vasilatos: neighborhod emergency response (deco wiener)
[personal profile] vasilatos
... but I can't sustain it.

Some years ago, before this facebook thing, I was in an online support group for disABLEd folks where we'd talk about our experiences in the temporarily ABLEbodied world, and some of it was heartbreaking but worth hearing: the pain, the meds, the medical establishment, even the support groups themselves. Now I can only find highly organized fanpages to LIKE instead of have a real conversation.

Anyway. There's a couple of things. First is kind of ephemeral. I used to have dreams I could fly, rarely if ever now. They were great, and I realize that some people have them and some don't, and we who do are lucky. But that switched over to dreams in which I could run. Full out, or just across the street, or to chase a dog, or just because. Run. Wow, I see people run, in bursts, or jogging, or whatever, and I remember when I was in first grade and I saw the other kids sliding on the ice and it looked so easy and so fun. I broke my nose. Never did have good balance. And these days, I'm under orders not to do anything involving balance: skating, surfing, biking, skiing, you name it. And of course, I can't run without risking a major fall.

These days I have a new dream: to walk. I can walk, sort of, in pain, with a cane (calling Dr Seuss :-). I'm slow and it's risky and I've already broken what, 5 bones, falling. So I watch TV and instead of paying attention to the plot, I notice that people are walking up and down stairs, they're running over rooftops, they're walking down halls and into apartments with no thought in the world. They could probably go to yoga class like I used to. They pace, they trot, they ramble, they give no thought at all to being able to just walk around whenever they feel like it. I dream of walking.

I'm trying everything they got to help me, and there are brief moments when it seems like I might walk normally again, do yoga again, have cool sex again. Patience, I say. It will come.

There's a second thing. I live on a disability pension from an insurance company ; it was negotiated in 1990, and every now and then they want documentation of my disability, not unreasonable. There are forms for me to sign, there are forms for my doctor to sign, everyone fills everything out and sends it in and we're done.

This year, my doctor's office didn't send in the forms. They say the woman in charge of that has left, there's a new guy, they don't have the forms, they don't know. WHAT? I say. Did you, like, throw them away? My entire livelihood is just GONE? What happened to the forms? Gobbledygook back. "We put everything in electronically now" so where are they? Are they in the computer? Can't you find them? Seriously, did you just dump them in the trash?

I've asked the insurance company to please send ME the forms again so I can track them ("you should have made copies" like I have enough paperwork filling my little studio already) and I will cause them to be filled out and sent in, oh yes I will. The damn doctor's office has moved to a location that is unsuitable for people with disabilities, but hey, who cares about that part.

Sorry, a little venting over here. At this point, if I could think of something else to complain about (don't get me started), I'd throw it in, but this is about disability. And in fact, the Chinese herbs and the chiropractor and the acupuncturist altogether seem to be moving things in the right direction. I walked normally for a while today.

That is all.

Date: 2014-11-16 01:58 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] chrishansenhome.livejournal.com
I kind of have the same thing about feet. Years ago, feet were feet were feet. I wore sandals, I wore flip-flops, I wore trainers/sneakers, all that stuff. I bought actual shoes from shoe-stores. I never noticed a guy's feet when we met to play (this is years ago, of course, pre-HWMBO).

Then my feet began to pack it in because of my diabetes. I had several infections in both feet, I lost both big toenails and several bones, tendons, and the bony connection between my left little toe and the rest of my foot.

Now, when I see a guy go by in flip-flops and he has good-looking feet, I notice. When I see a porn picture of a guy the second body part I look at is his feet.

I cannot run around anyway, but I can't walk anywhere barefoot, even in my own house. If I step on something sharp I probably won't feel it and (if I did not check my feet morning and evening) it will stay until the infection breaks out and starts to smell. (sorry if this is TMI). I can't clip my own toenails—the chance of a cut and infection is too great. The diabetic podiatrist brings out a pair of tin-snips^Wlarge toenail clippers, clips my toenails, then brings out a boilermaker's file^W^Wfile and files them down. My comment is always "With his big sugar-nippers he nipped off his flippers." and if anyone knows the source of that, you're a literary giant.

So I kind of know where you are, Max.
Edited Date: 2014-11-16 01:59 pm (UTC)

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