I don’t know why, but a certain conversation I had with my physical therapist last week

has been bothering me.

I guess because I like my physical therapist. I truly do. I wasn’t sure if I would at first because when I first met her she made all these assumptions and it kind of rubbed me the wrong way. She thought I was much younger than I am, which would be a bit more understandable if she didn’t have access to my chart with my BIRTHDATE. I know I don’t look 30, but I am.

She asked me what school I went to.

I didn’t know what to say. I’ve been to so many schools. I sputtered. “Which one?”

“High school.”

“Oh, Mountain View.” (Even though I graduated 13 years ago.)

“Did you do any adaptive sports there?” she demanded.

By this point I was so confused I had no idea how to answer. I hadn’t been in a wheelchair in high school. I had never even heard of adaptive sports. I didn’t even take a single PE course while in high school. I got out of the requirement by taking strenuous academic classes. Plus, high school was 13 years ago for me. Why was this crazy lady asking me this stuff?

“I wasn’t in a chair in high school,” I finally said.

Now she looked surprised.

I’m 30,” I added.

“Oh, I thought you were 20. You look 20. I used to work for the school district, so I asked,” she said sheepishly.

I was annoyed.

The next times I had with her were better. We started to talk. She really is a wonderful person. I found her to be competent and smart. And a good mother. She has 2 girls in high school and she loves them fiercely.

I let her mother me too.

Maybe that’s the problem.

This week we were talking insurance. I am on Medicaid. Something I completely abhor. I am glad I am taken care of health insurance-wise, but it still is hard. Relying on the government for anything just doesn’t seem like a good idea. I’m afraid to make any money or do anything to help myself for fear of losing my insurance. And I can’t pay for anything myself if my insurance doesn’t deem it worthy enough to cover. For instance, they only cover one chair, my electric one. I’m always sneaking around, feeling like a criminal, to pay for repairs on my manual chair, which I need for travel and car trips, or visiting other houses without ramps. I really want to get off Medicaid. I want to get real insurance – a real job.

I didn’t get a Masters degree to NOT get a job. A good job.

So I tell this all to my physical therapist (well, everything but the good job part). I tell her I just applied for a job at Clark (the local community college here). Her first reaction?\

“You mean, at the library?”

Everyone thinks I should work in a library because I am always reading. Libraries are cool, but I don’t want to work in one. The Dewey decimal system doesn’t turn me on.

I don’t want to work in a library. Yes, I like to read. I like to watch movies too, but it doesn’t mean I want to catalog them. Ugh.

But really, that assumption didn’t bother me.

“No,” I shook my head. “Its in the financial aid office.”

“Oh. For minimum wage?”

WTH? Yep, this is where I am annoyed. Minimum wage? Does this woman know how much wheelchairs cost? Doctor visits? Tests? She is a PT for heaven’s sake! How in the hell am I supposed to support myself on minimum wage? Was she even listening to me when I told her I want to support myself?

Not to mention, I have a Master’s. Was she implying that me, in my disabled state, am only worth minimum wage? I am not dumb. I know society sees me as not being worth anything. I see it when people don’t look me in the eye. Or treat me like I am dumb. Or talk to me likr I’m a child.

Ugh.

I guess I can’t blame her too much; she did work as a PT for the <a href=”http://forums.somd.com/news-current-events/17000-parents-outraged-special-ed-kids-used-janitors.htmlEE”>Evergreen School District</a>. They are horrid about disabilities. I am glad nobody knew I was disabled there. Time to teach her. ”Um, no. This job has a max pay scale off 88K a year. Of course, I don’t expect that. I’d be happy with 40,” I said.

I hope she learns NOT to assume.

I am trying to control my spasticity with baclofen. I’m starting it slowly. It makes me sleepy…

I am working on an awesome long blog post — vent. So look for it soon. Here is a good link to give you some food for thought. It reminds me of trying to talk to one of my doctors about my symptoms when I was 12 or 13, and he telling me that I was just going through an awkward phase. Yeah, right. I wish there had been an Internet back then. Maybe I could diagnose myself. Sometime doctors are so stupid. What do you think?

I re-signed my domain, wheelingwoman.com, for 9 more years. I know, 9 is kind of random, but I got a deal.

I’m going to be changing hosts and  blogging software soon, so there will be some changes…

I survived the heart monitor. I think I was alergic to the stickers they stick the electrodes on your chest with.  My chest is still a little itchy. But I survived.  And I have not  heard about the    results, but I take a no news is good news approach to tests, so I think its all good!

