Disability's Funnel Effect

Those who have been placed on disability sometime in their adulthood experience what I have come to call the funnel effect. Understanding it helps the person with disabilities to understand what is happening with they are in the smallest part of the funnel. Here is how it works.

When you were healthy, you had a fairly large group of friends. They may center around sports, or other activities. Your friends come through the things your children are involved with. Church, civic organizations, charity cause, and neighborhood gatherings add to the opportunity to develop friendships. You may have done all of these things when you were healthy, and your list of friends and acquaintances was very broad.

When you became disabled, activities began to go by the wayside. Friends are not sure what to do for you. The activities continue, so their focus goes with those continued activities. Your absence is replaced by someone new. You can no longer play the active games you were involved with, so that group of friends slowly moves on. they want to be your friend, but they were friends for a reason, and sports were the reason. With these changes you slide down the funnel.

Other friends continue to love you for a while. These would be friends for a season. They support you, and try to include you in activities. They think about how to alter activities so that you can be involved. They are very supportive and you value their efforts. Unfortunately, whether you are struggling with a disability or you are completely healthy, seasons change. Someone moves away, the sports season ends, your kids graduate from high school, your job ends. All these mark the changing of a season, and the friends you had through those activities also drift away. With the changing of the season your friendships are becoming more and more limited. Friendships are replaced by loneliness, confusion, and maybe even depression as you reach the narrowest part of the funnel.

Fortunately there is another group of friends. These are your friends for all time. They love you and stick with you no matter what life changes you go through. Your disability does not affect their love for you. Friends for all time don't skip a beat when it comes to the changes you have gone through. Unfortunately, the number of friends for all time come in small numbers. This is normal no matter who you are. Many people are lucky to have three to five friends in this category.

The effect of being squeezed down the funnel is a feeling of isolation and frustration. If you are in the narrowest part of the funnel, take heart, a new season is approaching. With a new season comes as your focus changes. You join a new organization that fits your new lifestyle. You find people who have similar experiences and they become your friend in your new season of life. Fortunately, you are now through the toughest part of the funnel, and you are beginning to feel like a new person.

As you get through the physical and emotional struggles of your disability and become more comfortable with what you can still do, you find new activities. These activities are more fitted to your new life. New activities mean you have new reasons for developing friendships. You have made it through the funnel, and you have a new sense of normal.

How long does it take to make it through the funnel? The answer to that question lies with you. How willing are you to work your way through it? How long do you want to remain squeezed in that period of frustration? Perhaps understanding disability's funnel effect will help the process move quicker. Working with the natural effects of the funnel gives a new perspective of the process. If you are being squeezed, take heart new seasons are approaching. You will find new activities and thereby discover new reasons for friends. Your future may be different, but with a little effort it can be as rewarding as the life you used to live before becoming disabled.

No More Than I Can Handle?

The Bible says that God will not let us have more than we can handle. Well all I have to say is that God must think I am very strong. If you read my last post then you are aware that on top of a knee replacement, I have had a new outbreak of shingles that comes from my lower spine and radiates down my legs.

Well, within hours of visiting the doctor to get the anti-viral medicine to fight off the shingles, I started experience severe pain in my stomach. I will spare you with all of the details of what happened between 9:00 PM and 1:00AM, but suffice to say that I ended up in the hospital, and put on the surgery list. By Saturday morning a severely infected and enlarged Gall Bladder had been removed. If that wasn't enough I was put into isolation because the hospital didn't want my shingles to spread to other patients.

The whole time I was in the hospital I found myself shaking my head in disbelief. How is it possible for all this to happen all at once? What are people going to think and say when they read the next chapter in my health? This is ridiculous.

I found myself faced with a choice. I could play the why me game, or I could rejoice in my circumstances. I chose to rejoice. God must think that I am very strong. He sees a lot more power in me than I see in myself. I want to see myself that way. I would rather claim another promise of the Bible, I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.

