Hey Darling Ones,

Yesterday I had to go back to physical therapy because my left ankle is being a little bitch. I went to a podiatrist a few months ago and she thinks it’s my lymphadema causing the woe.

I’ll skip telling you how I was, and kinda till am, a salty, petulant brat about the whole thing. Instead, I’m gonna tell you abut the weird thing that happened.

Because the American healthcare system is so awesome and efficient, I had wait six weeks for this appointment and go to a clinic in Savage (about 20 minutes from Supergenius HQ) instead of the Shakopee clinic which I can practically see from here.

Whenever I go to the Savage clinic (my primary care doc is there) my fam uses the clinic’s Staxi to haul me in. My fam loves the Staxi. I’m ambivalent. I prefer my wheelchairs, Ruby Vroom or Jonas, because I can propel myself.

The Staxi is like an adult stroller and I need to be pushed, for the most part. Because I have go-go-gadget arms and long legs, I have been known to twist myself in such a way that I can hold down the lever that releases the brakes and use one foot to scoot around. I’m sure it doesn’t look weird at all.

Using the Staxi is easier for my family because there’s no need to wrestle a chair into & out of the back of my mom’s RAV4.

So, I’m in the Staxi when my mom wheeled me into the Savage PT clinic’s teeny tiny waiting room. Aside from us, there was one older gentleman (OG) waiting.

We arrived early to fill out a bunch of paperwork. And, since the adult stroller isn’t infantilizing enough my mom also had to do the paperwork because the Floppy Scoop’s tremor makes my handwriting illegible.

As I was spelling L-Y-M-P-H-E-D-E-M-A for my mom, the OG hands me a dollar and says, “If you never spend this you’ll never be broke.”

“Thanks?” I said, because what are you supposed to do when strangers hand you money for reasons.

“I worked at the same place for forty-seven years,” he said, and then a petite older woman came out from the back and walked towards him. “And I’ve been married for sixty-three years!” He took his wife’s arm and they walked two steps to the door.

“Congratulations!” I said, as they walked out.

Once the door closed I turned to my mom. “Why did he give me a dollar?”

“I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head.

We’ll never know what prompted him. However, I suspect it was because I was in the Staxi. I’ve seen wheelchair users on social media talk about how strangers try to give them money all the time. I thought, maybe, it was not really a thing and maybe something they were just saying for the views.

But, I think it just happened to me. Based on the social media people’s reactions and tones when telling these stories I’m supposed to be super offended by this.

I am not. A little weirded out, yes. Offended? Not even close. I mean, free money. I’m on a fixed income ($1700 a month does not go far) and I’ll take any handout that comes my way.

Not broke yet,
Jodi

P.S. My new PT is 6’1″ and I love her and, like me, she doesn’t think the janky ankle is due to lymphedema,