hurt by big turk

Since becoming disabled coming on to two years ago now, I've been coping well. Or so I thought.

I've been managing with the wheelchair and all that comes with it - curbs, attitudes, platitudes and both kinds of stares. Yep, I have no compunction about going out 'there' into the real world and getting done what I need to get done. I've been coping well. Or so I thought.

Making reservations for hotels and getting them to understand that 'accessible' doesn't mean 'being able to get to it' it means 'being able to use it' - that's old hat now. Talking to airline representatives to ensure that they understand what needs to happen and making it clear that when my wheelchair comes out of the belly of the plane it comes to me, not to baggage handlers. got it down pat. I've been coping well. Or so I thought.

With rare exceptions I have learned to speak up for myself when treated unfairly or in a discrimitory manner, and to do so with both force and dignity. So up until Friday night, in a hotel gift shop in Calgary, I had thought I was coping well. I thought wrong.

I rolled in to the gift shop to get some post cards, some pop for the room and to see what other novelties were interesting. And there, on the bottom shelf, it sat. If you had an ear placed on my chest you would have heard my heart crack. Pain shot through me, I handed the cards to Joe who was carrying the pop and swung round and left the store to be alone for a minute.

As beautiful as I remembered. And the memories were grand, stunning. I felt, for the first time in months, consumed with desire for my old life. My life ... before. Even so I had a decision to make. I swung my chair back round and looked at where it was. My face calm, my soul howling in despair - I decided to just go. Go back to the room. Leave this place of temptation.

So I left it there "Big Turk" the worlds best chocolate bar. The one with the rich chocolate on the outside and the odd purple filling on the inside. The chocolate bar that you ate with the sensuousness of foreplay. The chocolate bar in the red and white wrapping with the name BIG TURK in bold on the front. They are hard to find, these siren song singing succulent savories. I haven't actually seen one since being in the hospital dually being diagnosed with diabetes and fitted for a wheelchair.

Steadfastly, I've avoided chocolate bars, not having one since that day of diagnosis. NOT ONE. But I can avoid OH Henry and MR. Big ... they never meant much to me. It was Big Turk that I fell in love with. Bought a wack of whenever I found it. Savoured them knowing that it would always be awhile before I found them again. Rare exotic treat, that's Big Turk.

I went to my room and pouted. We had some sugar free cookies but really, no matter what anyone says, there is a profound difference between masturbation and sex. There is no substitute for Big Turk. No way to get around the loss.

So I checked my blood sugar in the morning and it was a little high.

I had thought having an affair with BIG TURK.

And was punished.