Hidden Giants

Today, I sat in the pharmacy department of my local drug store. People were coming and going as the staff were giving shots to prevent shingles. As I sat, an employee asked if I was planning to get the shot as well. Unfortunately, the shot would do me no good. The truth is that I was at the pharmacy for a course of heavy antibiotics because my shingles has returned.

My first bought with shingles came several years ago. A few painful spots on my lower back lasted about three months. When they healed, I thought I was finished with Shingles. Not true. The shingles settled in my lower spine. They returned with a vengeance following my second back surgery. This time with only one prominent spot. All of the rest went down through the nerves in my legs. The pain was debilitating, and very difficult to fight off. It took several months of antibiotics to fight off the Shingles.

Six weeks ago I had knee replacement surgery. This, along with some adjustments in medicines, brought the ugly monster back to life. So, there i was sitting in the pharmacy, waiting for my antibiotics while happy healthy people came for their shot to insure that they won't get what I have been suffering with for years. If I had the choice, I would take the shot too. But, I don't have the choice. Debilitating nerve pain is just one more giant I must fight.

The Power of Love

Pain is a relative term. We can give in to it, and let it consume us. When we do, pain can hurt even worse that it should. Those who give in are rarely seen, unless it is at the doctors office. I don't want to sound critical of the power that pain can have. I have had my share, and I know how difficult it can be to work through. But this week, I discovered another force that can even influence pain. It is the power of love and friendship. After six weeks of being in recovery mode following knee replacement surgery, I had the privilege of officiating at the wedding of some great friends. I was committed to not drawing attention to myself and my problems, so I decided to leave the cane in the car. The wedding went well, and I didn't even miss the cane. At the reception I even managed a slow dance with my daughter. It hurt, but not nearly as bad as I anticipated. Pain was not the focus. Friends and celebration was the focus of the day. In the end it very well. Looking back on the event, I am reminded that love really does conquer all. The pain doesn't go away when you invest yourself in others, but it certainly becomes more tolerable when it isn't the focus of your attention So, who can you do to invest yourself in others? How can you turn your focus outward toward friendships? Get out of the house, find something to do. It won't kill you, and may must make your life better.

Sometimes Pain Does Bring Gain

I am no rookie to physical therapy. My insurance company has been cooperative after every of my surgeries. Each PT had a slightly different approach to their practice, but each did a very good job to make me feel better. Since having my knee replaced, I am in therapy once again. It took a while to get this round of PT started, because I ended up with an allergic reaction to tape, which led to an infection that set me back a couple of weeks. When I finally did begin my rehabilitation, the knee had lost a lot of its flexibility. I was twelve degrees from straight, and could barely bend to ninety degrees. In the first week we were able to stretch muscles and work scar tissue so that my knee would bend to one hundred-eight degrees. All of this information has been given to help you appreciate what happened yesterday. I was in the front yard trying move something. It wasn't a difficult task but that didn't matter. All of the sudden, a sound similar to the tearing of velcro rang from my knee followed by horrible pain. Within minutes a large red circle appeared at the bottom of my knee. The Velcro sound was scar tissue giving way. At today's appointment the PT measured my flexibility. We were all amazed to find that I could now bend my knee to one hundred-twenty degrees. What made the difference? Where did the extra twelve degrees come from? It came from the tearing of scar tissue. The pain was necessary and, therefore, worth it. Sometimes pain does bring gain.

