Today I have a meeting with the director of graduate studies at my new college. That sounds funny...my new college.
I'm kind of nervous as if it were a job interview, but the fact is I'm already in - at least to the certificate program.
I have a meeting for academic advising and orientation this afternoon. Apparently orientation for graduate school is not the same as normal college orientation. It's one-on-one, and I fear it may be led by me and whatever questions I have.
This is a huge step for me. I registered for classes about three years ago at a different university - just after I hurt my foot and when I still had optimism that I would be walking normally and doing martial arts again. I asked my physical therapist the question: You think I'll be better by September, right? The look on her face said it all: No.
Now I think it's a solid maybe.
In a few hours, I will find out if my foot will tolerate the drive and the walk from the parking lot. Some walking surfaces (like thick concrete) are especially bad on the nerve in my foot. If the classes are in the basement of a building with no padding on the floors, it's going to be a problem no matter what kind of orthopedic shoes I wear. I'll also find out if the seats aggravate my back problem and if there's any mold in the English building (note to self to remember my inhaler and take my allergy meds just in case). I intend to test out the seating in the library too, where I'm hoping I can write before or after class if it all works out.
I'm not that worried about the academic stuff. That isn't that much of a deal-breaker. If it turns out it's harder than I expected, I'll just work harder.
But if the floors are literally too hard, it's over.
******
(Time elapsed)
It went well. It was all cement and bothered my foot a little but didn't hurt terribly. I got lost and had to roam around on foot for a while until I found my car. I survived it and am registered to start in two weeks. The drive was 32 miles, which I did in 32 minutes (and didn't speed). Used the cruise control the whole way, so the driving was OK.
Next post: the search for an incredibly light-weight laptop.
Showing posts with label disabilities. Show all posts
Showing posts with label disabilities. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
Thursday, January 3, 2013
One Small Victory
I have twice now written to my senators and my representative to ask them to go to work and do their jobs. Even if they make choices and pass legislation I don't agree with, I'd feel better about it if they worked more than two days a week - I'm thinking more like 24x7 if there's a crisis and a deadline.
The first round of emails was responded to with form letters that didn't quite address what I wrote in my emails. (I promise I will share - one was kind of hilarious.) The next round of emails prompted one 'I'll get back to you about that later' email and nothing from the others. Apparently they are still on holiday. Unfortunately, I don't think they were among the ones that were replaced.
Despite my failure to get Congress to see my point of view, I was able to bring about a real change where I live - nothing that any of you will feel, but something important to me. Two additional handicapped parking spots are going to be added to two public schools in my area.
During three parent events at my son's school this school year, there weren't enough handicapped parking spaces for people that needed them. There is at least one child in the school that is in a wheelchair permanently and another that has a sibling in a wheelchair. Another parent's legs have been amputated, and there's me. My troubles are minor compared to theirs, but it really would help if I didn't have to walk so far to get to the front door.
There's only a tiny parking lot near the entrance to the school. The additional parking is at each end of the school. When every step hurts, that many steps are too many.
The next time I stopped into the school after that first parent meeting, I mentioned it to the office staff. I told them about the guy with no legs that had to wheel himself to and from the far end of the parking lot just so he could attend a 6th grade camp meeting for his child. I told them they needed at least two more spots.
They told me I would need to talk to someone else but couldn't give me a name or number. They said that wasn't something they could do anything about...maybe I could submit a work order via the school's web site. They wished me luck.
You might be wondering the same thing I was: Couldn't the office staff person fill out that form right there since she was sitting right in front of the computer? Couldn't she call that department since she was three inches from the phone? Yes, she could.
I could feel my blood pressure going up and my face turning red. I tend to make a scene (or just cry) in that state of mind. I'm sort of like the Hulk - you wouldn't like me when I'm angry. So I walked away, hoping not to embarrass my son who had just walked into the office. I hoped they would come to their senses and take care of it.
But at the next parent event, the same thing happened. For the record, I did take a far, far away parking spot. And so did at least two families with people using wheelchairs. We all smiled and tried to act like it wasn't ridiculous.
After the same thing happened yet again on the last day of school before winter break, I said, 'Enough,' quietly and to myself and searched the school's website. I didn't find the department, but I found a work order form. I filled it out and told them exactly what was needed and where. And I expressed my anger and frustration that the school staff refused to put in the request.
