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The world according to Gimp

 






I understand that there are those who may believe my use of the term 'gimp' is derogatory or demeaning. I do not use it lightly or to belittle anyone, it's just a lot easier for me to than 'disabled' or 'handicapped' because it uses a little snark or humor to something that could use a little of that. Or in this case, I specifically want to make light of my situation so that it doesn't feel depressing. For you or me.

Let me try to explain. 

One of my pet peeves is the look of sympathy I get from well-meaning people. Like, "Aw, sweetie, I am so sorry that you are less abled, confined to a wheelchair and less able to live the full, active life that I lead." 

I am in a wheelchair most of the time and my life is different because of that but in truth I never wanted to run a marathon of play pickleball or climb Mt. Baldhead (I've done the latter too many times usually bringing up the rear of the group I was with and/or being cheered on by the third-graders at the top of the stairs). I do miss dancing, and dancing while seated in a wheelchair just isn't the same for this disco queen.

I don't want sympathy. 

what I want is for you to see me and not the chair or not see me as a person confined to a wheelchair.

I am also not a hero or heroic because I am 'overcoming'. That's just plain bull doo-doos, because the only thing I may be overcoming (if you see me out and about) is my strong desire to be home not having to confront any challenges that being in a wheelchair might present. Things like heavy doors and no automatic button to press to open the door or the entryway with a 'bump' that makes it difficult to get my chair over. Or being in at a gathering where everyone is mingling, standing up. Or gravel paths. Or grass. Or ... I think you get the picture. There are many obstacles but that's for another post. the gist here is that I am not a hero or God-forbid a 'saint' because I use a wheelchair. I am just a woman that needs a damn chair to traverse distances, who is likely swearing like a sailor in her head if she reaches an obstacle.








Comments

It's not a popularity contest, but ...

Rolling, Rolling, Rolling

I put my pride aside and got my ass off the grass and into the wheelchair. {I spent a couple minutes deciding whether to put an exclamation mark after that declaration or to put the period after that statement. I think the period better suits my mood about getting said ass into the wheelchair!} On July 4, Saugatuck has a wonderfully unique parade that includes quirky participants like the artsy-fartsy campers at OxBow art colony and the LGBT members of a local foundation along with the more traditional participants like Girl Scouts, fire trucks, and local politicians. It had been a couple years since I had been to the parade, this year, though, my Mom and sister were in town and I wanted to take them. So we loaded up in the van, including Kerri's wheelchair and my own. Once we parked, John asked if I wanted to use my chair and I initially balked but then remembered that it can be a long, hot parade and it might be better to have a place to sit. So, I acquiesced and took the cha...

Christmas cards

I sat down to reluctantly address Christmas cards. While our list has slowly dwindled through the years it's still a sizeable number, especially when it's viewed as a task approached reluctantly . Know what I mean? Some Christmas 'tasks' are a lot less taskier - like decorating or shopping or eating or opening presents. I mean, there's a whole different level of enthusiasm associated with 'tasks' that aren't viewed as tasks - I can't ever remember a time when I sat down to reluctantly open a present or eat a Christmas cookie! Anyway, I approached the Christmas card addressing with a less-than-positive, more bah-humbugish attitude. I poured a cup of coffee, grabbed the markers (I had to have a green, a red and a black one), the list and of course the envelopes (which John had already stuffed with the card). I turned on some Christmas music, but not too loud or it would distract me (and it really doesn't take much to distract me. Squirrel!),...

Don't cry for me ...

Song lyrics or titles run through my mind to often sum up a situation or add humor to one. Today, it's "Don't Cry for Me Argentina". Only today the title is "Don't cry for me anybody"! I mean, I get it, that people feel bad that I've got breast cancer and that I've been living with MS for nearly 27 years. And I've had other issues that I've blogged about related to #metoo. I get that it seems like a lot looking in from the outside. I hear your comments and appreciate your support. But here's the thing, it doesn't feel overwhelming to me, looking out from the inside. Know what I mean? I live the life that I've been dealt and do it with the personality and faith I've been given. Which means, I could do one of the following: A. Have a miserable, pity-me attitude that would lead to being  miserable; B. Lean into my troubles and seek answers constantly either through research or angrily with God, which would lea...