It Will Get worse Before It Gets Better

I finally started physical therapy, four weeks after having knee replacement. The insurance company took its sweet time getting all of the clearances and approvals. When the physical therapist measured my range of motion, she was not very happy. Her comment? "This is going to get worse before it gets better." I have used this statement many times myself, so I knew that I was in for some pain. I was twelve degrees from straight, and could barely reach ninety degrees. In the two weeks it took to get started, I had lost a considerable amount of motion with way too much scar tissue. My PT didn't take long before proving that she meant what she said. It did, indeed get worse. I have a high threshold of pain but this was very difficult. The sad thing is that I know she wasn't really pushing that hard. The reality is that she was working against my weaknesses. This experience mirrors the reality of life. People will find our weaknesses and will work against them. It can be painful, even frustrating. But, if we accept that it will get worse before it gets better, then we will make it through. Don't focus on the worse. Focus instead on the part that gets better. Unless we suffer, we will not grow stronger. I have weaknesses, and I am not afraid to let people see them. Pain is inevitable, but if I allow that pain to make me a better person, then my disability will not get the best of me. I will be strong in spite of my disability.

The Temporary Fix

Donuts are my drug of choice. It may sound silly, but it is true. When I am struggling, I find a donut shop and buy the biggest cinnamon Roll, and one of those custard filled donuts with chocolate on top. Add that to a cup of coffee and you have my fix. Sure it is legal, and it sounds a little silly, but the reality is that I run to my drug of choice just as fast as others run to drugs, or alcohol.

You can imagine my excitement, then, when a donut pizza was hand delivered by my daughter. She purchased it in San Jose, and carried it on a plane to Southern California for me. Believe me, I ate my share, but just after it arrived, I got a lot of attention from the nursing staff on the orthopedic ward.

Here is the reality check. Your drug of choice, like mine, will leave you emotionally empty. Emotional health needs more than substances, or a quick fix. Emotional health demands that we are open and vulnerable with people who care. We must have a support system to get through our emotional lows. And, we need a solid source of strength that is beyond ourselves.

For me, that solid source of strength is found in Jesus Christ, and my support system comes from fellow believers. I have the knowledge and the hope that this dysfunctional body in which I live will be replaced by a heavenly body that works perfectly. Yet, even with this knowledge, I get discouraged. Pain messes with the mind. That is where fellow believers come in. They care about me. They listen, pray, encourage, and support me through the lows of disability.

What is your source of strength? What do you run to when discouragement takes over your mind? Several years ago I had the privilege of baptizing nine people from the Cerebral Palsy center in Seattle, Washington. All had advanced levels of CP, and lived at the center. The change we witnessed in those nine people was amazing. They had a new hope of eternal life. They had a new support system, and they had renewed hope that carried them through their low times.
I tell you this, partially because I am going through a time of discouragement, and I needed to remember my friends with CP. But I am also hoping that you will look at your source of strength. Does it measure up to what those nine people found?

Here Is Something They Got Right

Two weeks ago, I traveled from Colorado back to California for a total knee replacement surgery. The surgery had been scheduled before we moved, so we decided to keep the schedule in place. My surgeon did a wonderful job, and my initial recovery was spent in Bakersfield with my daughter.
On Wednesday, the surgeon took the staples out of my knee, and I prepared for my trip back to Colorado. I will admit that I was fearful of the trip. There are so many horror stories about traveling with disabilities. But, I must say my trip an amazing experience.
The experience began as we pulled up to the curb at Orange County, John Wayne Airport. Frontier employees ordered a wheel chair, which met me at the curb. The young man who helped me made sure that my bags were checked, and that I had my seating taken care of. The ticket agent decided that I needed a better seat, and moved me to the very front of the plane where I could extend my leg out into the galley.
From there, the young man took me to the security checkpoint. He was gracious and gentle, removing my shoes for me, and made sure that all metal was removed. He sent three containers through the machine then secured them on the other side. Then, he came back and escorted me into the physical screening area. The TSA agent was very supportive, and kind. He went overboard to insure that I was comfortable with what he was doing.
The young man, put my shoes back on, helped put my stuff back together, and delivered me to the gate. Before he left, he made sure that I had everything I needed and that I was comfortable waiting for my plane.
When I arrived in Denver, a wheelchair was waiting for me. I was wheeled to the gate, where another employee put me on an electric cart. From there I was driven to the edge of the security checkpoint, where a terrific young lady was waiting with yet another wheel chair. She took me to the baggage claim, retrieved my bags, and pushed me plus two bags to the arrival area where I could be picked up.
She stayed with me until the car arrived, and the luggage was placed in the car. She was not satisfied with letting me try to walk to the car. She rolled me to the right up to the car door and made sure I was secure in my seat.
I was so impressed with her caring attention toward me. In my mind, she deserved a good tip, as did the other two employees who helped me from the plane. When I tried to give a tip, she refused it say that she was not allowed to take tips, and that she was just happy for the opportunity to help me.
My experience at both ends of the trip were great, but I honestly want to commend Frontier Airlines for being so supportive, and helpful. They knew how much I had been through, and it almost felt like I became their singular focus throughout the trip. When a company gets it right, they deserve to be noticed. Frontier got it right.

