When You Have to Use a Disabled Parking Placard

I see it almost daily. In the health communities I’m in, someone will say “I need to get a disabled placard but I’m afraid to.” I see the images of awful notes left on the car of someone who uses a placard. You can find examples here, here, here, and here. I could keep going.

This discriminatory BS needs to stop.

I too had tremendous ambivalence about asking my doctor for a disabled placard. I didn’t even consider it an option until my mobility issues started in 2013. I was at the point where I had to drive between my classes and buildings on the college campus where I was teaching because I could no longer manage the walking. Anyone who has been to a college campus knows that finding a parking spot, just one spot, is worth its weight in gold. But I was having to find multiple parking spots all day while trying to get to class on time, and I would inevitably only be able to find a spot far in the back, which made my driving to get nearer the building pointless. It was becoming a daily crisis for me as I was desperately struggling to have enough energy to keep teaching and getting through the day. I could not waste all the energy I had trying to walk any distance and failing. 

So I went to the doctor I trusted the most, my cardiologist, to ask him to sign the form. I printed it off the DMV website. Then I felt completely ridiculous asking for a disabled placard, no matter how desperately I needed it. I even told him how absurd it felt to ask him for it. He signed it without question. I still was not comfortable with the term “disabled” then and I was still trying to pretend I could physically do what I was longer able to do. "Passing" as able-bodied is significantly easier than trying to live with disability, and I was coasting on denial as long as I could. But I asked him to sign the form because I needed to be able to work. I justified it to myself by saying “I’ll only use it on the days I really need it. I won’t take up a spot for someone who really needs it. I’m not technically disabled, and I don’t want to endure anyone’s ridicule or derision because I ‘look fine.’ I won’t use it very often.”

But I was wrong. I was and am disabled. I got the placard and ended up using it every day because it was a life saver. I wished that I had gotten it sooner when I needed it, long before I finally talked to my doctor about it. I wish that worrying about what others would say or the fear that someone would leave a nasty note on my car wouldn’t have gotten in the way of me using an invaluable resource I needed.

There are many who are going through this right now and are debating whether they should get a placard and if they want to deal with the discrimination that can come with it. They probably read these horror stories every day and see the nasty notes people leave on someone’s car because not enough people understand that most disabilities and chronic conditions are invisible.

I imagine there are a variety of reasons people leave notes on cars or make discriminatory comments to the disabled. They may believe they are standing up for those who are “actually disabled,” acting as vigilante warriors protecting a “privilege” that only a select few are “entitled” to. They may believe that people are exploiting the system for personal gain or even feel envy that someone has access to a prime parking spot anyone would want. They may assume that all disabilities are visible and that only individuals who require a mobility aid qualify as disabled.

When someone leaves a note on a car or makes a comment, they are making rash judgments about someone they’ve never even met and enacting a gross injustice on someone who faces daily obstacles already.

This needs to stop.

I count myself  “lucky” because I’ve never had a note left on my car. I had to start using a cane right after I got my disabled placard so my disability was no longer invisible. I have gotten harsh stares or questioning glances when I have used the motorized carts at stores. The last time I drove myself to a store and used the electric cart (it’s been years now since I could do this), an elderly man got angry with me because I used the last one. I needed it as much as he did. I was just trying to pick up my medications without falling or fainting in a store. Now, when I leave the house I have to use my wheelchair almost all the time.

I bring my own chair, thank you very much.

When someone who doesn't "look disabled" uses a disabled placard or an electric cart, we need to remember these points:

 1. Most disabilities and chronic conditions are invisible. Often, you cannot “see” kidney disease, cognitive disabilities, neurological conditions, cancer, prosthetic limbs, mental illness, etc. All of these and more qualify as disabilities, and these individuals are allowed access to a disabled placard to make their lives and the world that much easier to navigate.

2. Police officers, parking attendants, etc. can ask someone to show them the permit that the disabled are required to carry when they use a placard. People do not need to enact their own form of vigilante justice. There is a system in place to make sure that those who use the placards are permitted to use them.

3. No one is entitled to an explanation or “proof” of someone’s disability, especially if you do not know the person. No one is required to “prove” their disability to anyone. Believing that someone is required to explain their disability is pure ableism.

 4. If someone would like to help the disabled, there are better ways to do this than by leaving notes on someone’s car or making disdainful comments. 

