Disabilities, Bad Attitudes and Mental Flights of Fancy

I try to live my life by a few simple maxims:

“Strive for balance in all things.”

“Never eat more than you can lift.”

“The only disability in life is a bad attitude.”

It took me years to see the wisdom in that last one. I mean, severe pain and joint damage of rheumatoid arthritis – my particular challenge – are pretty darn dramatic. Having shoulders, hips and knees severed from me and new ones bolted in have proven to be a bit of a distraction.

But I think I’ve finally seen the light and rehabilitated my attitude.

Now when I go to a new restaurant and all of the tables are high with bar stools, I focus on my attitude. Even though I spend the meal staring into my companions’ knees, I mentally try to levitate. That doesn’t actually allow me to socialize with my friends or even hear much of the conversation, but it cleans out all of the “badness” in my mind.

My rehabilitation also comes in handy when I’m traveling and need to catch a taxi. Whether I attempt a street hail or try to schedule a ride by phone, getting a wheelchair-accessible taxi is next to impossible. But that’s OK. Although my trip then requires numerous buses and is four times longer than a cab ride, I’m zipping along through traffic – only in my mind, of course.

If I stay in a hotel or at a relative’s home and there’s no wheelchair-accessible roll-in shower, no problem. As I take my sponge bath at the sink, I imagine myself under a luxurious rain-style shower head. Ah, the lovely flowing water…

You see, I’ve come to realize that being marginalized from society happens not because humankind continues to build restaurants, malls, theaters, offices, transportation and housing with physical barriers. Oh, no. The problem lies within the mind of each and every person with a disability. Fix the attitude and you’ve fixed the problem.

Excuse me -- must run. I need to adjust my attitude up a flight of stairs now. 

ON INTERNET MEMES AND OTHER UNQUESTIONED ACTS OF BIGOTRY

Perhaps by now you’ve seen the Internet meme making the rounds of a drawing of a guy in a wheelchair. He’s looking back over his shoulder, a sad, pathetic expression on his face. Surrounding him are the following words: “If you're (sic) spouse became disabled for the rest of there (sic) lives, would you still be with them???”

Yes, dear reader, it is taking all of the strength I can muster to resist calling the meme’s creator a moron incapable of knowing the difference between "you're" and "your" and “their” and “there,” or even knowing how to use a software grammar check function. And, yes, I am irritated with the use of the pronoun “them,” as if the question poses the hypothetical situation that this is a pluralist marriage that includes multiple partners who “became disabled” all at once. Perhaps it’s implying the crash of a plane on which the multiple marital partners were flying, or they all contracted a rare tropical disease while on safari together.

I also believe it is quite likely that anyone who uses three question marks in a row probably dots every letter “i” with a tiny heart. For that reason alone, the meme’s creator should be placed a stockade in the village square and bombarded with rotten produce.

 

Nevertheless, it’s not the meme’s grammatical atrocities that have inspired me to write this post. It is the sheer butt-puckering bigotry of the question being posed. Why is it an acceptable question worthy of an answer?

Would it be appropriate to ask: “If your spouse sent in DNA to 23 and Me and learned he/she had African ancestry, would you divorce him/her?” Or “If your spouse told you his/her grandparents emigrated from Uruguay, would you make him/her relocate permanently to the guest bedroom?” Or perhaps “If your spouse converted to Judaism, would you toss him/her off a cliff?”

I’d like to think that most decent human beings would be appalled by questions about whether a spouse remains worthy of love even if he/she is of a different race, religion or country of national origin. Yet when it comes to disability, many people – such as those that actually answered the question on Facebook – feel it’s fine to weigh the option of giving walking papers to the person they married.

I’m not sure whether to be pissed off or profoundly sad that a quarter century after the passage of the ADA – the most comprehensive civil rights statute ever enacted to protect disabled folks from discrimination – societal attitudes remain in the Dark Ages. We continue to deny that illnesses and health issues are inextricably part of the human condition. We still cling to hierarchies, to notions of “us versus them,” to assigning value to other human beings based on their ability to meet an often unattainable ideal.

Perhaps I should buy a more comfortable mattress for the guest bedroom.

DEAR SANTA: ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS IS THE IMPOSSIBLE

Dear Santa:

Greetings, my friend in red. Hope this missive finds you and yours in fine form. With all this talk of global warming, I worry that Donner and Blitzen are applying Coppertone while Dasher and Dancer compete to craft the perfect cannonball in the deep end. (If you’re a regular viewer of “Fox and Friends,” then please accept my apology. I don’t intend to offend.)

It’s true I haven’t written since last year and it seems I reach out only when I want something, but I imagine that’s simply business as usual in your line of work. So, let me get straight to the point: I’m only asking for one thing this year, but it’s a doozy. (Yes, Kris, you’re probably thinking “Why can’t she be content with another Chia Pet?” But until they come up with the Chia Cthulhu, please no more ceramic weed farms.)

I’ve decided to go for broke this year. My first thought was to ask for a shopping spree at a Pucci boutique. A new wardrobe of gorgeous abstract prints and fine fabrics would be just the ticket for a vacation at a Venetian villa. (You could throw that in, too, right?) But that seemed a little too pedestrian.

Then I considered asking you for a week at the Four Seasons Bora Bora, an all-expenses paid, once-in-a lifetime trip with my significant other and 10 of my dearest friends. Each of us could have our own villa over the turquoise waters. How divine! Then I imagined running into Justin Bieber au natural and I felt as queasy as the time I competed in that corn dog eating contest. Ick.

Then I thought: wouldn’t it be heavenly to rent out the Hollywood Bowl and have Kate Bush perform all her tracks from “Hounds of Love” and “The Dreaming”? The audience would consist of just me, my husband and our two kitties sitting in La-Z-Boy recliners on the stage right next to Her Royal Kateness. Oh, and Weird Al Yankovik could be the opening act!

But then I thought, no, I’m going to swing for the fences this Christmas. I’m going to ask for something so spectacular, so marvelous, so blow-the-doors-off incredible that my friends will be simply chartreuse with envy.

That’s right, Santa: I want a ride with Uber.

But wait, please, before you crumple up my letter and use it to wipe the reindeer doo-doo off your boots; please just hear me out! If Uber – or Lyft or any smart phone-booked ride service – can provide rides to the non-disabled, they can do it for wheelchair users, right?

It’s an eleventy-bajillion dollar business, so surely they can have drivers in every major market with wheelchair-lift vans, can’t they? These titans of industry can be convinced that disenfranchising an entire segment of society is not just illegal but morally wrong?

Please, Santa, tell me I’ll someday be able to book a ride on Uber with the same ease and speed as anyone else!

Ok, I’ll settle for a ride in your sleigh. Sure beats seeing the Biebs nekkid.