Today I got an email from the director of whatever department paints lines on the parking lots. Apparently his name is Steve. Steve agreed to add two more parking spots for two schools in the district right away. He apologized and promised to make sure each school's administrative staff knows it was in fact their job. Not mine.
Today the disabled in my little part of the world are victorious! Hurray!
The first round of emails was responded to with form letters that didn't quite address what I wrote in my emails. (I promise I will share - one was kind of hilarious.) The next round of emails prompted one 'I'll get back to you about that later' email and nothing from the others. Apparently they are still on holiday. Unfortunately, I don't think they were among the ones that were replaced.
Despite my failure to get Congress to see my point of view, I was able to bring about a real change where I live - nothing that any of you will feel, but something important to me. Two additional handicapped parking spots are going to be added to two public schools in my area.
During three parent events at my son's school this school year, there weren't enough handicapped parking spaces for people that needed them. There is at least one child in the school that is in a wheelchair permanently and another that has a sibling in a wheelchair. Another parent's legs have been amputated, and there's me. My troubles are minor compared to theirs, but it really would help if I didn't have to walk so far to get to the front door.
There's only a tiny parking lot near the entrance to the school. The additional parking is at each end of the school. When every step hurts, that many steps are too many.
The next time I stopped into the school after that first parent meeting, I mentioned it to the office staff. I told them about the guy with no legs that had to wheel himself to and from the far end of the parking lot just so he could attend a 6th grade camp meeting for his child. I told them they needed at least two more spots.
They told me I would need to talk to someone else but couldn't give me a name or number. They said that wasn't something they could do anything about...maybe I could submit a work order via the school's web site. They wished me luck.
You might be wondering the same thing I was: Couldn't the office staff person fill out that form right there since she was sitting right in front of the computer? Couldn't she call that department since she was three inches from the phone? Yes, she could.
I could feel my blood pressure going up and my face turning red. I tend to make a scene (or just cry) in that state of mind. I'm sort of like the Hulk - you wouldn't like me when I'm angry. So I walked away, hoping not to embarrass my son who had just walked into the office. I hoped they would come to their senses and take care of it.
But at the next parent event, the same thing happened. For the record, I did take a far, far away parking spot. And so did at least two families with people using wheelchairs. We all smiled and tried to act like it wasn't ridiculous.
After the same thing happened yet again on the last day of school before winter break, I said, 'Enough,' quietly and to myself and searched the school's website. I didn't find the department, but I found a work order form. I filled it out and told them exactly what was needed and where. And I expressed my anger and frustration that the school staff refused to put in the request.
Today I got an email from the director of whatever department paints lines on the parking lots. Apparently his name is Steve. Steve agreed to add two more parking spots for two schools in the district right away. He apologized and promised to make sure each school's administrative staff knows it was in fact their job. Not mine.
Today the disabled in my little part of the world are victorious! Hurray!
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Walking on My Own Feet
Here's something cool - I haven't used my cane in weeks. The physical therapy is definitely helping the nerve damage in my foot, although the doctor only expected it would help my back.
I went to class without my cane last night. I've done that a few times in the past, but have instantly regretted it. My foot felt a little sore when I went to bed, but feels fine today. It's a miracle - three doctors so far have given up on my foot in the past, as have I until now.
My class is in an old building with the door opening to the sidewalk. There is no on-street parking and no handicapped parking at all (I find that interesting and annoying). The safest parking lot is a little ways down the street. By safe, I mean you don't have to cross three lanes of cars with drivers that don't slow down for people walking across. I normally park across the street to avoid the walk on concrete and hope the drivers can see my cane and show me a little mercy. It is uncool to run over the handicapped, so they generally stop.
More than once I have giggled hysterically watching my life pass before me just before the car stopped and waved me on. And more than once I have found myself propped onto my cane standing on the double yellow line hoping there would be a break in the line of cars speeding past me in both directions - and I giggled - what else can you do? I always feel like the frog in Frogger - not a good feeling. Whenever I played that game, I lost in seconds.