You can support legislation that helps the disabled. We have the Americans with Disabilities Act in this country but the law is not perfect. We need more laws and protection for the disabled so that they can enjoy the same privileges and access those without disabilities enjoy. You can spread the word that many disabilities are invisible and learn more about why disability and illness are often considered “invisible.” You can educate yourself about all that qualifies as a disability and see that 1 in 5 people in the U.S. are disabled.

 5. There are essentially no upsides to having a disability. The disabled face hurdles every day that the able-bodied cannot fathom. If you are concerned that the disabled are getting a “privilege” that is somehow “undeserved,” you are entitled to your opinion but don’t act on it. Our society treats the disabled as a protected class and enables them tools to improve their quality of life so they can be full participants in our society. The ADA was only passed in relatively recently, 1990, and it provided legal protection from discrimination and made accessibility in public places for the disabled the law. We should celebrate the fact that those with disabilities have access to tools that improve their lives.

For any of you out there who are putting off getting the placard because you fear the ridicule or are struggling to recognize yourself as “disabled,” I know what you are going through but we must use every means available to us to help us succeed. Even if someone does leave a nasty note on your car or makes a disparaging comment to you, you can keep fighting and you can survive it. It comes from ignorance and we can only hope that someday they will understand the injustice of their act. You are making the right choice in protecting your health.

Don't let anyone diminish the choices you have to make to achieve a higher quality of life. 

Desperately Seeking Accessibility

I’ve written extensively about living a version of Kafka’s Metamorphosis, waking up in a brand new body one day. Yet, I also woke up to a new world, a world that looks the same but is nothing like the world I used to live in.

I’ve spent most of my life as an able-bodied individual who rarely considered the challenges of the disabled. 5 flights of stairs? Easy. 4 mile hike to the top of a mountain? Done. One available parking spot that’s a block away from where I want to go? No problem. It wasn’t that I didn’t care or was uninterested. The concerns and challenges of the disabled often weren’t part of my day to day life. As I’ve become increasingly more and more disabled over the last few years, those challenges have become part of my life and have given me a completely different perspective on the challenges of those who have been disabled most or all of their lives.

The US passed the Americans with Disabilities Act in 1990, which protected the disabled from discrimination and required that public and private facilities be accessible. It was a transformative piece of legislation that gave the disabled the same protections the Civil Rights Act of 1964 afforded to populations that were historically marginalized. I also live in a state that is considered one of the most accessible in the nation. I am fully aware that I enjoy the fruits of many hard-fought battles to give the disabled this level of accessibility. Yet, as with every law and especially civil rights laws, the battle doesn’t end after passage.

Leaving the house when you are disabled requires careful planning, logistics, and execution, something I never had to worry about when I was able-bodied. Going out almost always means I’ll need my wheelchair now. Places my husband and I have been going to for much our lives present complex challenges now. Before we go anywhere, especially some place new, we have to consider whether there will be steps, will there be an elevator, will my wheelchair fit in the space, how close can we park, what do we do if all the handicapped spaces are taken, will there be a ramp? Although businesses are required to conform to ADA standards, you will find that those standards are not always met or are met haphazardly. An important question is if the business doesn’t meet the ADA standards or is inaccessible despite meeting standards, what do you do?

I read an article about a year ago about a local woman who was suing multiple local, small businesses because they were not ADA compliant. My first response was horror. The article did not paint her in a positive light and I worried about the public image of the disabled and whether actions like this would threaten the profitability of small businesses.

Normative attitudes and media representations of the disabled are fraught with ableism and ambivalence. A disabled person can be held up as a one-dimensional source of inspiration for the able-bodied and then in the same breath disparaged as a “leech” on society to justify drastic, inhumane cuts to disability benefits and other social services. As with all stereotypes, these images can be damaging and rarely reveal the entire picture of what it means to live with a disability.

Disability advocates have worked to challenge these images. Stella Young gave a TED Talk titled “I am Not Your Inspiration, Thank You Very Much” that has over 1 million views on the TED website (click here for her talk). She gave a humorous and enlightening challenge to this inspiration stereotype. Slate recently posted an article deconstructing some of the commercials that aired during the Super Bowl that also used this stereotype. We all love inspirational stories, but the disabled are often used as a prop to remind the able-bodied “if they can do it, you can do it.” The contrast is the myth that the disabled and ill exploit systems for personal gain. Stereotypes breed silence and dismissal. 

