A Response to the Movie and Comic Book Kick Ass (Trigger Warning Based on Material)

Dear readers, this post and the aforementioned movie and comic book should all come with a trigger warning. I felt I should post this down here because I am going to try and write this with as few triggers as I can but Mark Millar seems to be one hell of an abusive person and therefore there is plenty of abuse to talk about.

I am an avid comic book reader. I like pretty much any comic you hand me. I’ve even managed to enjoy Archie comics. I did not enjoy Kick Ass. I read it because of the hype. I also borrowed it because of the hype. Hype usually means patriarchy. In this case it was formulaic patriarchy with racism, tons of homophobia, and of course as much child abuse as possible. That’s pretty much all Kick Ass is.

You see the writer, and I use that term loosely, creates (again a term used loosely) a world where superheroes kill everything as violently as they can. Wait what? It gets better. Super heroes kill everything that moves, and a father shoots his daughter repeatedly so she knows how it feels. Yes she has Kevlar. Does that make it any less triggering? NO. Does that make the training that Hit Girl endures to become someone that can kill with a smile less child abuse? No, it actually adds to it.

You see in reality I have had enough training that I could ostensibly have pulled off running around and killing people ala Hit Girl. Except that I didn’t want to kill people. Except that anyone that can kill with a smile has some serious psychological issues. Except that yeah my body sucks now and a huge component of that disabling pain comes from those same abuses. A child’s body will not handle the effects of being beaten in the same way as an adults. The damage is longer lasting.

So, right off in both the comic book and the film I was triggered. The film was in some ways less homophobic, and in many was more racist and anti woman. I realized as I watched Hit girl slaughtering a bunch of black men that Hit Girl is designed to reenforce the patriarchy. You see, if a woman has the power to kill you she will do it with a smile. She will lose her innocence (a lot of the blood shed metaphores of yore work out for this movie. Hit girl is rarely touched by males and is cold. Hard.) A woman that is capable of violence is instantly a killer. There are also elements of the madonna whore in a school girl outfit given. There were attempts made by Hitgirl to flirt. Yes, an eight year old or whatever she is was trying to flirt her way around.

Healthy imagery. In fact everything in this series is a carefully selected trope of what makes a man a man, what makes a woman great, and all of these are cliches. One of the worse changes between the comics and the movies was the reason that the big evil black man dies introducing Kick Ass to Hit Girl. In the comic book Kick Ass is going to save a stranger from domestic violence. (More triggers, and tons of racism). In the comic book the woman is black, the man is black. There is a part of this that is rare, as usually the black man is the predator after the young white girl. Of course there is also tons of racism since the man is a thug for the mafia and is apparently deserving of a katana through the chest…

Cue the movie. Any gaping void that was there in the isms was filled in. In the movie the high school girl that is with Kickass as his friend because he is supposedly a gay prostitute (she likes to save those poor people who aren’t with in the patriarchial boundaries you see) is now the victim. This is ahuge change of reason for both the characters. Kick Ass loses an element of heroism because he is just taking care of the girl he wants to have sex with. The black villain cliche o’ racism loses an element of being semi-original but still super duper racist because of course Hollywood cannot sell us something that isn’t made to reenforce the patriarchy so fully that I end up almost puking before the end of the film.

Mark Millar fans that see this as an attack, go ahead. It is. I am attacking his racism. I am attacking his homophobia. I am also attacking his comic book writing credentials. I can do better. Know how I know? I have WRITTEN COMIC BOOKS. If the villains kill less people than the heroes how are people supposed to identify with them? My issues with this film were so high I had to talk it out with a friend, and he had a great quote.

“the fight scenes which kind of sound cool…really bored me…there was no emotional reason behind the last hour of the film…yes her father was killed…but it almost didn’t feel like his death was truly acknowledged and rather it just went into super vengeance mode which no superhero should do. Where the hell was morality in all of this?”

You see, what makes a super hero heroic, as the movie Hancock tried to tell us between it’s cliches and tropes o racism and bad acting was that a hero will not be accepted by the world if they act with baseless violence. You may think so Mark Millar but you aren’t the world. I understand a great many people think this movie is great. Those people aren’t looking at this film and aren’t identifying which origins and characters you plagerised. Spiderman without powers, the Punisher, Batman/owlman/bluebeetle, oh and even your movie didn’t have a consistent soundtrack because the soundtrack was a mishmash of all previous heroing movie sound tracks. Could you BE more obvious with your movie,comic.videogame baiting cycle?

No. The answer is no.

There are people who like this film. The majority of people that like this film are stuck in the patriarchy unaware by choice of how baselessly ridiculous this film is. They have to work at it. You see, there isn’t anything original about Kickass. We’ve had better gore from Saw, we’ve had the same origin stories over and over. Except that the difference between Robin and Hit Girl lies in how they were trained. Yes Frank Miller tried to make Batman a violent abuser, but the public panned that and this was undone. Robin was trained carefully, so that he would know how to fight without killing. Hit Girl was trained to be an assassin without morals.

Kickass doesn’t. If anything the fight scenes are full of so many stupid choreographic moves that would get the characters killed, the set physics of that world are destroyed, and wait a rocket pack? Anyone that actually saw the film is probably wondering what Kickass coated his suit in so his butt didn’t catch on fire. This movie is not worth my share of the almighty dollar, the comic book s aren’t. In general, I don’t read or pay for anything with Mark Millar as the writer or creator. This will only continue until he learns how to write past a formulary, past the patriarchy, and with in the boundaries of what makes a Superhero SUPER.