I went to class without my cane last night. I've done that a few times in the past, but have instantly regretted it. My foot felt a little sore when I went to bed, but feels fine today. It's a miracle - three doctors so far have given up on my foot in the past, as have I until now.
My class is in an old building with the door opening to the sidewalk. There is no on-street parking and no handicapped parking at all (I find that interesting and annoying). The safest parking lot is a little ways down the street. By safe, I mean you don't have to cross three lanes of cars with drivers that don't slow down for people walking across. I normally park across the street to avoid the walk on concrete and hope the drivers can see my cane and show me a little mercy. It is uncool to run over the handicapped, so they generally stop.
More than once I have giggled hysterically watching my life pass before me just before the car stopped and waved me on. And more than once I have found myself propped onto my cane standing on the double yellow line hoping there would be a break in the line of cars speeding past me in both directions - and I giggled - what else can you do? I always feel like the frog in Frogger - not a good feeling. Whenever I played that game, I lost in seconds.
Friday, July 8, 2011
An Afterthought on Living with a Disability
My post yesterday, the very minimal research I did about the work involved in getting published, and your comments got me thinking. I generally don't like to talk about my current state of disability because I prefer being a little more upbeat in my posts. I don't want to whine or sound like I'm feeling sorry for myself. I generally try to think about anything else, which is why I love writing fiction. I love the escape to anywhere else for an hour or two a day.
Maybe it is unrealistic to get published in my current state of disability. Technically I could, but I would likely not be successful if I can't fully participate in the publishing process the way other people would. I could participate, but the effort it would take would not be worth the money. Not even close.
The thing is I can't walk 200 feet down the sidewalk. I can't even make it to my son's bus stop. I can walk that far and father if the surface is relatively soft, like a very thin layer of blacktop or on a thick rubber exercise mat. But I could not walk in an airport terminal. I would likely get strip-searched because my cane and wheelchair would set off the anti-terrorist devices for sure. I can't walk down a city sidewalk or endure standing in an elevator. The walk down the hallway of a hotel would require a cane and a dose of narcotics, which I prefer not to take. They make me sleepy and stupid, so I opt out.
This morning my husband got up early and worked (yes, in his pajamas) at the kitchen table while my toddler ate his cheerios and played with his toys. When I finally came downstairs, still mulling over yesterday's post and comments, I spilled it on him. Maybe the idea of getting published is just something I cannot do now - maybe never - the same way I had to give a pass to graduate school and stopped doing consulting work (the computer nerd variety).
I could go to graduate school in a wheelchair.... If I could drive that far (I cannot). If the path from the car to the building that houses the English department were not on a sharp hill (it is). If I could lift my wheelchair out of my trunk by myself (I can't). If I could sit for the length of a class (no chance).
I can't really resume doing consulting work for the same reasons. While I primarily worked at home when I did consulting, I frequently had to meet directly with the client, park in parking garages (always made of thick concrete that is unbearable to walk on now), and drive long distances. None of these are options now.
My doctor thinks a neurosurgeon may be able to get me walking again. The key word is may - there's hope, but it's not a certainty. I don't know how long recovery will take and if I will be back to 100% ever, even if they are right about the source of my foot problem. I have nerve damage from my lower back to my right foot that may be the reason I haven't been able to walk normally for more than 20 months. Maybe not.
Depressing isn't it? In the length of a blog post, I can only touch on how this has impacted me and my family. If they do fix my foot and I can resume life as normal again, I will not forget the past two years. It is permanently imprinted on me. I will not forget the frustrations, the way people's interactions with me have changed, the small things I and my family have given up, the unexpected ways my daily life has changed, and how my husband and kids have stood by me and other people have not.
On the up side (I really need there to be an up side), I realized that although this is the topic I tend to avoid writing about, it is what I need to write about. I need to suck it up and tell the whole story, not just for me, but for other people like me as well.
This morning over coffee while my babes vroomed his cars on the kitchen table, I threw out ideas to my husband about how to present this topic and all the things I want to include in it (much in the same way I used to throw out ideas to him about software design). I suggested I could write a fictionalized story about a person like me. Fictionalizing it would give me the freedom to get into people's heads and modify the characters and the events. If it's fiction, I have complete control of it. Fiction makes it safe.
