Disability And My Experience

DISABILITY AND LOSS One enters a time of disability with the expectation of loss. So many things change. Be it income and its source and amount; health issues that are part or parcel of the disability along with the medical appointment and medications (often on a trial and error basis); your ability to do things for yourself that you have always been able to do without a hassle now requiring help; time changes wreck havoc with your internal clock, sleeping patterns, daytime hours that would've normally been one's work day, and scheduling so many things around medical appointments and deadlines to file official papers to process one's disability claim. So many things change. I expected those kinds of changes. I had the advantage(?) of a couple of short-term disability leaves over the course of 40 years. Some disabilities are like that—while always there, their intensity ebbs and flow. However, I had this gut-wrenching feeling—call it intuition if you will—that this time would be different. It was like looking over may lifespan and trying to come to grips with the possibility that this time of disability was going to be long-term—or worse—as long as I live. So many things change. In perception alone, there is so much difference in thinking about embracing a month-long sabbatical with much gratitude and viewing a longer period of time for which I was still grateful, but that gratitude was mixed with so many other feelings. The relief of having a continued income and healthcare insurance was a huge plus. But, the reality was that I had a disability that was quite painful. The pain was constant. There was no way of regulating it to time or space. And while I received wonderful healthcare—the medication alone being a blessing—those anti-depressants and anti-anxiety meds tended to only the take the edge off. The depression and anxiety were daily acquaintances: 24/7/365. While I referred to the meds and counseling session as my best friends, the emptiness and void were more like an enemy finding new nooks and crannies to dig into. And, as I sit here writing, I am feeling another loss that I have been grieving since the beginning. While treatment is an ongoing, engaging process that can be joked about, calling it a friend, human friends are not the same. Human friends are either so or not. So many things change. But, the loss of friends and friendship are known and felt as a greater loss. The loneliness and sense of isolation cause one to ask what seems like unanswerable question. The questions are legion—did I do something, or fail to do something . . . is the distance I feel regarding those whom I usually had daily and weekly contact with but no longer hear from and phone going to voice message and email going without a reply about me or about them . . . where does the problem lie? What exactly is the issue? What solution or resolution can bring reconciliation? I will never forget a District Superintendent from whom I requested a home visit for the purpose of having Eucharist (i.e., Holy Communion). He seemed quite willing at the beginning. But, then, the date and time for this visit kept getting changed. The changes became a month of on again, off again. Finally, for the latest scheduled visit, I received a phone call from him, a couple hours after our scheduled visit, saying, "hey I can be on my way in an hour or so, but I will be rushed, so can you provide the bread and wine (i.e. grape juice)? Being home alone, my dear wife at work, and without the confidence of driving due to the side effects of the medications, there was no way I was going to drive 30 minutes each way, to and from the nearest grocery store. So, after so many disappointments, I said, "you know what, forget it!" It was then that I heard the relief in his voice as he ended the call with the usual, "take good care brother, I will be praying for you." That was the last time I heard from him. Thankfully! Yes, I know a DS's schedule can be hectic and demand much time and resources of body, mind, and spirit. But really the shepherd of the sheep in my district could not find 45 minutes to care for me. There are other stories I might share as time goes on. I must admit that writing about these losses has a way of reaching into the past and bringing all that chaos and mess to be lived again in this present time. So many things change. But, some do not. Grace, peace, justice, and love . . . always— G Lake Dylan