Family update: Lots of news to report from yesterday, the biggest being an expected discharge date. July 3rd. 23 days away. 3.5 week. Now Mom has a goal to look forward to. In other news, the 22 staples were removed from her incision this afternoon (ouch!). Fingers crossed for a seamless transition for the incision, without infection.
NOT ALL DISABILITIES ARE VISIBLE
Blog from Jerriclout.com by Jerri Clout
Written March 2015.
I manage a website called Pain Fog; it’s written by someone who has suffered from chronic pain for a long time, and doesn’t let it get the best of her.
This past year the health challenges kept piling on and on, it seemed a little overwhelming. So she decided to do something positive about it – start this blog. Every day she blogs about her daily challenges, and successes while navigating through all aspects of neurosurgery #3. She also writes full articles on the wisdom she has learned about living with chronic pain in hope of inspiring others who suffer from chronic pain.
This person is my mother.
This morning when I sat down to edit yesterday’s post, I was riveted; I stopped scanning carefully for mistakes and read it all the way through, captured. I was so moved by it. And I was so mad.
I shared her post on my Facebook page to try to spread her message, a powerful and important one, one that is clearly not commonplace enough.
Not all disabilities are visible.
After I shared her post I went on about my day, having my coffee and reading the news. But still I could feel that anger in my chest and in the pit of my stomach. I just couldn’t shake the feeling.
I wanted to just gather up all of the people who have every questioned anyone with a disability whether it be silently or vocally and shake them and ask them who they think they are, what gives them the right to judge? I want them to see my mother’s whole life story, everything she has been through, everything she has overcome and then dare them to look at her with the same judgmental eyes again.
But of course I cant.
So I sat down to write this instead. It’s hard to put into words exactly what I want to say, exactly why this makes me so mad. Unless you have experienced a disability first hand, or live with someone who does, it is very difficult to understand. I bet lots of people would read this post or her post and roll their eyes a little bit and think, that doesn’t happen, does it?
But it does.
More often than you want to know.
So this is my vent:
To the TSA agent at Pearson Airport who made every head turn and look when he loudly said that you can only use the disabled lane if you have a real disability while staring at my mother, who after a long day of travel had trouble standing on her own two feet.
Not all disabilities are visible.
I bet you have no idea how hard it is to navigate that airport with a disability.
To the man who muttered under his breath and rolled his eyes at the grocery store last week when we parked in the disabled parking.
Not all disabilities are visible.
A smile would have gone a long way on a hard morning.
To the lady who seemed quite annoyed that she had to move her purse so my mother could sit down at the hospital after just being told she needed another complicated neurosurgery.
Not all disabilities are visible.
Your purse doesn’t have feeling, and people do.
To the flight attendant who said pre-boarding was for those with special needs only, why don’t we get in line with the rest of them?
Not all disabilities are visible.
Your sarcastic tone is demeaning.
To the server at a local restaurant who helped us rearrange the chairs so my mother would be more comfortable, without asking questions.
Not all disabilities are visible.
Thank you, we had such a fun night.
To the child who offered her seat in a packed airport to my mother.
Not all disabilities are visible.
Thank you, you made a long hard travel day much easier.
To our neighbours who shovel the driveway when my father and I are away.
Not all disabilities are visible.
Thank you, you help more than you know.
To anyone who has ever offered help to someone who looks like they need it, or doesn’t look like they need it.
Not all disabilities are visible.
You put a smile on someone’s face for the rest of the day.
A lot of the time, if we see someone else’s struggles, it really just is the tip of the iceberg. Everybody had demons in their life. Some you can see, most you cant. It kills me to see my mother who had been through so many challenges have to deal with so much judgement from people who have no idea what she has faced.
Asking for help is difficult to do and it comes in all different forms: asking someone to move their bag, using the disability parking or accessibility services in an airport.
To the older “gentleman” who gives her a snotty look when she parks in the handicap parking and places her handicap pass in the window.
Not all disabilities are visible.
When you question people who are asking for help, it’s like kicking them when they are down.