We discussed it some more and decided my story should be told honestly. It should be told honestly and from a first person point of view because I am not alone. Chances are the other people out there feeling the way I feel aren't writers and maybe haven't been able to find a way to cope with the same frustrations I face and never would have imagined I would have to endure.
So today I take the first step down a path I haven't taken before. I think this adventure will be like physical therapy - it makes everything hurt more at first but eventually will make me feel better. No, I haven't forgotten I will have the same challenges getting this published as I would for my fiction. Whatever. I will deal with that later. For now, I write.
Maybe it is unrealistic to get published in my current state of disability. Technically I could, but I would likely not be successful if I can't fully participate in the publishing process the way other people would. I could participate, but the effort it would take would not be worth the money. Not even close.
The thing is I can't walk 200 feet down the sidewalk. I can't even make it to my son's bus stop. I can walk that far and father if the surface is relatively soft, like a very thin layer of blacktop or on a thick rubber exercise mat. But I could not walk in an airport terminal. I would likely get strip-searched because my cane and wheelchair would set off the anti-terrorist devices for sure. I can't walk down a city sidewalk or endure standing in an elevator. The walk down the hallway of a hotel would require a cane and a dose of narcotics, which I prefer not to take. They make me sleepy and stupid, so I opt out.
This morning my husband got up early and worked (yes, in his pajamas) at the kitchen table while my toddler ate his cheerios and played with his toys. When I finally came downstairs, still mulling over yesterday's post and comments, I spilled it on him. Maybe the idea of getting published is just something I cannot do now - maybe never - the same way I had to give a pass to graduate school and stopped doing consulting work (the computer nerd variety).
I could go to graduate school in a wheelchair.... If I could drive that far (I cannot). If the path from the car to the building that houses the English department were not on a sharp hill (it is). If I could lift my wheelchair out of my trunk by myself (I can't). If I could sit for the length of a class (no chance).
I can't really resume doing consulting work for the same reasons. While I primarily worked at home when I did consulting, I frequently had to meet directly with the client, park in parking garages (always made of thick concrete that is unbearable to walk on now), and drive long distances. None of these are options now.
My doctor thinks a neurosurgeon may be able to get me walking again. The key word is may - there's hope, but it's not a certainty. I don't know how long recovery will take and if I will be back to 100% ever, even if they are right about the source of my foot problem. I have nerve damage from my lower back to my right foot that may be the reason I haven't been able to walk normally for more than 20 months. Maybe not.
Depressing isn't it? In the length of a blog post, I can only touch on how this has impacted me and my family. If they do fix my foot and I can resume life as normal again, I will not forget the past two years. It is permanently imprinted on me. I will not forget the frustrations, the way people's interactions with me have changed, the small things I and my family have given up, the unexpected ways my daily life has changed, and how my husband and kids have stood by me and other people have not.
On the up side (I really need there to be an up side), I realized that although this is the topic I tend to avoid writing about, it is what I need to write about. I need to suck it up and tell the whole story, not just for me, but for other people like me as well.
This morning over coffee while my babes vroomed his cars on the kitchen table, I threw out ideas to my husband about how to present this topic and all the things I want to include in it (much in the same way I used to throw out ideas to him about software design). I suggested I could write a fictionalized story about a person like me. Fictionalizing it would give me the freedom to get into people's heads and modify the characters and the events. If it's fiction, I have complete control of it. Fiction makes it safe.
We discussed it some more and decided my story should be told honestly. It should be told honestly and from a first person point of view because I am not alone. Chances are the other people out there feeling the way I feel aren't writers and maybe haven't been able to find a way to cope with the same frustrations I face and never would have imagined I would have to endure.
So today I take the first step down a path I haven't taken before. I think this adventure will be like physical therapy - it makes everything hurt more at first but eventually will make me feel better. No, I haven't forgotten I will have the same challenges getting this published as I would for my fiction. Whatever. I will deal with that later. For now, I write.
Friday, June 17, 2011
Hope
This morning, quite unexpectedly, I have hope.
I went to the doctor this morning to get a note for my child support hearing stating I am unable to work a traditional job. I also needed a script for a wheelchair that will fold into the tiny trunk of the 40K luxury car we were about to buy to minimize the pain in my foot when and after I drive. And I have been having this nagging pain in my sciatic nerve since I was pregnant with my almost-three-year-old that is starting to be more than I can stand.