Setbacks

I have been recovering from a total knee replacement for nearly two weeks. Daily improvement has been both noticeable, and satisfactory. Last night, however, I feel like I have had a setback. Leg pain increased, and sleeping was difficult because it was hard to get comfortable.

My son is a land surveyor. Through him, I have realized that a setback has a purpose. Setbacks on a piece of land help to insure that a building does not encroach neighboring property. It insures that all properties are evenly spaced, and that buildings are located in safe areas.

So, can I learn anything about my setback by understanding the meaning on a setback in real estate? While I may think my progress was satisfactory, there must have been a place where the new knee is encroaching on an older problem. The setback allows old wounds to catch up with the new knee. The setback helps to insure that all areas are healing together, and that there are no encroachments to the healing process, which may cause complications later.

So a setback can actually be a good thing in the process of recovery. I cannot be discouraged by the occasional setback. I must trust that my body has a purpose in slowing down (and maybe even taking a step backward). When all is said and done, I want know that all parts of my leg are healing correctly with no hidden problems. I want to go to the doctor and be released for the next stage of recovery.

Life In The Slow Lane

I am learning that I have joined a new crowd. For the sake of a better term, I am calling it “The Slow Lane Crowd.” This doesn’t have anything to do with the lane I use on the freeway, but the way I must approach life. I have lived a pretty fast paced life with school, and ministry, and writing, and family responsibilities. People used to look at my activity level and ask how I did it all?

My new lifestyle is highlighted by knee replacements, spine surgeries, arthritis, sorting out night-time medication from day-time medication, naps, and waiting for others to do what I can no longer do for myself. I have hit the slow lane with my brakes overheated. I am barely moving, and I still feel like I need one of those run away truck ramps to slow me even further.

I find myself in the position that every generation inevitably joins. It is the period where I find myself quoting my mother. “You go ahead, I’ll be fine.” “Have you seen my cane?” “Do whatever you need to do, I’ll just sit here.” “Let me know when you need me to move.” I understand how she must feel using those phrases all of the time. I wish I could go, but as my grand father used to say, “My get up and go, done got up and went.”

As a new member of the slow lane crowd, I’m practicing slow lane etiquette, but I am not quite there yet. So I struggle, and get frustrated when things don’t work out the way I expect. But I am working at getting to know the members of my new society. I am shocked at how many faint scars I see across the knees of other slow laner’s.

Non Verbal Cues

I am sure you have figured out that I had knee replacement last week. Starting to feel like I am coming out from under the fog of drugs that accompanied such a surgery. I did not post anything over the last several days, because I was afraid of sounding incoherent, which I likely would have done. However, I accompanied my son-in-law to the store yesterday. We parked in the appropriate blue stall, and showed my parking permit. My daughter brought my walker around, and I climbed out, knee bandaged, and hobbled into the store.

In the past, my parking experiences have not always been positive. Today, however, I was met with kindness and support. A gentleman held the door open for a very long time while I approached. An employee was very supportive in setting me up with an electric cart to use in the store.

