Disabled Parking Placards II: More You Should Know About Cards, Parking Spaces and the Law

Here’s a scenario that’s becoming more and more common. I pull into a parking lot at one of my favorite (insert type of establishment). The (insert small number) disabled parking spots are taken.

I shake my fist.

“Darn you, handicapped people! Why is everyone out today?”

In the old days, maybe there were enough handicapped parking spaces to go around. Maybe handicapped people just stayed home. Since I joined the disabled community more than seven years ago, this much has become apparent: There aren’t enough spaces and there are way too many cheaters.

As I’ve stated in another blog post, the number of disabled people is going to escalate in record numbers. Nearly 80 million baby boomers began turning 65 two years ago. They will be joined in disability by a large number of injured war veterans.  Not content to stay at home as they decline in their physical abilities, these folks will use mobility aids to shop, dine, meet friends and go to appointments. They are going to be needing those parking spots.

Here’s how to improve things:

Don’t park in the handicapped spaces unless you or your passenger is disabled.

Blatant violations of these are common. In the recent past, I’ve seen an Edible Arrangement deliveryman using one of the spots to unload and distribute his fruit goodies at a dental office complex. One of my disabled friends spotted an armored car parked sideways in front of a Wells Fargo bank, making disabled spaces unusable -- a regular occurrence there, she says.  One LA resident took a photo on Memorial Day of a pickup towing a boat parked across all the disabled spots at a Burger King.

Memorial Day cheater

When a disabled Arizona woman with her family tried to park in a handicapped

spot at an A’s/Dodgers spring training game this year in Phoenix, the security guard told her the area was being saved for a team bus. Her husband let her out in her wheelchair and parked in another spot far away. At the end of the game, she noticed cars parked in the restricted area without disabled placards or plates. She snapped a photo as a Dodger player, surrounded by fans, got in one of the cars and drove away. The woman complained to the supervisor at the lot, then the city, who blamed a misinformed security guard. She got swift replies and apologies from the city, the mayor’s office and the facility manager who told her “the A’s policy is to hold all marked spots for patrons with disabled placards.” He assured her that before next year’s spring training, he would make sure the stadium staff knew not to let this happen again. 

Perhaps we could sign the rest of the world up for training in attitude adjustment.  Because, security guard or not, the Dodger did not think it was wrong to park in those spots. And clearly, lots of other people agree.

I see them not only parking in the spots, but in the crosshatched spaces in between the blue spots. These are not “free” areas: they are areas required by disabled people in order to use their wheelchairs or walkers.

Despite disabled only blue signs and the crosshatched spaces often stating NO PARKING, many motorists who are not disabled brazenly violate the rules. In their minds, parking for a couple of minutes in one of those areas is OK.

IT’S NOT.

A few months ago, my husband and I were meeting family at a restaurant. It was in a strip mall and there were two disabled places in front of the establishment. A female driver with no disabled placard had parked her wide Ford Excusion in the crosshatches, so the vehicle was spilling into both blue spaces and we couldn’t park in either one. She was sitting in her car, the motor running and the windows rolled up while someone went to get takeout at a different restaurant. We drove slowly around the parking lot, giving her ample time to leave. After several minutes, my husband stopped our car, got out and asked her to please leave as she was blocking all the spaces.

She politely moved the car. Into a disabled space. We took the other one.

Crosshatched lines clearly state "No Parking"

Had I been driving myself, I could not have done what my husband did BECAUSE I AM DISABLED. I would have had to park far away in a regular space, cursing her under my breath, or drove around until the woman and her family finally got their food.

Don’t use a placard unless it’s yours. 

This, too, is a growing problem. A Los Angeles Times article in May 2011 said  abuse of handicapped placards is increasingly common in California. When law enforcement conduct sting operations, one DMV official estimated that 30 to 40 percent of the placards are being used illegally.