When the disabled sue these businesses, there may be compensation but action is also taken. Yet, is this the only means to achieve these ends? 

When I shared my horror about the story of the local woman, one of my good friends directed me to a story from NPR’s This American Life titled “Crybabies,” which discusses one man in particular who has made a huge profit from suing non-ADA compliant businesses. It’s a great listen if you are interested in this issue. Important moral questions are raised and they highlight that there is no regulating body that visits businesses to ensure they are ADA compliant. As history has taught us, we cannot rely on others to fight our battles, and some have taken matters into their own hands.

Here is the section of the podcast that discusses this:

The question I think we should be asking is what can we do as a society to ensure everyone has access and protection under the law. The fact that these individuals are suing companies is a symptom of a larger problem.

I've only been a "crybaby" once. I've experienced limited accessibility many times, but one in particular irked me especially. Seven months ago when I could still leave the house regularly and drive, I took my mother to Target to help her find some clothes. My mother cannot drive and needs help with basic tasks. She couldn't do it on her own. 

This was my first time using the electric cart at Target. Before this, I would usually tell my husband “I got this. I can walk around the store on my own. Easy” which inevitably led to me standing on the cart and my husband pushing me to a seat in the store. It would have been fun if I wasn't in such bad shape from forcing myself to walk. If you have ever been in most clothing stores, you have probably noticed how tightly-packed each section is. Just getting a shopping cart around can be challenging. I realized very quickly that the electric cart the store provided did not fit in about 40% of the store. I could not help my mother find items, and she could not do it on her own. It became a steaming pile of failure.

I eventually got trapped in one of the sections, and I became so aggravated I went full Hulk. I started slamming into things to get out, drawing onlookers and stares. I couldn’t get out of the store without riding that cart so I didn’t care if I knocked everything over so I could leave the store. Like any red-blooded American, I like shopping and I really love Target, but I haven’t returned since. I emailed Target right after this to express my disappointment. Their response made me more angry.

It took them months to respond and when they finally did, they told me to “find a customer service representative” to help me be able to look at things in these sections. One: I was trapped so how I was going to find someone to help me? Two: I don’t want to ask for help just to look at a pair of jeans! 

Should I bring a radio and learn Morse code so I can send out distress signals throughout the store?  

Handicapped lady trapped in the sock section. Coordinates unknown. Send help. Now.

I combed through the ADA to see if businesses were required to have aisles the disabled could navigate in all parts of their store. They do not. As long as the disabled can ask for help, then it’s legal for parts of a store to be inaccessible. I'm not done with Target. I still want to communicate to them I don't think this is enough. 

I learned a valuable lesson from this experience: the disabled do not want to have to ask for help, especially for something simple many of us take for granted. This is something I had never realized in my able-bodied life. I started to empathize with these individuals who sue businesses who are not ADA compliant—though I doubt I could go that far. There often can be easy, straight-forward fixes that could assure accessibility. I think most often businesses don't realize they are inaccessible so being a "crybaby" may be the only way for them to know this.

Some advocates are creating other solutions. A disabled man with MS created a website and crowd-sourcing app called AXS Map that allows users to rate businesses based on accessibility, at AXSmap.com. This makes the difficulty of leaving the house, especially going to new places, simpler. Here is the video that outlines how the app works.

I don’t often get to leave the house, but when I do I will use this app to rate each business. There aren’t any ratings for businesses in my town so I hope I can get the ball rolling. I hope you also find the app useful too.

Disabled and chronically ill individuals are also consumers. We have the power to make decisions about where we spend our money and my studies in consumerism have taught me that those decisions can have social and political ramifications. Handicapped parking spaces, ramps, elevators, hearing or visual aids, handle bars, and accessible aisles may present challenges or inconvenience to the non-disabled, yet these things can be lifelines in an ocean that is designed for the able-bodied. I never fully grasped this until I became disabled.

Creating a more accessible world and some accountability for accessibility will continue to require effort. An accessible world is a world we can all partake in, and that is truly something worth fighting for.

A New Year

I don’t really go for sappy sentimentality but I do like the power of reflection, reflecting as an impetus for learning and changing. 2014 was a rough ride to say the least. It was the most difficult year for me health-wise and I felt like I was perpetually trying to claw my way out of quicksand. 2014 was a re-play of the nightmare of 2011: bizarre symptoms that only got worse and worse, trying desperately to hold onto a career and some normalcy, constant tears and heartbreak, low after low. But I don’t want to think in those terms anymore. 2014 also brought gifts that I never expected and wouldn’t trade for anything.