The difference between this experience and those of the past were the non verbal cues that helped other recognize my condition. Obviously my limp was much more pronounced, and I looked like I had been through a lot. But the cue's were the deciding factor between a positive and a negative experience.

There may be a day when I must use an adaptive device to get around. But until that day comes, I will suffer the occasional slights from those who are doing their job to keep society honest. Their efforts are keeping the adaptive carts and spaces available for those who need them now.

Service With A Tail Wag

This week, while in the hospital, I was visited by a super hero. Not a fake one, dressed in a nearly perfect costume. My hero was a calm, unassuming service dog named Gordon.

Gordon is a five-year-old Cairn Terrier. He has been a certified therapy dog for nearly three years. He visits hospitals every week and has made more than 250 hospital visits. In the past year alone he has visited with more than 1,200 patients at St. Joseph Hospital.

The amazing thing about Gordon, is that he has no ego about his 1,200 patient visits. The encounter was not about him, but about me. He hopped up on my bed and started licking my hand, just the way my Jazzy does at home. He snuggled, just the way my Major does at home, and then he draped his chin across my arm, the way my Satchmo does. How did he know? I have no idea, but he seemed to sense my needs and went about filling them in a way that brought me comfort.

Gordon was the first service dog to visit me in the hospital. I hope that he is not the last. People want to know details of your condition. A service dog wants to know the details of your heart. They don’t care that you have been through surgery, or that you have a physical handicap. They just shower you with love in the way you need to be loved.

Thank you Gordon for visiting me in the hospital. Your encouragement made the pain a little more bearable. You made me want to see if one of my dogs would qualify for the service industry.

Here Comes The TSA

It finally happened. I was standing in the security line at the airport, and I was “randomly” pulled out to go through the body scan machine. I have worried about this machine, and how all of the metal in my back might look. I was not anxious to explain my disability to a perfect stranger, even if it was a government agent.

“Sir, I am going to have to ask you to stand over here for additional screening.” I knew it was just a matter of time, but my heart sank nonetheless. The machine whipped around me scanning the inside of my body. When it was finished, the TSA agent began talking into the walkie-talkie mouthpiece attached to his shoulder.

The TSA agent moved me even farther from the crowd and made me stand still. Certainly they saw the three pounds of metal in my back. I had visions of strip searches, and humiliation. I thought about pleading my disability in hopes of being left alone, but the words did not come out in time.

As I began to explain my circumstances, the TSA agent stopped me. “Sir, do you have anything in your left front pocket?” What? Left front pocket? I thought about it and said, no all of my metal and coins are in the basket that went through the machine. But wait, there was something in my pocket. Asking permission to move, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a piece of candy, a root beer barrel.

Here I was ready to cry foul, to complain about be harassed because of my disability, when all I was accused of was having a piece of candy in my pocket. Just because my disability is always on my mind, doesn’t mean that my disability is on everyone else’s mind. Sometimes people are just doing their job. Don’t be so quick to defend yourself. You may just have a root beer barrel in your pocket.

Replacement Parts

It is amazing what modern medicine can do these days. I have three pounds of Titanium in my back, so I call myself the “man of steel”. Ok, it is not steel but I like the Superman reference anyway. It makes me feel more capable than I really am. I asked the doctor if he could make me taller. After all, he was going to be in there anyway, why not? He gave me a half-inch that gravity and age had taken away.

A friend of mine has arteries that came from a pig. He still eats pork, and I keep waiting for him to oink. So far, nothing. I have another friend who is looking through someone else’s eyes. His old ones were brown, but now they are blue. Amazing! Speaking of eyes, I have been accused of having eyes in the back of my head. I really don’t. In fact the eyes in the front of my head only work because of modern laser surgery.

Replacement parts are good, if they improve the quality of life. Those of us who have disabilities understand the value of replacement parts. The issue comes when they haven’t figured out how to solve your particular disability yet. For those things they can’t fix, we must continue to suffer, hoping for the day when they can replace that too.