There are consequences. In California, misusing a disabled placard is a misdemeanor and punishable by a fine of up to $4,200, imprisonment in county jail for up to six months, or both.

Examples of placard abuse include: loaning your placard to friends or family members (disabled or not), using a placard when the person it was issued to is not in your vehicle, and using a dead person's placard.

Why do these cheaters abuse placards? Sometimes it's to get a closer parking spot. Other times -- and this is a common problem in certain areas of Los Angeles -- it's to score free metered parking. (Yes, that is one benefit of disabled placard here: you don't have to pay for public parking meters.)

Change the requirement for the distribution of placards.

In California, a disabled person must have a medical professional's signature to qualify for a temporary (six months) red or a permanent blue disabled placard.

In the eyes of the state, permanent means two years. A few months before your placard expires, a new one (free of charge) with an expiration date in two years will show up in your mailbox. No questions asked.

It's an invitation for abuse.

Dodger pulling out of a spring training spot
Photo by Stefany Scovell

If the disabled person gets better or dies, the new placard still arrives. I have a permanent placard and while I enjoy the simplicity of this system, I think it is partially responsible for all the cheaters using disabled placards. The state should require another medical signature verifying a permanent disability every few years.

A note that arrived with my placard this year said: "If the placard owner is no longer at this address or the placard owner is deceased, the placard must be returned to your local DMV office or mailed to the Department of Motor Vehicles."

Yeah, right. I wonder how many placards the DMV receives each year. With all the stuff survivors have to do after the death of a loved one, heading to the nearest DMV office or post office to return the placard cannot rank high on anyone's list. The natural thing to do, if you are an honest person, would be to throw it away.

Or, if you are someone who think's it's OK to screw over disabled people, keep using it until it expires. A new one will magically appear in your mailbox every two years.

How to Guide Your Family Through Tough Times after the Bombshell of a Cancer Diagnosis

I am publishing a post from a guest blogger: Cameron Von St. James. He tells an inspirational story of dealing with his wife's grim cancer diagnosis, learning to become a caregiver and keeping up the fight. Because my blog is designed to inspire and educate people, I welcome his contribution.

There are some dates in your life that are burned into your memory forever. Some of these dates, like my wedding date and my daughter's birthday, are happy memories. However, I will also never forget November 21, 2005 for different reasons. On that memorable date, my wife Heather and I were informed that she was suffering from malignant pleural mesothelioma.  As soon as she became a cancer patient, I became a caregiver to her.

Right before we received the diagnosis, we were planning ways to make the holidays special for our daughter, Lily. She was only 3 months old, and we were looking forward to spending our first Christmas together in Minnesota as a family of three. Once the doctor informed us of Heather's diagnosis, my caregiving duties  started right away. Heather's form of cancer was very serious (her life expectancy was 3 to 12 months) so we needed to immediately make some treatment decisions.  According to our doctor, we could choose to seek treatment locally, visit a regional hospital without an official mesothelioma treatment facility or make an appointment with a respected mesothelioma specialist in Boston.

I looked at Heather to get her input, and I will never forget the look on her face. She was completely in shock and disbelief. I knew that I needed to step up and make the decision when she could not. I let the doctor know that we wanted to go to Boston for treatment as soon as possible.

The important decisions did not stop once we chose a physician. It seemed like every day was filled with large and small decisions that needed to be made right away. Our lives had been scheduled and organized before the cancer diagnosis. Heather and I both worked full-time, and we would come home and spend the evenings with Lily. Mesothelioma strained our family financially because Heather had to quit her job right away. I was only able to work part time as I cared for Heather and Lily. Since we had decided to seek treatment in Boston, my days were spent trying to work, take care of Lily, handle the household duties and making travel plans to support my wife.

Although the physical tasks were difficult, the emotional strain was even more overwhelming. I was terrified of the possibility of losing my wife and having to raise my daughter alone. There were some days that I would just collapse in tears on the kitchen floor. I felt a whole range of emotions from anger to devastation. Feeling these emotions was not wrong, but I had to learn how to deal with them in a constructive manner.