This was the year that I essentially “came out” with my illness and started to be comfortable talking to people about it and even feeling empowered by what I’ve survived. Starting this blog in February was a catalyst for this. As I look back through the posts, the chaos and desperation is palpable in almost all of them but I tried to use writing to regain some power over my life and to understand that chaos. It allowed me to stand in the eye of the storm and sometimes even laugh at the absurdity of it. I had been thinking about starting a blog for awhile but resisted taking the plunge. This has helped me be able to externalize my experience to try to make it useful and educational for others. I’ve also met some great fellow Spoonies along the way.

This is the year I became comfortable with the term “disabled.” I put off getting a cane, then the walker, and then the wheelchair as long as possible. I didn’t want people to see me for what I truly am. Now, I don’t care anymore. I’m more than happy to take my wheelchair or use an electric cart. They mean being able to leave the house safely and comfortably. They also have the added bonus of wearing less sensible shoes and using mobility aids as an accessory, like the glitter cane my husband made me . You also get VIP parking wherever you go when you’re disabled. There has to be a perk somehow.

Glitter cane!

I’ve been reclaiming some things I lost over the last few years. When I was ill, working, and resisting my illness, I was an empty shell of a person. I had no energy for anyone or anything. I was living in a perpetual state of terror, maintaining a calm exterior and an interior in profound disarray. Not living. Only surviving. Living a double life. Now I’ve been reading more, watching endless history documentaries about Neolithic Britain, and trying to write and play more music. It’s nice to have other interests besides working.

2014 was filled with strange enhanced interrogation medical testing, including getting stabbed with needles repeatedly, doing a balance test designed for NASA, and having hot air blown in my ears. Some people can talk about their adventures in travelling over the year, but I wonder how many of them have had a doctor say to them, "Ok. Now it's going to feel like you're peeing." Now, this is how to party.

I have made some progress toward a diagnosis. We know I have some kind of neuromuscular autoimmune disease that is likely Myasthenia Gravis but my doctor is hesitant to provide the official diagnosis. I'm trying to get comfortable continuing to live in the grey area. The plot twists of this medical story just keep getting more and more strange. Even without an official diagnosis, they started treating it and I can do more than I could a few months ago, including doing some sort of exercise every day. I hope to keep up the momentum of that success this year.

Since I’m home-bound now most of the time and creating a permanent indentation in my couch, I really savor moments spent with family, friends, my husband. I am more present than I’ve ever been in my life and that has given me real joy. I’ve stopped taking on things I am not physically able to do with the idea that “things will just eventually get better and I’ll be able to do it” and instead started thinking about living a life within my physical limitations. The process of attaining these gifts was brutal but in many ways it was worth it.

The best gift 2014 gave me by far is acceptance. I spent a lot of energy the last few years hiding my illness, feeling shame and guilt, and fighting it. This had a predictable outcome of only making me worse. I am no longer fighting it so hard and resisting every change and every low. I truly learned how to get over it. I no longer feel the need to explain, apologize, or justify, even with my doctors. I no longer have the energy to do this anymore and it is emancipating as hell. I am what I am so take it or leave it. I want to scream from the mountaintop “Screw it! Whatever! I don’t care!” Then sip some tea and go back to lying down.

I don’t have any resolutions, just a few goals. I really hope to reclaim some of my independence that I have lost over the last year (including driving), conjure more creative output (maybe even some recording), and keep working toward acceptance. (And maybe, just maybe make more progress with diagnoses). I hope to get back to being in tune with the world again. 

I hope that you are also able to celebrate everything you have overcome and achieved this year and I wish you all the best in attaining your goals. I wish you good health, lots of rest, tons of chocolate, and genuine joy.

Thanks for being part of this journey :)

This song by one of my favorite artists perfectly sums up my year. Not sure how Tori Amos managed to tell my story way back in 2007.

Living

Stubbornness. I never knew this personality trait would come in handy later in life, but chronic illness requires a certain amount of stubbornness to persist. Stubbornness to thrive and persevere—to never relinquish the dream for a better life. You can’t fight for the life you used to have because that doesn’t exist anymore. You have to fight for a new life because chronic illness will try to defeat you. It will crush the things you love most in the world and stomp on them with a maniacal laugh. 