My doctor looked at me with a smile and had an ah-ha moment. He said the nerve pain in my foot and the sciatic nerve pain could be from the same source - my lower back. He said one EMG, an evaluation by a physical medicine doctor, a couple epidurals, and some physical therapy could fix everything.
I cried on the way home. All the way home.
It is overwhelming to think of the things I have given up on for myself, things I have given up on doing with my kids, because of this foot problem that no one up until now could fix. Everything they have done to try to help my foot has made it worse. The only option was surgery, which they didn't recommend at all. It makes sense to me that cortisone shots would make it worse if the source of the problem was my hip or lower back and not my foot. The cortisone would put more pressure on the nerve and make it worse, which it did.
My test is Tuesday next week. I am hopeful but know it's possible this is one more thing that could potentially make it worse or not work at all, as things have been.
Today I have hope.
I went to the doctor this morning to get a note for my child support hearing stating I am unable to work a traditional job. I also needed a script for a wheelchair that will fold into the tiny trunk of the 40K luxury car we were about to buy to minimize the pain in my foot when and after I drive. And I have been having this nagging pain in my sciatic nerve since I was pregnant with my almost-three-year-old that is starting to be more than I can stand.
My doctor looked at me with a smile and had an ah-ha moment. He said the nerve pain in my foot and the sciatic nerve pain could be from the same source - my lower back. He said one EMG, an evaluation by a physical medicine doctor, a couple epidurals, and some physical therapy could fix everything.
I cried on the way home. All the way home.
It is overwhelming to think of the things I have given up on for myself, things I have given up on doing with my kids, because of this foot problem that no one up until now could fix. Everything they have done to try to help my foot has made it worse. The only option was surgery, which they didn't recommend at all. It makes sense to me that cortisone shots would make it worse if the source of the problem was my hip or lower back and not my foot. The cortisone would put more pressure on the nerve and make it worse, which it did.
My test is Tuesday next week. I am hopeful but know it's possible this is one more thing that could potentially make it worse or not work at all, as things have been.
Today I have hope.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
A Tear in My Eye Over My Foot
My title sounds to me like a Dr. Seuss parody, doesn't it?
Yesterday I went to the doctor with a list. My main issue was my foot.
My ex lost his job and filed for a child support adjustment - fair enough - I might do the same in the same situation. I needed a letter from my doctor for the child support people stating I am very limited in the money-making jobs I can do. I can work as long as I don't have to drive there, walk to my desk, wear normal shoes, or put my feet on the ground.
Apparently the child support people won't take your word for it, which is reasonable - there are a lot of dishonest people out there. It makes me feel bad that I have to justify my reason for not working a normal job. Maybe having a two year old at home plus two school-aged kids should be enough.
It is very difficult today to face the fact that if I wanted to work again, I would have a seriously difficult time finding anything that I could do with these physical constraints. Today, I look this fact in the eye, and it sucks so much.
Another item on my list for the doctor was a renewal for the handicapped placard for my car. My orthopedic doctor (the second of two and the best in town) gave up on me and referred me to a pain management specialist. Then he only gave me temporary parking - only six months worth.
Picture this: If I go shopping at all, I take at least one of my kids. I can drive if I wear a special shoe that I invented to cushion my foot when I drive (which my hillbilly ancestors would be especially proud of). When we get to the store, they push me in a wheelchair, which sounds all good - but they are wild drivers and the aisles at stores tend to be narrow. I literally got stuck in the bra aisle at Kohl's. At the zoo, my son almost catapulted me onto the ground three times.
It's terrifying when they drive me around but sweet they are so enthusiastic trying to help me. If nothing else, I need a close parking spot if only to minimize our chances of geting killed in the parking lot. They are really great kids, but I may never give them car keys. They are crazy drivers for sure.
The doctor wholeheartedly agreed that I need handicapped parking and wrote me a script to take to the BMV. When I got home I read it. I cried a little, but nervous laughter prevailed over tears. The paper explained in detail how I would not be able to walk like a normal person for a minimum of five years. Five years.
I know my doctor and know he wouldn't write that if he didn't think it was true.