Heather, Lily and Cameron Von St. James

The things I was feeling were overwhelming, but I knew that I had to get it together for Heather and Lily. I refused to let myself wallow in my feelings of helplessness.

One of the things that helped me the most was the fact that Heather and I were surrounded by a wonderful support system. Our family and friends were invaluable, and there were even complete strangers who stepped up to offer assistance. People gave assistance to us in a myriad of different ways. The financial help allowed us to pay our bills during the tight months, and it was wonderful to know that Lily was being taken care of by other people who volunteered to take over some of my caregiving duties.

If you are ever called upon to be a caregiver, you will quickly find out that it is not an easy task. I do not say this to discourage people, but I want them to understand what to expect. No human being can do everything on his or her own, so do not be afraid to learn how to ask for help. When people volunteer to help your family, let them know a few specific ways that they can assist you.  Above all else, never give up hope for a better future for your family.

It took a long time for our lives to settle down. Heather's treatment plan included   mesothelioma surgery, radiation and chemotherapy. However, it is now seven years after her initial diagnosis, and I am thrilled to say that she remains cancer free.

I could never have imagined the journey that my family would be forced to endure, but we all learned so much through our situation. I have always been a stubborn person, and I learned to use this stubbornness in a positive way to advocate for my wife. I was able to change my life by going back to school for my Information Technology degree and acquiring a better job to help my family.

Heather and I also learned in a very real way how precious life is. We do not take the moments that we get to spend with each other and with Lily for granted. We know how very blessed we are, and we wish to share our story of hope with all those who are currently fighting cancer today, in the hope that it may inspire them to never give up, and to always keep fighting for the ones they love. 

The Hairy Truth: What I Learned about Going Bald after Chemotherapy for Cancer

These days, doctors pretty much know which types of chemotherapy will leave you bald and which do not. But realizing you are going to have to say goodbye to your tresses doesn’t make it any easier.

I was feeling pretty secure when 15 months of strong chemotherapy left my hair intact. But the new drug cocktail enlisted to battle my returning cancer immediately took its toll. Within two weeks my hair was history.

After first round of chemo

Arrrgh.

I know, I know, the main thing I should have been concentrating on was getting better; killing those cancer cells so I could lengthen my life. And I was. But it was hard not to think about my bald head. Because it was there, every day... for months.

And while my sweet friends told me I had a good head for baldness, I disagreed. When I looked in the mirror, I didn’t see a gorgeous shiny smooth head like Charles Barkley’s. There was a four-inch scar at the front of my head. Next to it were many lumps from the brain biopsy performed to identify the source of my mysterious illness, which turned out to be lymphoma.

Here a few things I wish I had known about losing your hair after chemotherapy:

Get rid of it once the fallout has begun. 

I prolonged this process and wasted money, time and sweep-up efforts.

About a week after I began my second round of chemo treatments, I noticed hair coming out in my hands.

Two weeks after second chemo

So I made an appointment with my hair stylist to get it cut into what I called my Jamie Lee Curtis look. As the hairdresser was trimming, he found more tufts coming out.

“Yikes,” I said. But I should have said, “Shave it all off.”

For about a week, I resembled a hairy version of Pig-Pen, the Peanuts character who always gave off a cloud of dust. My Jamie Lee tresses were falling out everywhere: the floor, pillow, my bed and bathroom sink. It was gross.

So I implored my husband to trim my head with an electric razor. Gone was the choppy look but my hair was still visible and spotty. Not too attractive. And it was still messy.

The next time we went to a medical appointment, I made a detour to a walk-in haircut place and asked for a complete shave. 

Shop online or at cancer specialty stores for attractive caps and scarves.

I wore a baseball cap right after being shaved bald, but I was ill-prepared for the challenges of covering my head. I learned to love the feel and convenience of cotton caps: they didn’t move around or cut into my head when I was lying down (which was a lot). 