The choice we face everyday to be kind or to judge happens in a fraction of a second but it has a larger impact than we give it credit for. So next time you are faced with a decision to judge or to accept, I hope you remember, not all disabilities are visible.
NOT ALL DISABILITIES ARE VISIBLE
Blog from Jerriclout.com by Jerri Clout
Written March 2015.
I manage a website called Pain Fog; it’s written by someone who has suffered from chronic pain for a long time, and doesn’t let it get the best of her.
This past year the health challenges kept piling on and on, it seemed a little overwhelming. So she decided to do something positive about it – start this blog. Every day she blogs about her daily challenges, and successes while navigating through all aspects of neurosurgery #3. She also writes full articles on the wisdom she has learned about living with chronic pain in hope of inspiring others who suffer from chronic pain.
This person is my mother.
This morning when I sat down to edit yesterday’s post, I was riveted; I stopped scanning carefully for mistakes and read it all the way through, captured. I was so moved by it. And I was so mad.
I shared her post on my Facebook page to try to spread her message, a powerful and important one, one that is clearly not commonplace enough.
Not all disabilities are visible.
After I shared her post I went on about my day, having my coffee and reading the news. But still I could feel that anger in my chest and in the pit of my stomach. I just couldn’t shake the feeling.
I wanted to just gather up all of the people who have every questioned anyone with a disability whether it be silently or vocally and shake them and ask them who they think they are, what gives them the right to judge? I want them to see my mother’s whole life story, everything she has been through, everything she has overcome and then dare them to look at her with the same judgmental eyes again.
But of course I cant.
So I sat down to write this instead. It’s hard to put into words exactly what I want to say, exactly why this makes me so mad. Unless you have experienced a disability first hand, or live with someone who does, it is very difficult to understand. I bet lots of people would read this post or her post and roll their eyes a little bit and think, that doesn’t happen, does it?
But it does.
More often than you want to know.
So this is my vent:
To the TSA agent at Pearson Airport who made every head turn and look when he loudly said that you can only use the disabled lane if you have a real disability while staring at my mother, who after a long day of travel had trouble standing on her own two feet.
Not all disabilities are visible.
I bet you have no idea how hard it is to navigate that airport with a disability.
To the man who muttered under his breath and rolled his eyes at the grocery store last week when we parked in the disabled parking.
Not all disabilities are visible.
A smile would have gone a long way on a hard morning.
To the lady who seemed quite annoyed that she had to move her purse so my mother could sit down at the hospital after just being told she needed another complicated neurosurgery.
Not all disabilities are visible.
Your purse doesn’t have feeling, and people do.
To the flight attendant who said pre-boarding was for those with special needs only, why don’t we get in line with the rest of them?
Not all disabilities are visible.
Your sarcastic tone is demeaning.
To the server at a local restaurant who helped us rearrange the chairs so my mother would be more comfortable, without asking questions.
Not all disabilities are visible.
Thank you, we had such a fun night.
To the child who offered her seat in a packed airport to my mother.
Not all disabilities are visible.
Thank you, you made a long hard travel day much easier.
To our neighbours who shovel the driveway when my father and I are away.
Not all disabilities are visible.
Thank you, you help more than you know.
To anyone who has ever offered help to someone who looks like they need it, or doesn’t look like they need it.
Not all disabilities are visible.
You put a smile on someone’s face for the rest of the day.
A lot of the time, if we see someone else’s struggles, it really just is the tip of the iceberg. Everybody had demons in their life. Some you can see, most you cant. It kills me to see my mother who had been through so many challenges have to deal with so much judgement from people who have no idea what she has faced.
Asking for help is difficult to do and it comes in all different forms: asking someone to move their bag, using the disability parking or accessibility services in an airport.
To the older “gentleman” who gives her a snotty look when she parks in the handicap parking and places her handicap pass in the window.
Not all disabilities are visible.
When you question people who are asking for help, it’s like kicking them when they are down.
The choice we face everyday to be kind or to judge happens in a fraction of a second but it has a larger impact than we give it credit for. So next time you are faced with a decision to judge or to accept, I hope you remember, not all disabilities are visible.
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