Independence, the Irony

I live in a big town. It isn't big enough to be called a city, but it's not a small town either. We have a shopping mall, two movie theaters, every chain restaurant known to humankind, and two Starbucks. What we don't have is public transportation of any form. No Subway, no buses, no passenger rail system, not even reliable cab service. In most places, sidewalks are nonexistent. Where sidewalks do exist, they are often broken or crumbled and lead pretty much to nowhere, dead ending abruptly at a parking lot or street crossing. In short, this is not a blind friendly town.
I have a job, a good job. It's by no means my dream job, but it's good, reliable work for which I am well paid. According to the disability advocates, I have reached the pinnacle of disabled life-- gainful employment. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful, but the independence that was supposed to come with gainful employment ... well, I'm not living that dream. Transportation is a big part of it. My only reliable form of transportation is Michael, and that's fine. I like to think we carpool as a show of environmentalism. The problem is that Michael works in a town about 25 minutes from where we live and where I work. For him to both take me to and bring me home from work would mean I work a ten hour day. During my pregnancy, this hasn't been an option. My other form of transportation is unreliable at best, meaning that I am often the last person in my building to leave. Any plans I make for the evenings are often disrupted due to a snafu with my ride home. For an organized, schedule-driven planner like me, this goes beyond irritating.
Then there are the other things about a job that come up, things that barely register as a blip on the radar for nondisabled people, but which leave me feeling helpless and frustrated. A change in a meeting location for example. I show up at the designated meeting place and wait around wondering where everybody is, only to learn later that a note had been posted on the door alerting everyone of the meeting location change. Well, not alerting everyone. Or I get an Email fifteen minutes before a scheduled meeting saying that the meeting has been moved to some building that I have no idea how to get to. When new people start working here, I am routinely skipped when my boss does the traditional walk-around introductions. I guess it's just too difficult to explain a gainfully employed blind woman. I have worked here for nine years, but yes, these kinds of things happen frequently. The worst are the all-day meetings such as our annual retreat. These are inevitably held at some out of the way location that I have never been to before and don't have a ride to. Assuming I get there, I don't know where the bathrooms are, where the water fountain is, and can't get my own food at lunchtime. I usually end up trying not to drink anything all day so I don't have to use the bathroom, and snacking on peanut butter crackers brought from home while everyone else eats their buffet style lunch. Oh yes, the glory of independence. I do have a secretary, but it is awkward to ask the person who you have to evaluate annually and who you have to scold regularly for tardiness to help you get to the bathroom or get your lunch. That isn't really part of her job description.
I am by far not the only person dealing with these or similar issues, but several such things have conspired in the last few weeks that have got me asking: Is this worth it? Is this feeling of helplessness really the reward for independence?