So I want to re-learn what it is to live. I’ve spent the last four years spending most of the time feeling terrible, going to appointments, doing tests, struggling through working, being couch-bound, feeling frustrated and afraid, and lacking fun and enjoyment. Because of this, I have missed almost everything I was invited to this year. I spoke before about how often it feels like life is passing you by when you are ill, and somehow you are just sitting in the eye of the storm. I miss the flavor of participation.

I used to love traveling, hiking, dancing, shopping, doing things, moving. But I’ve had to learn that my perception of “living” and doing the things I love has had to change since getting ill. I have to re-learn how to live within my limitations instead of just trying to fight those limitations. There’s a steep learning curve for this. People talk about physical limitations as just “mind over matter” and how we should never accept limitations, but these people have never had their body scream WHY-WOULD-YOU-EVER-DO-THIS-TO-ME every time you stand up or walk. These are the same people who tell me they would never use a mobility aid. Sometimes you don’t get to make the rules. But you can find a way to work within those rules.

So I finally had some time off for the first time in two years this summer, and I wanted to make the most of it, to try to regain the muscle memory of leaving the house and doing things. My husband, some friends, and I went on a short vacation in Tahoe recently. We rented a cabin and stayed for about a week. I was terrified of what the altitude would do to me or if I would even be able to do the drive, but I sucked it up and went to the cabin. The altitude was not my friend. I had to buy a shower chair because I wasn’t going to make it through showering without a head injury, so I finally rounded out my collection of old lady accessories. I took my wheelchair, walker, and cane, and planned to go do some things while we were there. I was mostly only able to sit and read, which is a pretty ideal vacation to me.

My sweet view while reading

My worst fear happened while we were there also: I had to go to the ER on our last day there. That’s a story for another time. I’m still trying to recover from this trip weeks later, but I don’t regret going. We had a good time despite how terrible I felt. However, I will leave Tahoe to the orthostatic tolerant and stick to sea level from here on.

Some other attempts at living fell through this summer, but it wasn’t all a loss. I didn’t get to see one of my favorite musicians in concert as planned. My friend and I played a show and I was brutally ill that day, so I didn’t get to play much. Illness is a cruel bitch. I make plans and build dreams and then she dashes them at every turn. Alas, I made good attempts at these things, and I’m satisfied with at least making attempts. Really, I spent most of my summer sitting in my yard and thinking about life. I had some time to finally wrap my brain around the changes in my life and learn how to appreciate these changes instead of just wasting all of my energy resisting them.

So this re-learning to “live” thing is a process and I’m stubbornly still trying to find a way.  Sitting on the couch and just pushing through life is not living. It may be living with your illness but it is definitely not living a life. It's too easy to give in or fall into the trap of not moving when your body refuses to comply with being a human being or when life hands you a really crappy hand of cards. But our only option in life is to keep going. I hope that others with chronic illness or other obstacles also have the same reserve of stubbornness to tap into to keep fighting and trying. I am interested to hear how others who face obstacles to living a full life try to navigate the desire to live. I know the struggle is universal.

I’m thankful I had some time off, I’m thankful for what I can still do, and I’m thankful for the great life I’ve been given. Dysautonomia can suck it. I’ve got a life to live. 

I gathered enough energy to get to see the lake one day while we were there. I'm glad I did

What Helps: Mobility Aids

This post is partly courage-training and partly the continued story of metamorphosis. Getting over that first hurdle—physically and mentally—to start using a mobility aid can be daunting so I wanted to share my experience. Many years ago, a lifetime ago even, I was a gymnast. I was the tallest on my team but I was a powerhouse. Floor and vault were my events. Let’s pretend uneven bars never happened. I used to soar in the air. We had a trampoline in our backyard and I would experiment and create new tricks all of the time. I remember what it feels like to fly.

For years, I was an avid hiker. My husband and I live two hours away from Yosemite National Park, and we would go hiking often, usually difficult, all-day hiking. On the long way up, sometimes you question why the hell you would ever choose such torture, but when you get to the top you feel exhilarated because you literally just-climbed-a-motherhumping-mountain.