At work I always thought in terms of five year plans - what job I wanted to be doing in five years, how I wanted to improve my training so I could have more options in five years, how much money I wanted to make in five years. Now my five year plan is made for me. This is it.
I may seem a little down here some days (today for sure) but am normally a perpetual optimist. I wake up every day holding hope that it will be better next month or maybe in three months, maybe if I lose a few pounds, maybe if I stay off of my foot more. I always think somehow this is temporary.
Five years isn't at all temporary.
I desperately try to find the up side of this today, the thing that makes me be able to cope with this instead of crawling in bed and laying there as long as my family will let me.
The up side is this: I can give my kids my full attention for at least five more years. And I have five years to write novels full-time. In the last nine months, I have written two. In three more months I expect to finish one more. If I keep writing at the same rate while unable to do ordinary work, which seems to be a good pace for me, I could potentially write 15 novels in five years.
I think the only way I can deal with this today is to take control of my five year plan instead of letting it control me. I'm working on it....
Yesterday I went to the doctor with a list. My main issue was my foot.
My ex lost his job and filed for a child support adjustment - fair enough - I might do the same in the same situation. I needed a letter from my doctor for the child support people stating I am very limited in the money-making jobs I can do. I can work as long as I don't have to drive there, walk to my desk, wear normal shoes, or put my feet on the ground.
Apparently the child support people won't take your word for it, which is reasonable - there are a lot of dishonest people out there. It makes me feel bad that I have to justify my reason for not working a normal job. Maybe having a two year old at home plus two school-aged kids should be enough.
It is very difficult today to face the fact that if I wanted to work again, I would have a seriously difficult time finding anything that I could do with these physical constraints. Today, I look this fact in the eye, and it sucks so much.
Another item on my list for the doctor was a renewal for the handicapped placard for my car. My orthopedic doctor (the second of two and the best in town) gave up on me and referred me to a pain management specialist. Then he only gave me temporary parking - only six months worth.
Picture this: If I go shopping at all, I take at least one of my kids. I can drive if I wear a special shoe that I invented to cushion my foot when I drive (which my hillbilly ancestors would be especially proud of). When we get to the store, they push me in a wheelchair, which sounds all good - but they are wild drivers and the aisles at stores tend to be narrow. I literally got stuck in the bra aisle at Kohl's. At the zoo, my son almost catapulted me onto the ground three times.
It's terrifying when they drive me around but sweet they are so enthusiastic trying to help me. If nothing else, I need a close parking spot if only to minimize our chances of geting killed in the parking lot. They are really great kids, but I may never give them car keys. They are crazy drivers for sure.
The doctor wholeheartedly agreed that I need handicapped parking and wrote me a script to take to the BMV. When I got home I read it. I cried a little, but nervous laughter prevailed over tears. The paper explained in detail how I would not be able to walk like a normal person for a minimum of five years. Five years.
I know my doctor and know he wouldn't write that if he didn't think it was true.
At work I always thought in terms of five year plans - what job I wanted to be doing in five years, how I wanted to improve my training so I could have more options in five years, how much money I wanted to make in five years. Now my five year plan is made for me. This is it.
I may seem a little down here some days (today for sure) but am normally a perpetual optimist. I wake up every day holding hope that it will be better next month or maybe in three months, maybe if I lose a few pounds, maybe if I stay off of my foot more. I always think somehow this is temporary.
Five years isn't at all temporary.
I desperately try to find the up side of this today, the thing that makes me be able to cope with this instead of crawling in bed and laying there as long as my family will let me.
The up side is this: I can give my kids my full attention for at least five more years. And I have five years to write novels full-time. In the last nine months, I have written two. In three more months I expect to finish one more. If I keep writing at the same rate while unable to do ordinary work, which seems to be a good pace for me, I could potentially write 15 novels in five years.
I think the only way I can deal with this today is to take control of my five year plan instead of letting it control me. I'm working on it....
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Irony
Today I had to stand in line at the BMV to get my handicap sticker renewed. My foot is throbbing now.
The doctor gave up on fixing my foot at the last appointment but still only gave me a temporary sticker. He was apparently so flustered that he put contradictory dates on the form, so we had to wait even longer while the BMV contacted the doctor. The BMV lady was somehow more irritiated and put out by the doctor than I was, although she went out of her way to help us out.
