—Disabled Fighting—
Twice in my life have I seen a man beating up on his girlfriend or wife.
Both times were at concerts, and both times I had a friend with me.
Also, both times I walked over to intervene.
Each time, my friend pulled me back, and he went over and intervened.
Later I’d hear them say, “You can’t go getting involved in something like that! You’ll get killed! You dang fool!”
Now, twice in my life have I met someone with one arm.
Both times it was a male, and both times they were mad at the world and mean. I’m not at all saying that all one-armed people are mean or mad at the world. I’m just saying the two one-armed men I’ve met have been mean and angry at the world.
I tell you that, to tell you this:
I had to drive up to the cabin today. I’ll go into why in another post.
In some other State, I make a pit-stop to get a drink and stretch my legs.
When I travel, I hook my 2000cc Urine Bag up to my Urostomy. It helps me not have to stop every thirty minutes to empty my smaller Urostomy bag.
At the gas station, I unhook myself from my travel pee bag and get out to walk in.
On my way into the store, I hear a guy hollering at his girlfriend or wife.
(I’ll say girlfriend for this story)
Inside, I buy some Diet Cokes for when I get to the cabin, Chips, and a lottery ticket. Then, I head back to the vehicle.
Outside, I hear that same guy calling his girlfriend all sorts of names.
I look and notice he’s only got one good arm. His other arm goes down to his elbow and has a nub at the end.
“Angry at the world,” I think to myself.
As I get to my vehicle, I hear a sort of “Pop” sound…
Immediately, I know that he’s hit her.
“Crap… I’m gonna get hit in the face with that nub…” I think to myself.
I open the car door, take a deep breath, and drop everything I purchased into the driver’s seat.
I then lean in and grab my pee-bag and hook it back up to myself.
I know what I’m about to do.
I lean against the car and stare at the guy.
He’s a young guy, probably 28. Not skinny but not fat. Thick build.
He has her arm grabbed with his one hand.
What’s left of his other arm is just waving crazily in the air.
I pull my shirt up and leave it up, exposing my Colostomy and Urostomy. I want him to see that I’m disabled as well, and I care about his disability about as much as he cares about mine. I begin walking over.
I’m thinking, “I’m gonna get hit with that ‘nub,’ and I’m gonna hit him with my poop bag.”
I continue thinking, “Crap. The news is gonna be all over this… If this is how I die, my Nieces and Nephews will talk about me for the next hundred years… And it won’t be the kinda way a guy wants to die…”
I have my pee bag latched onto my belt loop. It has about 1500 cc’s of urine in it. I figure I can swing it, and it’ll bust over the guy’s head.
Our eyes meet.
I see his eyes move from my face down to my stomach, which is exposed and showing my Colostomy and Urostomy Bags. (Lenny and Squiggy)
His eyes widen.
We are ten feet apart at this time, and I am walking towards him with confidence.
Two Police cars pull in with lights on and pull behind the couple’s vehicle.
I immediately turn around, cover “Lenny and Squiggy” back up, and begin walking back to my truck.
In my family, that’s the Protocol. Turn and go the other direction if the Police show up. Also, act like you were minding your own business.
I get in my vehicle, and I see the Police walk up to the one-armed man to talk to him.
“Saved by a friend, again,” I think to myself, and I drive away.