Having to use a mobility aid before my geriatric years wasn’t my plan. Not everyone with POTS/dysautonomia needs a mobility aid, but some may be dependent on them. With dysautonomia, the body is struggling to maintain homeostasis and keep blood moving to essential organs, so movement and exercise can be exhausting and taxing. Gravity is a bitch for the vertically challenged, and sometimes the only way to be mobile and leave the house is to use a mobility aid. When the realization sets in that some kind of mobility aid is needed, it’s a disappointing and scary prospect. The physical struggle can pale in comparison to the emotional struggle to accept having to rely on a mobility aid. This is an invisible illness, and when you take that first step to get aid, it is no longer invisible, and some may question why you would need it if you “look fine.” Whatever our preconceived notions are about what disability and illness “looks like,” those notions are wrong.

I suddenly started having trouble walking a year ago. Since the POTS started, I have struggled to be able to stand still for any length of time but I could walk. Walking more than 30 feet at this point is extremely exhausting and precarious. My doctors have told me that the walking issue is not related to dysautonomia, so I am once again on the long road to diagnosis to figure this mystery out. Comorbidity and compounded illnesses are typical with dysautonomia.

I started using a cane in November last year, but I needed one long before that. Almost all dysautonomiacs have been told by some doctor somewhere somehow that it’s “all in your head.” Being told this when you are unable to function as a human being can permanently warp how you mentally navigate your disorder unfortunately. Unraveling the stranglehold this kind of invalidation has on your psyche can be a battle. I'm still trying to unravel it, so I spent months trying to pretend it wasn’t happening and believing that it was all in my head. 

When I finally relented and bought the cane, I was relieved. It has made getting around much

Sitting FTW!!

easier and I use it almost all of the time.  I also put off getting a disability placard and it has also changed my life. On the bad days, the VIP parking makes all the difference. I’m learning to let go of my pride and let my desire for a higher quality of life take over. The walking problem has worsened so I upgraded (downgraded?) to a walker, and I am also using a wheelchair. I can either leave my house more and use my wheelchair or walker or I can try to walk longer than 10 minutes and have to spend the next few days bedridden. Those are the breaks. Now I have to figure out how to decorate them. I bought my cane and wheelchair at a local medical supply store, but there are some websites with mobility aids, and I really want a cane from fashionablecanes.com.

For the chronically ill. you’ll encounter a variety of responses in the world when you have your cane, walker, wheelchair, etc. You’ll get

1.      Double-takes: “Why does she need that if she looks fine?” “Is that cane a fashion statement?” “Why is she pushing her grandmother’s walker?”

2.      Stares: Your days of blending in are over. At least look fabulous as people stare at you.

3.      Looks of terror: When people see me, sometimes they jump out of my way, rush to open the door, tear their children from my path. This comes from a place of kindness and can be pretty amusing.

4.      Questions: People will ask you about it. I don’t mind that much but I have never found a succinct way of explaining it. I was at a store with a friend recently and a guy said “You look too young to use that walker.” So I said “Oh, I’m older than I look. I’m actually 75.” Depending on how snarky I feel that day, my response varies. People will often ask if I was in an accident. Sometimes I’ll give them the 10 minute explanation of what is happening. They asked for it!

5.      Derision or Annoyance: This one is rare, but it can happen. If you are a human being in the world, you’ll encounter douchebags everywhere. Some don’t understand what it is to have an invisible illness and refuse to try to understand. These people have worse problems than needing a mobility aid. Try to smile at their ignorance.

6.      Sympathy: This one makes me the most uncomfortable. I don’t feel sorry for myself so please don’t feel sorry for me. I don’t mind if you want to hold the door open for me though.

This experience has given me a profound appreciation for the struggles of those who have been disabled their whole lives. Being disabled makes everything more complicated. Before this, I had no idea what the disabled went through on a daily basis. I had no idea how people treated them. I had no idea what a constant struggle it is. I had no idea how much people will focus on your difference. 

When I finally accepted that I needed a mobility aid, my life changed for the better, but I still resist every change along the way. I constantly tell myself “You can hold on to your pride and suffer and be home-bound, or you can get out in the world and try to live a more full life. You are not weak when you use resources. It takes an incredible amount of courage to take steps to protect your health.” Find the words you need to tell yourself to let go of whatever is standing in your way (no pun intended).

I may be kind of broken, but I can still do this

I may use a walker, but I’m still strong and athletic. Whatever abilities you had in the past do not matter anymore, but today does. Don’t let others' perceptions determine how you manage your health and the choices you make. You can take charge of your health and make a new life in the body you have now.