Disabled

I have mixed feeling about being officially classified as disabled. First, right off the bat, I toned it down for myself, as if the is classified as disabled is some how better than just saying I’m disabled. It seems, I believe, at least to some extant, toning it down again, disabled means less than. I suppose this means I get some of my identity out of what I do. If I am what I do, then if I can do less than what I use to do, I wind up believing I’m less than who I was.

My faith teaches me my identity comes from who’s I am, that I am the adopted son of the most high God. Apparently I am still learning. I still have some minor balance issues and I tire easily. I view my self as not up to snuff.

This said, I woke up this morning with the thought, I feel pretty damn good. This points to the part of my faith that is working, for the lack of a better word. It’s got something to do with “the peace that passes all understanding.” It indicates that part of me also is “living in my faith.” I put it in quotes to distinguish it from believing. Believing is not enough. You have to step into it, so to speak. It’s not something I’m trying to do or something I convinced my self of. It's more the universe I live in.

But I was talking about disability. I defiantly need the money, the pittance it is. I also allowed to make about 950 a month. This Monday, I’m going on the job to see what I can do, see if I can start putting in nine hours a week. My boss is willing to give it a try.

Notice how I keep trying to avoid talking about disability. It’s the lack of physical strength that’s the issue. I’m always checking my right bicep. When I had the stroke all the muscle in my right arm, along with much of my right side, turned to mush. When I made a muscle with my right arm, all that mush that used to be my bicep slipped down to hag like lose skin on an old lady’s arm. This is not something a man wants to see, particularly a man who has made his living on the strength of that arm. I used to call myself a carpenter and a cabinetmaker. I might be that again, but right now I not. Right now I’m disabled.

I’ve been doing a few things in my shop. Technically, it might be considered working. I call it putzing, fiddling, trying. When I go to work for my boss I’m worried I’m not going to be worth an hourly wage. That’s why I want jobs for my shop, I won’t be on somebody’s clock and I can rest when I get tired. I suppose being on the clock will push me some and that’s not altogether bad. It should help me get my strength back. But I don’t know how good I’ll be at telling if I’m pushing to much.

I’ve got the complication of the bad rotator cuff. It’s got a couple of small tears, some impingement. Therapy for the stroke and the shoulder get in the way of each other. And then there the hernia. I haven’t mentioned that yet. It’s making its first public appearance. It doesn’t hurt, but I can feel it now. It’s something that has to be addressed eventually, sooner rather than later. I Have an appointment with the neurologists on the 14th of July. They have to Okay me being taken of aspirin for seven days which I take for circulation. Then I can get that fixed.

I used to worry a lot about my body breaking down because I use it to make my living. I don’t have to worry about that happing anymore. It’s true. I spent a lot of time being afraid of it an the fear was definitely worse than it actually happing. I thought when it happened my life and usefulness would be over. It turns out I’ve just been in training for what happens next.