Here we go again!

"Here we go again!" Have you ever felt this way? It is almost like a car, when the water pump breaks, it is like a guarantee that the alternator is going to go out next. Or, when one part of your body fails, you know that another  part will follow. Let me give an even better example (a personal  one).

My back was injured at a young age, so I walked with a limp for many years. It got to the point where I needed back surgery. So, we did that, twice. When the back problems were solved, tremendous knee pain began. Turns out, during the period where I limped, my right knee was destroyed. A knee replacement was the only way to solve the problem. When that was solved, (I am sure you can figure this one out) my left knee, which had been supporting most of my weight throughout my life, began to hurt. Now, I am poised for my second knee (Next week in fact|).

The human body has a tremendous capacity to heal itself, but when joints are worn, that is a different story. Fortunately, the body will envelop the cold cobalt metal, and heal itself, leaving only a scar of what once was an issue.

Those of us with disabilities can either look at the deterioration, or the restoration. We can wait for the next part to fall apart, or we can relish in the healing process and the periods in between the problems.  The recovery period for a knee replacement is longer that we would like, but while we are focusing on the pain and the limitations, our body is hard at work adapting to the new reality.

Perhaps we can learn from our own DNA. It does not get depressed over what may come next. It just spits, and reproduces itself, until everything that can be restored, is restored. DNA does not sit around waiting for something else to go wrong. Your body goes back to doing what it normally does, replacing skin cells, cleaning the blood stream of bad things, providing oxygen to the brain, things like that.

The truth is, we need the help of others to remind us to be like DNA. Things will repair as well as possible, and we will have a new reality. The reason we need the help of others is that looking at the present is easy. Dwelling on the past doesn't help our present either. But, when we are carving out our own rut, we can see where we are, and where we have been, but we can't see where we are going. That is where others come in. They can see the future a lot better than the person in the rut can. They are on the surface and can see in all directions. They have the ability to lift you out of the rut and help set you on a new course.

So, here is a request. Remind me of what I just said over the next few months. Be my friend and help me be like my own DNA. Respond to this blog, email me. Google me, FaceBook me, talk to me on Linkedin, and remind me that it is going to get better. I need to focus on the healing process and look forward with anticipation to a new reality. Help me see it when I am down.

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?