I found these at my hospital’s gift shop devoted to cancer patients. It had the best selection of caps and beautiful scarves to wear on my head. Another specialty shop where I made more purchases was near a local hospital, featuring wigs, scarves and caps for cancer patients.

I’ve since learned that you can save money (and energy) and get a wider selection from online sites. An internet search for cancer hats will bring you to sites like Hats for You, Topsy Turban and Hats with Heart that offer plenty of styles, colors and fabrics.

I did not opt for a wig. Everyone told me they were hot and itchy and I didn’t really have any place to go where a comfortable cap or cute scarf would not suffice.

It will be months after you stop your chemo before your hair will grow to a length where you feel confident not wearing a hat. 

Hair grows back. I was told that over and over by my doctors.

But I wanted to know one thing: When?

Bald with cute fall scarf

After my second round of chemo, in preparation for my stem cell transplant, I had to have total-body irradiation twice a day for four days. The radiologist had told me the treatment would make me lose myhair. 

“I’ve already lost it,” I told him, pointing to my stylish cotton cap.

No, he said, ALL of it.

And I did.

When the only hair on my body was one eyebrow on the left side and two on the right, I looked weird but didn’t cut them. Three hairs were something.

I wondered when the rest were coming back.

After my bone marrow transplant was successful, I made frequent visits back to the doctor to check on my progress.

Fortunately, I was progressing slowly. The mouth sores were fading. My immune system was getting back to normal. But I asked the doctor when my hair would start coming in.

“It’ll grow back,” he said. 

“I know,” I said. “But when?”

He couldn’t say. Nor could a second doctor I asked. I told a nurse I wanted to know specifically because I wondered if I should invest in some scarves or hats in fall/winter colors. My summer palette wouldn’t work in the cooler months.

Yes, she said, buy cold-month colors.

And so I did, purchasing a few more scarves in gorgeous fall prints and even a red fleece cap that I wore for Christmas.

For the record, it was two months after my last chemotherapy session that I noticed teensy hairs coming out of my head. In another month, I proudly took off my Christmas hat at the family gathering to show them off. They were almost imperceptible. I had to stand in the sunlight and you had to look at a certain angle and maybe rub my head and then you could see them.

I was elated. It was a visible sign of new life. 

Six weeks later, I went capless at a public gathering, my neighbor’s Super Bowl party. And it was another few months before I lost the hats entirely.

Your “new” hair, different from your old hair, can be treated with the miracle of beauty products.

Heavy on the salt

Everyone told me my post-cancer hair might be a different texture or color. Happy to have my hair back, I found the various states amusing.  Originally a dark brown with some gray, my new hair grew in a color I called salt and pepper, heavy on the salt. 

My new eyebrows and lashes had the same color scheme. Major tip to women facing the same thing: We all know about mascara for eyelashes, but there is a fabulous invention called eyebrow mascara. Anastasia  and Blinc are brands that help my Santa brows disappear.

Matt & Laura Christmas 2012

The texture of my hair changed month to month. It was naturally curly my whole life. It first came back as sort of thick and kinky. I called it my mini-fro.  Then all the kinks relaxed and it was straight as can be. Now, nearly five years after my last chemo treatment, it is close to the texture and curl that it used to have. And miraculously (wink-wink) it's close to its original color.

Online Health Sites like CarePages and CaringBridge Provide a Huge Comfort for Patients and Caregivers

When I checked into the hospital in September 2008 for a bone marrow transplant, I was feeling OK. But I was anxious, knowing I was embarking on a month-long process that promised to bring me to the brink of death in an effort to save my life.

Perhaps it was nervous energy that prompted me to look through the binder on my nightstand. While I had been treated at UCLA for years for my lymphoma, it was my first time at the new Ronald Reagan Medical Center, so I also wanted to familiarize myself with the surroundings.