The doctor gave up on fixing my foot at the last appointment but still only gave me a temporary sticker. He was apparently so flustered that he put contradictory dates on the form, so we had to wait even longer while the BMV contacted the doctor. The BMV lady was somehow more irritiated and put out by the doctor than I was, although she went out of her way to help us out.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
My Morton's Neuroma - Part 2
My husband and kids are the only ones that seem to get my perspective on my foot condition I wrote about yesterday. We understand that no one has a magical cure and this is something that I (and they) just need to live with.
Obviously, I need to do everything I can to not exacerbate the pain and cause additional inflammation. If I lose twenty pounds, I think the reduced weight on my foot would definitely help - this is not easy to do when you can't jump or walk. If I religiously wear my special shoes inside even when walking only a step or two, that definitely helps. My husband can continue going to the grocery shopping, and I can continue to have other things delivered. I am doing the work I always wanted to do from my house, and I am able to attend writing class with my cane. It's not that bad. Now, I don't know about going to graduate school or how it's going to go when/if I decide to work outside my house again. Hopefully the laws protecting disabled people will work - it might be interesting to put that to the test.
After my doctor's appointment yesterday, my husband insisted that we start going out and that he can push me in the wheelchair. He wants me to use my cane only when I can't use the wheelchair. My perspective has been the opposite until now: use the wheelchair only when I'm positive the walk is too far. His thought is to use the wheelchair to be sure I can be mobile at home, to be certain adventures out into the concrete world don't inflame the nerve more and make it worse, and to be certain we can go out and have fun. I really can't argue with that.
It's strange to me that everyone else I have spoken with about this are telling me not to give up hope and to go to another doctor that might recommend the surgery or some other miracle cure that my first two doctors haven't come up with. To me, accepting that I'm going to have some discomfort, to do the best I can with workarounds, and to make the choices that are right for me isn't giving up. To live my life on narcotics just isn't a choice for me - I would strongly prefer to use a cane or occasionally break out the wheelchair. I prefer to bring an ice pack with me so I can ice my foot after even a short drive instead of constantly taking meds that have other side effects.
I am so happy my husband and kids are with me on this. To everyone else, I get the impression I am somehow letting them down. I find myself convincing them that it's OK that I'm going to have ongoing pain - it happens and it could be worse.
In the car this morning, my daughter and I were talking about another mom that we were both in awe of. I told my daughter the other mom seemed really intense, like a marathon runner, like she walked with complete determination on her face constantly. My daughter agreed and told me she actually is a marathon runner. We laughed together when I joked that I could do a wheelchair marathon or even a 5K race or maybe do a real race in my wheelchair (I think they let people in wheelchairs in normal running races). My daughter enthusiastically agreed and told me how awesomely strong and muscular my arms would be (they are jiggling right now from just typing). I love my family! Clearly, no one here is giving up hope....
Obviously, I need to do everything I can to not exacerbate the pain and cause additional inflammation. If I lose twenty pounds, I think the reduced weight on my foot would definitely help - this is not easy to do when you can't jump or walk. If I religiously wear my special shoes inside even when walking only a step or two, that definitely helps. My husband can continue going to the grocery shopping, and I can continue to have other things delivered. I am doing the work I always wanted to do from my house, and I am able to attend writing class with my cane. It's not that bad. Now, I don't know about going to graduate school or how it's going to go when/if I decide to work outside my house again. Hopefully the laws protecting disabled people will work - it might be interesting to put that to the test.
After my doctor's appointment yesterday, my husband insisted that we start going out and that he can push me in the wheelchair. He wants me to use my cane only when I can't use the wheelchair. My perspective has been the opposite until now: use the wheelchair only when I'm positive the walk is too far. His thought is to use the wheelchair to be sure I can be mobile at home, to be certain adventures out into the concrete world don't inflame the nerve more and make it worse, and to be certain we can go out and have fun. I really can't argue with that.