Next week I go in for more surgery. This time it is for a new right knee. It will give me one more battle scar to show off, or to cover up depending who I am talking with. The left knee will not be far behind. Then we get to start on hips. Oh Goodie.

We need to keep our humor intact or the disabilities will win. So far they haven’t figured out how to replace that part, so we need to keep exercising our humor, lest it fails us as well.

Please pray, send good thoughts, remember me, or whatever it is you do on August 9th. We need to support each other.

Finding Creative Ways

You can’t quit. You have to keep going because life doesn’t just quit. I have always been active. Remodeling houses, building things, and playing with electric tools have always been a part of my life. Unfortunately I am not able to do even the things I used to find easy. I still have the skill, but I have lost the strength to make it happen. I can either quit, or I can find creative ways to keep going.
Today I worked to make a dog run at our new house. If you watched me work, you would think I had no idea how to make a dog run. It took me three times longer than it should have, and I still didn’t finish. I could be frustrated that it isn’t finished, or I could be satisfied that I am still finding creative ways to make things happen. Creativity is a gift, which I am grateful to possess. Since I have experience at doing many things, I am able to find new ways to improvise.
If you want to be inspired by the ability to improvise, watch one of Nick Vujicic’s videos. He was born without limbs. He only has one very small foot attached to his waist. Yet, he has traveled the world as an evangelist. He types 40 words per minute with his big toe. He showers, and shaves, and manages his own life. He is an inspiration for anyone with a disability. If he can find creative ways to do things, then so can I. If he can use his disability to encourage others, then so can you.
I never want to be one who says, “I can’t.” If I start saying it for hard things then I will use it for simple things, or the things I just don’t want to do. It may take me longer, but I am committed to finding creative ways.

May I Have Some Help Please?

Kim and I have moved many times in our life. It has always been a traumatic experience to leave a home we have grown accustomed to, put all of your possessions in a truck, and head to a new location. We will need new friends, new routines, new jobs, a whole host of things to turn off in one location and turn on in the other.

I bring this up, because today and tomorrow are moving days. We are moving from California to Colorado. Because we have moved so many times, my instinct is to pack and move boxes myself. Yet, that cannot happen because I am no longer able to do the job myself. So I have been learning a new phrase: “May I have some help please?” It is difficult to use this phrase for some reason, but I know that it is necessary. I fell hard on the concrete on Saturday, did way too much packing on Sunday, and I have already wore myself out this morning. So I have started using my new phrase.

Professional packers, and lots of friends are making this move possible. I am sitting in a chair, watching, and I’m sure you know how hard this is. You can surely relate to how I am feeling. Being disabled during a move is very difficult. But what I am discovering is that protecting my body is much easier than protecting my mind, heart, and attitude. Watching others do what I have done all of my life is having a profound effect on my attitude. Just writing this, admitting it to the world is very hard.

May I have some help please? As you read this post, if you have learned to deal with these issues, please write a comment and send it to me.

Perspective

She bounded into my room, arms weighed down with bags of gifts for her friends. Bruises covered her arms from a recent hospital visit. Her face was still puffy from chemo. Cassie had been pronounced cancer free, and she was excited to come back to school. The gifts were for friends with whom she longed to graduate. Her gift to me was the promise that she would be in my class within a month. We were both so excited that Cassie was going to live her dream of promoting with her class.

The week before she was to return to school, however, doctors made a grim discovery. Leukemia had returned, and Cassie needed to be hospitalized. She put up a hard fight. Cassie was brave, but she became very weak. On the evening of the school promotion, our Principal, Mr. Norman had a student stand on the stage holding Cassie’s picture. “She would give anything to walk across this stage with her friends,” he explained. Before the week was out, Cassie was gone.