Hour10 of wearing the heart monitor I already wanna rip the stupid electrodes (I hate having extra stuff on my body and it itches)

I’m smack dab in the middle of a heart monitor test — my cardiologist (I’m 30, not 70, but yet I have a heart doctor!) wants to check on some things. Nothing is wrong. Just a check-up. But an annoying check-up nonetheless.

I hate the term ‘confined to a wheelchair.’

It’s even in the AP handbook (the media’s bible to NOT use the term, but the media always insists on using it.

I heard it today on ESPN, during halftime of the Denver/LA game. They were doing one of their “inspirational team adopts poor soul in a wheelchair story,’ which really annoys me anyway, but it is the norm in journalism today towards gimps so I don’t get too angry, but they used the term ‘confined to a wheelchair’ and now I’m angry.

Grrr…

Stupid media.

I live in WA state, and the subject of physician-assisted suicide pisses me off to no end. What a setback to disability rights.

WA killed it’s first ptient yesterday: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/05/23/us/23suicide.html?ref=us

I am sad. Do I feel nazi Germany coming back?

http://www.123exp-culture.com/t/03601003880/
Yesterday was blogging against disablism day!

I forgot about this day yesterday, so today calls for my blog. I think it’s kinda on the topic of disablism.

I went to Clark (the comm college) this week to help T with her English paper. We were in the cafeteria/student center because T is a bit too loud for the library, so we work in the cafeteria.

Before I move on, I feel the need to give a disclaimer. I do not wish to attack religious people or any religion. I am a religious person. And I am a Mormon. My family is non-practicing, but I am. I know what itis like to be persecuted and scoffed at–

Anyway, I was sitting with T, helping her write her paper, just minding our own business, when this girl came up to us (actually me; she was obviously staring at my chair), asking us our names and stuff. I really thought she’d go away once she realized I could outwit her, but she didn’t. Finally, she asked if she could pray for me. Now, I have people ask me this A LOT. And it always touches my heart, and well, I need as many prayers as I can get (not necessarily because of my health…but prayers are good in my experience). I said yes, thinking she would add me to her prayer list, and we’d both feel good. But no, she didn’t mean she wanted to personally pray for me later, she started praying for me RIGHT THERE.

I really had no objections to her prayer – she mentioned Jesus a lot. I believe in Jesus as well (she’d probably argue with me on that one.) But the whole thing left me feeling so weird. It was so awkward.

I try to ignore what society perceives me as. I have always been the same cool person, disabled or not. I know who I am, but some other people (not all) seem not to. That is the hardest part of becoming more disabled as time goes on. Some people tend to look down on me. They think I am a half-wit. Some people won’t even dare look me in the eye (I am contagious. Just look in my eyes and you’ll catch it!) I am regarded as less than in the working world too. I can’t get a job. I just applied for a $10 an hour job an I have a Master’s Degree. A degree I earned on my own – full time, like everybody else. Religion looks down on me. People choose me (whose body is so broken that I MUST be a sinner an I am the only one in a busy cafeteria that needs a prayer. I know the prayer was done out of love (which is why I just humbly said amen instead of telling that girl off), but I can’t help but fel some pity too.

And that left me with a bad taste in my mouth.

So, my back is 90% better thanks to my new stint with physical therapy. Yay for ultrasounds, massage and electrical stimulation! I do a whole bunch of stretching exercises as well — it helps me so much. I’m not ALL better yet, but 2 weeks of this is way better than 2 weeks of nothing.

Physical therapy has saved me on more than one occasion. I am a big believer. I prefer using this to drugs with a bunch of side effects I don’t need or want.

Not to say that drugs don’t have a time and place I’m thinking of starting an anti-spasming drug — I’m kinda scared because I’ll be pretty dependent on it (3x’s a day) and the possible side effects sound way fun. I tried Lyrica once and had to stop after 2 days because although I slept better that I can even remember, I was so dizzy and tired during the day, I couldn’t function. These new drugs scare me. I’ve had the for a week and all I can do is stare at the bottle.

Our society is so in love with their drugs. I even commented to R how much better my back was doing. She nodded encouragingly and asked me what I was taking.

i rolled my eyss. “Nothing. PT is making it better.”

I’ve noticed lots of disabled people have attitude about PT. I’ve heard some disparaging things about PT:

-They give useless exercises
-They don’t understand pain
-They don’t help.

WTH?

I don’t get it. PT has helped immensely.

I want to do this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iH6CrvLvdMU