It's strange to me that everyone else I have spoken with about this are telling me not to give up hope and to go to another doctor that might recommend the surgery or some other miracle cure that my first two doctors haven't come up with. To me, accepting that I'm going to have some discomfort, to do the best I can with workarounds, and to make the choices that are right for me isn't giving up. To live my life on narcotics just isn't a choice for me - I would strongly prefer to use a cane or occasionally break out the wheelchair. I prefer to bring an ice pack with me so I can ice my foot after even a short drive instead of constantly taking meds that have other side effects.
I am so happy my husband and kids are with me on this. To everyone else, I get the impression I am somehow letting them down. I find myself convincing them that it's OK that I'm going to have ongoing pain - it happens and it could be worse.
In the car this morning, my daughter and I were talking about another mom that we were both in awe of. I told my daughter the other mom seemed really intense, like a marathon runner, like she walked with complete determination on her face constantly. My daughter agreed and told me she actually is a marathon runner. We laughed together when I joked that I could do a wheelchair marathon or even a 5K race or maybe do a real race in my wheelchair (I think they let people in wheelchairs in normal running races). My daughter enthusiastically agreed and told me how awesomely strong and muscular my arms would be (they are jiggling right now from just typing). I love my family! Clearly, no one here is giving up hope....
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Voting in a Wheelchair
I am not exactly disabled - at least I choose not to call myself that or take money that may be due to me. Instead, I am hopeful it will get better. I have a wheelchair just in case I need to wait in line or want to do something that might involve walking more than a few steps on a hard surface like tile or concrete. Today, my husband broke out the wheelchair so I could vote. I told him before we left that I was curious how this would go. He was totally optimistic, saying they are required to accommodate handicapped people....
My voting location, which I have used for the last eleven years, is an older church. As I waited for my husband to haul the wheelchair out of the trunk, I noted the cement walkway and the tiles inside that I could see through the windows. Good thing I had the wheelchair; there was no way I could have walked even with my cane.
When we approached the door, we noted there was no way for someone in a wheelchair to open it. The doors were narrow and the handle was too high. I am not sure if I could have successfully wheeled myself through it alone. When we approached the desk, everyone was happiness and smiles - as I have discovered most people are when you roll up in a wheelchair. They happily told me I could vote at the end of the table where they were signing people in since the little voting booths were too high for someone in a wheelchair. Wouldn't it be nice if we all could sit? Why do they have to be so high?
So I got to vote at the end of the table in the open air without the courtesy of the little facade of separators everyone else is entitled to. Everyone could see my bubbles.
I wasn't voting for anything that seemed confidential to me except the school levy. If there were anyone there that I knew, that was a teacher or lived in the neighborhood, I wouldn't necessarily think it was their business to see my vote on this topic. My vote was public, which is just not the way it is supposed to be.
As soon as the governor's race in my state is decided, I will write a letter and ask for short voting booths and voting locations with handicap doors. I cannot be the only person in a wheelchair trying to vote - we all deserve privacy. And I shouldn't be denied the right to vote or be deterred from voting if I don't have a helper to go with me to open the door.
My voting location, which I have used for the last eleven years, is an older church. As I waited for my husband to haul the wheelchair out of the trunk, I noted the cement walkway and the tiles inside that I could see through the windows. Good thing I had the wheelchair; there was no way I could have walked even with my cane.
When we approached the door, we noted there was no way for someone in a wheelchair to open it. The doors were narrow and the handle was too high. I am not sure if I could have successfully wheeled myself through it alone. When we approached the desk, everyone was happiness and smiles - as I have discovered most people are when you roll up in a wheelchair. They happily told me I could vote at the end of the table where they were signing people in since the little voting booths were too high for someone in a wheelchair. Wouldn't it be nice if we all could sit? Why do they have to be so high?
So I got to vote at the end of the table in the open air without the courtesy of the little facade of separators everyone else is entitled to. Everyone could see my bubbles.
I wasn't voting for anything that seemed confidential to me except the school levy. If there were anyone there that I knew, that was a teacher or lived in the neighborhood, I wouldn't necessarily think it was their business to see my vote on this topic. My vote was public, which is just not the way it is supposed to be.
As soon as the governor's race in my state is decided, I will write a letter and ask for short voting booths and voting locations with handicap doors. I cannot be the only person in a wheelchair trying to vote - we all deserve privacy. And I shouldn't be denied the right to vote or be deterred from voting if I don't have a helper to go with me to open the door.
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