Chronic pain is debilitating. It is constantly present, bringing a dark cloud over everything we think and do. It can cause us to shut down, and withdraw from normal activities. Sometimes it feels like we cannot see beyond the pain we are living at this moment. But no matter how bad we may feel, we must find a way to keep our life and disability in perspective.

To say that there are always people who are worse off than I am, doesn’t bring much comfort when you hurt. What drives me is that people like Cassie wanted to experience the life of a middle school student, attend classes, learn, do homework, and promote. Yet there were students in school who could do all of those things but didn’t bother.

Sure, I have pain. Yes, I struggle. But I still can do things if I keep life in perspective. It may hurt, but I must do what I can, because I still can. I may not do it as well as I used too, or as fast as I want, but the fact is there are still things I can do. Cassie would have given anything to experience the “today” that I am allowing to pass me by. People like Cassie drive me to keep life in perspective. The tunnel vision that pain can bring is fixed on those who would give anything to feel even as good as we feel, because even with that amount of energy Cassie would have promoted from Middle School.

When farmers plow a field, they find a point at the far end, somewhere off in the distance, and drive straight for it. They don’t look backward to see if the furrow is straight. They look at the point and a straight line is the natural result. Do you have a point on your horizon? Is there a Cassie in your life? Keep your focus there. The lines behind you will be straight and you will be amazed at the yield those lines produce.

Thank you Cassie for being a shining star, and thank you Emily for reminding us. May our memory of our friend never fade.

Find Your Source Of Strength

Google the word disability and you will find lots of pictures of wheelchairs, crutches, and handicapped-parking signs. I was looking for the Handicapped parking sign for the last post. But, as I scanned the assortment of photo’s and graphics, I ran across one image that stood out as unique. This picture of a girl in prayer was titled, “Conditions which may qualify as a disability.”

I have been praying all of my life, and it has never proven to be a disability but a strength that gives the ability to face weakness. Finding a source outside of oneself is not a sign of weakness. At the very least it is a way of exploring every potential source of help. And who knows you may find an amazing source of strength. When doctors have done everything they know to do, they tell families, “All we can do now is pray.” Apparently they don’t see prayer as a disability.

Every culture has a belief in some kind of deity. Even cultures that have attempted to legislate religion out of existence have a powerful remnant of people who seek God. Cultures have tried to beat religion out of people. Wars have been waged over whether or not there is a god. It would seem that a subject that has captivated the minds of those in favor of God, as well as those who are against God must have something to it.

While I have a firm belief in God, I am not writing this post to tell you that you must believe what I believe. I am just saying that prayer will never qualify as a disability, and you should explore whether you can find help by praying. I could not begin to imagine what it would be like to live with my disability without it.

Everybody's Talking At Me

On the days when the pain is particularly bad, I pull out my handicapped-parking pass, and take a spot closer to the location where I need to be. I try not to abuse the privilege because there are people who need it far more than me. If at all possible I leave the parking place vacant, and park in a regular stall. But, when I am in need, I park between the blue lines. It is at those times when the first verse of Harry Nilsson’s song, Everybody’s Talking At Me, goes through my mind.

Everybody's talking at me.
I don't hear a word they're saying,
Only the echoes of my mind.
People stopping staring,
I can't see their faces,
Only the shadows of their eyes.

If our disability is an internal one, then people tend to stare us down when we park in a stall we are legally allowed to use. I wondered if I was being too sensitive, so, I turned to my friend Tom. His wife passed away a little over a year ago. She struggled with MS, a particularly difficult disease that can come on with a vengeance, and wreak havoc on a body. He confirmed my feelings by describing the looks and statements he and his wife got when they used the handicapped-parking stall.

If our disability exhibits itself internally, we are faced with two choices: ignoring the looks and comments, or constantly explaining our condition. There are times when I am perfectly comfortable discussing surgeries, rods, screws, and nerve damage. Other times, however, I would rather not discuss it. Life needs to be more than my disability, and I would rather spend my time discussing other things.

