for, this is when we start to worry. Then we see the room. It had a large king bed and at the foot of the bed there were two steps down into the living area where the television was. Unimaginable.  It’s probably the same room all over but this one had a ramp over part of the stairs. Going straight down, did I mention that the wall was made of glass? If by some stroke of madness I did want to roll down I would never stop in time. I would be the bug on the windshield. Who thought this was a good idea? If I did roll down and not die, how could I possibly get back up?  It’s like a fifty degree incline!  This was when I fling myself onto the bed and cry, a lot. Michael was doing his best to console me. What do we do? Where do we go? Can we just go back home? He ordered a cheeseburger and a bottle of champagne from room service. Yep, that’s the man I married. He knew after I had a drink and some food it would all seem better. Except it didn’t. The bathroom wasn’t handicap friendly. I got stuck in there trying to turn around and get out. This was not going to work. Michael left me with a full glass of bubbly and a wall of glass to look out and off he went to find a better room. Which he did.  They moved us to a suite in the family section of the resort.  It wasn’t handicap but big enough the chair moved easily around everywhere. It was lovely, just really far to the beach and the adult only pool. When we settle into our new room, reality still hasn’t sunk in.  How will I unpack?  How will I put my hair up and my bikini on? Everything I held in my hands, curled in towards my wrist and either dropped to the floor or had to be pried out of my gnarled fists. I looked to the water closet, you know, the little room with the toilet. How was that going to happen? No handrails, no way to get close in the chair so I could do a stand, spin and sit.  Hum, this was going to take us to a whole different level of intimacy.  A whole unthought of level of humiliation for me. I’d never peed in front of Michael. We had a mutual respect of all things private, staying private.  It worked for us.  Now, he was going to have to straddle that toilet facing me and help me in and down, wait for me to finish because there was no way around or out. OMG! OMG! OMG!  We have a week here.  It is day one.  The shower in the room was a tiny stand up triangle with a glass door. Up one little step. One little step I couldn’t do. We found a plastic seat. It took up all the room inside. The nozzle did come down but I couldn’t hold onto it and I couldn’t keep the soap in my hands. I drop it, yell for Michael and by the time he hands it back and turns around, I’ve dropped it again. I don’t even begin with the razor. I kind of got shampoo in my hair. I kind of got it out. I could not comb it out either and that’s whenI  wheeled to the bed to lay there and cry again. The adult section we had paid extra to be in was now a phone call and a golf cart ride away. Okay. We call and wait and our butler comes. It’s so hot that I am already sweating in my bathing suit and sheer coverup. We were in the shade. My feet had the air casts on, covered in those big fuzzy socks so my feet feel like they were melting, from what I could tell.  The adult pool, which is on the opposite side of the resort, is tiny.  It had a thatched roof over the swim up bar and the way in, stairs. We sit and stare. The sun dancing off the blue water, taunted us. Michael looked around and noticed a space beside the bar, under the roof that had enough room for the chair to get close to the edge. Then what? Dump me in and hope for the best?  If Michael got in first, I’d be too high for him to get a hold of and pull down and there was a submerged bar stool right where he’d need to stand. So, the bartender sensed our problem and came around and together they lifted me out and onto the side of the pool, feet dangling into the water. Michael hopped in and simply lowered me to the seat inches away and we were thrilled! We ordered what the bartender recommended, something called Mamajuana. It’s rum, red wine and honey soaked in tree bark and herbs, um okay? They say its medicinal. We say two shots please! It tastes like it sounds, but we were here and trying to make the best of a terrible situation. Like the situation that loomed ahead.  How to get me out of the pool.

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