The trash deities blessed me today with a pair of crutches in my size that I can use to walk around better. I had been using two mismatched canes for months but it’s been becoming increasingly more difficult to carry my body weight around on them for long periods of time. “The Story” isn’t exactly a story about two disabled characters, John and Trishna, but it will feature them and perhaps some of their struggles.
Spoilers?: Minor [disability is difficult]
On my first meeting with one doctor, he wrote me a prescription for a wheelchair.
I have no way to actually use this wheelchair because I live on the second floor of an apartment building without an elevator. I can’t store it in my trunk and there’s nowhere I could really keep it if I were to use it when I go out and about. Years ago, when Trishna revealed to me that she uses a wheelchair to get around, I had no idea about all of this that’s happening to me in my present and your past. Will I be better in about two months?
Since my health has been declining over the past few months, I doubt it.
When I talked to the physiatrist/sports medicine doctor today about how I felt like my health wasn’t improving, but how I’m not depressed, he took a minor little surprise to that but overall he was steadfast in his conviction that he was helping me. I wonder if this is how doctors deal with the morality of only somewhat helping patients like myself? I talk about this online openly and publically because I am not actually alone in this, I am not paranoid, and I am exaggerating. Others feel the same way as me. Although I haven’t been formally writing the Tripping On [The American Healthcare System] essays much lately, I’m in even deeper than I was before.
Years ago, I was unsure what caused Trishna’s disability.
Today, I imagine it could be some kind of nerve damage she was born with, because I experience on a daily basis the sort of limited mobility that she experiences. I can walk maybe about five feet without a cane. If I feel bold, I can even go longer if I have countertops to lean on in case I fall. It is in this condition that doctors consider me well enough to go back to work. In a condition where I cannot even walk across a room, have no mobility aids other than those two canes and now some crutches – which that doctor had never prescribed.
I compare myself to a fictional character for this reason.
Years ago, I was worried that I would be misrepresenting Trishna. Had this spinal condition inflicted on me by being forced to work from home due to COVID with inadequate ergonomics, say I quit instead of helping them for the few weeks until my spine went to shit – where it will most likely permanently be trashed – I wouldn’t have known all the ins and outs of physical impairment to this degree. Were it not for my childhood-bullied disinterest in physical socialization, my double punch COVID and disability isolation might be too much for me, but I really don’t care.
People fucking suck.
I can find myself around people that are nice enough and some that are even good to me, but these doctors’s appointments always suck a little bit of life out of me. These Dracula-style doctors do all these tests after asking for various aerobic exercises that put a strain on my body. I was recommended to go to aquatherapy. If physical therapy didn’t help, how will that help? A reduced impact on my muscles? I experience constant immobilizing pain that prevents me from doing much of anything anymore. I can sit here at my writing desk with the best possible ergonomics I can scrounge up, and as I told the doctor in response to “what do you do all day?,” I said, “I wait for my next doctor’s appointment.”
The American Healthcare System shouldn’t be like this.
I feel the weakest I’ve ever been. My body is deteriorating before my eyes and there’s not much I can do. Regardless of how much I scream and yell and plead, I await a referral to another doctor. The physiatrist referred me to a new pain doctor, who will refer me to a physiatrist or spine doctor, as others before them have done. The cycle will continue until these doctors have soaked up as much money as they can from my insurance company. I don’t have nightmares anymore. My dreams are all pleasant adventures, even when they involve scary situations.
Occasionally, I won’t wake up to incredible pain.
When I do, I don’t want to move, because as soon as I move around, the pain begins on those days. So if I never had that spine issue and had continued writing in the same direction I had, I would have been happy that someone were trying to advocate for us. People treat me decently when I have canes or crutches. They hold doors open and maybe talk to me nicer, I don’t know, but there is still a massive prejudice against disabled people. We’re considered lazy or inept.
It takes me significant effort to leave my apartment.
By the time I go down my stairs and get in my car, I’m already in pain. The car bucket seat stabs my spine. So if my body will allow me to write “The Story,” I know that Trishna will do her best to navigate around the world, and I feel like her boyfriend John will do the best he can to help her do so. Whenever I think about their character dynamics, they’re always hanging out, deeply in love, and appreciating each other. Trishna is always holding John’s scarred hand lovingly. John is always helping Trishna around.
But they aren’t doing it out of pity for each other; rather, genuine love.
|Sources: The Story’s Imaginarium.|
|Inspirations: Talking about my life as it relates to John and Trishna.|
|Related: Essays building “The Story.”|
|Written On: 2021 February 01 [11:111111111pm to 11:36pm]|
|Last Edited: 2021 February 01 [First draft; final draft for the Internet.]|