So, I have decided to take a new posture. Whenever someone looks at me, and we make contact, I am going to offer a greeting and thank them for their concern. I would much rather believe they are trying to protect the parking spaces than being critical of me. I can’t change their attitude, but I can sure change mine.
Do you have this problem? What do you do? Tell us by commenting on this post.

The World Keeps Going And So Should You

On the day I delivered the notice to my employer that I was going out on disability, they were sad, but supportive. As a Middle School teacher I worked with two hundred students each day. I was always around people and in front of people. The idea of my leaving left students uneasy. I had a great relationship with so many kids, and I was sure that my leaving would cause irreparable harm. But it didn’t.

Perhaps one of the biggest realizations for a person who has been put on disability is that the world keeps spinning. Society keeps going, the company where we worked continues to operate, and people go on with their daily lives. We are remembered for a time, but eventually people move on, and the memory of us having worked for that company fades to a distant memory. Let me tell you what I am learning.

Your value is not found in the size of hole that was left when you went out on disability. Nor is it based on the declining number of people who call to check in on you. You are not measured by the number of things you can’t do anymore but by what you do with what you have left. I am learning to deal with the fact that I am much more than the twenty-pound limit I can lift, or the amount of time I can stand or sit.

Like you, I have a disability, but it does not change the fact that I still have a lot to offer. We are told that when a person loses one of their senses, the other senses become more acute. I did not lose one of my senses. Instead, I lost abilities. I must now trust that other abilities will grow stronger to make up for the ones I have lost.

So, I must ask myself a series of questions: What can I still do well? How can I use what I can still do? Is there a project I can be passionate about? What did I start out wanting to do, but didn’t do because my career path took me in a different direction? Are those desires still in me? How can I stretch myself to accomplish those goals?

I must admit that giving in to a disability is very new to me. I am still spending way too much time watching the world go by without me. I am fairly certain that I am not alone in this. I guess we must continually check our focus. Are we concentrating on the person we are not, or are we stretching toward the person we have yet to become? One path leads to defeat, the other to victory.

The Elephant In The Room

I know what you are thinking. “Are you calling me fat?” No, that is not the point at all. The elephant that I am talking about is your disability. If you are like me, you hear it all the time, “But…you don’t look disabled.”

My back was broken when I was ten years old. I have always lived with pain and covered it up fairly well. Only my wife understood how much pain I had on a daily basis. The pain progressed for more than forty years, until I came to the place where I could barely walk. Even then, most people around me didn’t even notice because I was so good at handling the pain. But there came a point when I could bear it no longer. From there I went through two major back surgeries. That amounted to six months of rehab in a three-year span. Four fusions, three disc replacements and three pounds of titanium later, my back feel’s better than any time I can remember. The nerves that control my body from the waist down are a different story. They have not healed the way we had hoped. Couple this with arthritis, and bad knees and you have an incapacitating condition. If I follow doctor’s orders, not lifting anything with much weight, get plenty of rest, and not stay in one position for very long, I can be fairly pain free.

Here is the problem (and I am sure that by reading this, you will relate) I look fine. Most of the time, I feel fine. I haven’t come to terms with my disability yet, so my mind says I am fine. The result? I try to do normal things like everybody else, and my body reminds me that I am not really fine at all. I have a disability that has placed me on the sidelines. There, I have admitted the elephant in the room.

This blog is not about my complaints, or pains, or doctor’s appointments. It is not a place for a pity party. It is a journey of discovery. I need to reinvent myself, and find a new level of significance. If you are in this place too, I invite you to follow along, join in. Share your ideas. Let’s get beyond the elephant, and find a new direction together. Our disability is not who we are, but if our disability has stopped us from doing what we used to do, then we need to chart a new path. I cannot believe that I am the only person in this position and I refuse to sit on the sidelines alone. That only leads to depression and defeat. So, we need each other. The journey is ahead, and I can’t wait to experience it.

Are you with me?