“There’s a fine line between being treated differently out of necessity and being treated differently out of pity.”
Me, about an hour ago.
The sun was well over the horizon when I came through the door. It was quiet…..dare I say, too quiet. As I turned my rollator to scoot myself backwards and sit in my wheelchair, I suddenly realized that no one had shouted a customary morning insult/greeting. Concerned, but not yet really alert to any danger, I turned my chair on and attempted to drive towards the conference room. Nothing. I glanced down at the drive motors on either side and my heart sank as I realized that both levers were in the disabled position. One side could be an accident, but both sides could only mean…… I flipped one to the drive position and was reaching for the other when the ambush started.
As rounds began to impact, I flipped the other switch and again attempted to drive away, but discovered too late that the quick detach cable between the controller and drive motors had been unplugged as an extra measure to keep me from escaping. I was impressed at the planning and foresight that went into this, although I’d have expected nothing less from my Green Beret and Marine Corps coworkers. It also impressed me because I guess I had always assumed that we’d have outgrown this sort of thing by our 40s.
During my next checkup at the VA, I was asked if I was still working and if I was being treated with dignity and respect at work. “Umm, well, they disabled my wheelchair and shot me with NerfTM guns the other day”.
The nurse collecting data wasn’t sure how to categorize that and finally asked, “Do you consider that to be dignified and respectful?”.
I had to think about it for a second before I answered that yes, I do.
When I medically retired from the army, I went to work with a couple other retirees who accommodated me in every way and told me that the job was mine as long as I wanted it. I probably stayed 6 months longer than I really should have, and I think it was because it never occurred to my friends to treat me like I was handicapped. Somehow, it matters to me that it was my actual disability that caused me to stop working and not anyone’s reactions to that disability.
Later that day, at lunch, my friends checked with me to make sure I wasn’t offended or hurt over being ambushed. Quite the opposite. A lot of planning and logistics went into that ambush; weapons and ammunition had to be procured, communications established, routes planned, escape routes cut off, command and control set up, etc all followed by a sort of after action review over lunch. I realize that many of the readers of this blog may not be from that background, but please understand how much people have to care about you to go through that much effort.
I’m sure there will be many, many more, but this post has been the hardest for me to write so far. I have erased multiple paragraphs and reworded others more times than I care to count. It’s not an uncomfortable subject, it’s just been really hard to put into words and opens up so many other potential discussions that it’s been really hard to stay on topic. Let me try to sum it up as best I can and keep in mind that I’m only speaking for myself here. My friends’ acceptance of my limitations makes it exponentially easier for me to accept them. My disability has to be treated differently…..accommodated. That’s just an inconvenient fact of life, but if “I” am treated differently, that hurts. I am well aware that my friends and I might be a little outside the norm. Rough and tumble life equals rough and tumble attitude and humor, so substitute afternoon tea and crumpets for the ambush if that makes the scenario work for you. The point is, true friends accommodated my disability (they must have looked up the manual online to accommodate properly disabling my wheelchair), but didn’t treat “me” like I was disabled. My abilities have changed, but I’m still me and real friends know that.
Oh, right, let me pass this on too. You bear some, if not all of the responsibility to let your friends and family know that it’s ok to treat you like……. .you.