I came across a mention of CarePages, an online method to keep others aware of what was happening me. I showed it to my husband and he immediately signed up.

It turned out to be a godsend. I would highly recommend such a free online update site for anyone facing a serious health issue. 

The CarePages website says “Our mission is simple: to ensure that no one goes through a health challenge alone.”

Mission accomplished.

My husband and I felt supported during long weeks in that isolated hospital room. Because my immune system was reduced to nothing as part of the bone marrow transplant process, I couldn’t entertain many visitors (nor did I want to) and I couldn’t accept any food or flowers from the outside world. And I wasn’t accepting any phone calls.

But, over the next 30 days and beyond, when I was on my second visit to hell and making my way back for the second time, my husband and I received more than 300 encouraging messages on my CarePage from loved ones. During days when I could barely stay awake and couldn’t speak due to excruciating mouth sores extending down my throat, my husband would read me daily messages sent to his computer.

They warmed my heart.

Here’s how CarePages worked for us. A contact person, in my case my husband, signed in to create a page for me. Then he sent out a mass email to contacts informing them of the site and inviting them to sign up for updates.

Then, from my room, he would compose a message once or twice a day on his laptop. Followers would be notified when there was something new and they could check the site for updates.

The view from the UCLA hospital room

He also took photos of my room and the facility. So many people had visited and helped during my previous three-year battle with cancer as I moved from hospital to hospital and rehab facility. But this was a new place and he wanted to give them an idea of where I was. He emailed shots of the view inside my room, the view out the window and me walking around the unit. (Now you can post pictures on the CarePage itself.)

Laura Laughlin being transported for radiation

People told us they loved the view of things from our perspective. Even though they couldn’t visit, it helped them understand what was happening from my viewpoint.

And friends and family said they really appreciated being kept up on how my transplant was going. A few told us their officemates were drawn into the daily updates even though they did not know me. They were riveted to the too-real reality tale and they were rooting for me as I hit rock bottom, got the lifesaving stem cells infused and began my slow journey back to health.

CarePages and a similar site, CaringBridge began in 1997. CaringBridge was started by a woman asked by her friend to update others on the birth of a premature baby. Instead of making multiple phone calls, she started the first CaringBridge page.

Both the online health blogs offer more than updates. CarePages has links to health information, support tools and gifts. CaringBridge also offers a support planner for friends to coordinate care and tasks for the patient, such as providing meals, offering rides, taking care of pets. Tens of millions of people have visited the sites.

Here are key benefits of a website like CarePages or CaringBridge:

It’s not intrusive. I could stay connected with supporters without the phone ringing at an inopportune time.  My husband could attend to me and not be taking calls while he was in the hospital.  And friends and family could check the site day or night to see how I was doing.

It gives a caregiver something to do. I believe that through my horrible fight for my life, I had it easier than my husband and visitors. Blessedly, drugs kept me from being aware of my worst days, when I was shackled to the bed, spoke in tongues and couldn’t breathe or eat on my own. I still have no memory of them. But my dear family and friends had to watch helplessly while doctors scrambled to help me.

Laura Laughlin, with mask, taking a walk around the unit.

For the stem cell transplant, days in the hospital were excruciatingly slow as they zapped me with huge doses of chemotherapy, radiated my whole body twice a day for four days, treated an allergic reaction that made my face swell like Jabba the Hut and my skin burn with itchy welts, tried to get some liquid nutrition into my sore-covered mouth and sought the cause of my fevers and chills.

I was drugged through all of this so I did, mercifully, get some sleep. My husband was with me daily, waiting by my bed, watching my slow progress. But he had something cathartic to do besides assisting me and waiting. He  composed  updates on the computer and read messages of support out loud.

It puts things in perspective. When I came out of the experience alive and cancer-free, I could read the daily chronicle of my journey. It’s painful to read. But it’s important. It gives me a real sense of how far I’ve come and how much I am loved.