Oh and if you have seizures, they use a strobe light in the film to try and make the fight scenes look cooler after they go video game baiting in one of the “climactic” scenes that felt so anticlimactic for those people I know.

So to recap, Movie bad. Mark Millarr is a hack. He hasn’t written anything I can think of that didn’t scream, “Hollywood, make me a movie because I am a pile of Cliche! Steaming RIGHT HERE!” This is just my opinion of course. An opinion I will back with my money and my mouth. Millar, if you want to ever have a write off let me know. Here’s your Corkscrew of Justice, you know where to shove it.

What makes the world go round?

I have had time to think, between the cleaning. My apartment, this temporary shelter is now clean. I look at it and if I could just feel safe, I know I could stay. I could live here.

I cannot open my door alone, every white van that drives by, it has me jumping out of my skin. Plus, the rat things that were here could return. I cannot stay.

I have reminisced too, thinking on what I was, what I could be. I keep going back to that fateful day when I became irrevocably disabled, when I couldn’t escape it any longer. Yes, I thought I was able bodied, but it was a lie. I was merely Temporarily Able Bodied.

I’ve played it out in my head, the moments, each heart beat. I remember the lift of the van seat, and tried to see what would happen if I had just flowed with the van. It’s a dramatic opera in my head, like an underwater ballet.

The crash of glass is added in, as I, not yet buckled when the accident hit, go through the window. I die in this scenario, the children too. Nothing is better. It is in a way worse. It is worse because of the potential I would’ve stiffled.

It’s the what if game. What if I had made a different choice? Would I still be pent up? Would I still be burdened by fear? Would i still have met my now Ex?

I don’t know. Too many unknowns leave shadows in the game, it lets my mind run wild. None of the alternative scenarios are good. Most of them end in a gory death. I turn my imagination off and wonder too, the what if’s of the future.

What if they cure my disorders? Will it be an in the womb cure? Eugenics? Do I want them cured? Then I back track into that past of mine again, dodging the shadows of terror, to acknowledge my disabilities have saved me too.

I cannot change the past, and again am reminded, I do not want to. I want to be just me. I like who I am. I like knowing what makes me tick. If I changed the past, I would be someone else, and I do not think I would be happy, if alive.

This too reminds me of the cure, if they were to cure this body, it would take an erasure of my own history, which would again alter me. Without my memories do I lose my essence? Probably.

I am tough, and I can be out and out mean. I have had to let this meanstreak run. Oh, I may make a few barbed jokes here and there, but while cleaning this temporary shelter, while digging my way out with the help of K my new care giver, I have had to be cruel.

I cannot return every single thing he has bought to him, because I do not have room to store it all. I am still astounded at the amount of trash that one person can accumulate. We went into the storage area today, I secretly long to find my missing stuffed rabbit. The only vestage of my childhood. I know she’s gone forever. I know he likely desecrated her.

I am going to do something wicked too. I am going to live. I will find a place that I can go, I will find a place where I can thrive. Today, I renew myself, fertile grounds to grow in. The seeds of who I am are planted, and although I have had many winters in this life, as the world I live in turns to fall, my own heart begins a spring.

I dream of feeling safe. I dream of freedom. I dream of walks on sunny days. I dream of taking the cats out to play. I dream of small children visiting me. I drema too, of the stories I will write. When I am moved, I can return to my novel. I can feel safe enough to let myself play.

Today, I plant the seeds of dreams. I set new goals. They are all short ranged goals, but they are goals. I will survive. I have survived. I am surviving.

My Name:
by Kateryna Fury

My name is not victim.
My name is not survivor.
My name is not Woman.
My name is all these things and more. My name is life.
My name is Joy.
My name is Love.
My name is freedom.
My name is strength.
My name is mine.

“Happy” Anniversary (Trigger Warning)

Yes, that says “Happy”. I am not sure this anniversary will ever be happy. I chose today to teach a class. I am trying to wind my brain down from the horrors that are the sound of fireworks. I spent the entire day in my room being cranky with myself. I got over that fairly early actually and enjoyed a mental vent session by reading a site called http://www.passiveaggressivenotes.com . Eight hours later I am feeling almost normal and great for a stressful PTSD triggering day. This was the first fourth of July where I did not get sick from the smoke.

I am still feeling like the world is made of sand paper against my skin, but, I can control my snarkiness now. It’s in my head, and that has always been the case. I like to think that even Spock from Star Trek actually thought vindictive things up. “Vulcan Blood. I’ll show you McCoy!” If not, well, I am definately not a Vulcan or a Half Breed so it doesn’t matter. I am just human. That has been the theme for the week. I am just human. I am not Super Cripple, Amazing Woman, or even Functional. Just human. In preparing for the class I am to teach in nine hours, I realized I chose this day on purpose.

This is where I pause, and hide the triggering things, so you have to click a link today to get to the rest of the juicy details.

Tracey Ullman Fail

So called comedians often use minorities for their humor. I never find this funny, and usually question why I bother trying to watch comedy shows after a certain point. Today I noticed the on-demand section for ShowTime had the “Tracey Ullman’s United States” section added. I started the first program, and right off the script starts with bashing illegal immigrants, Tracey Ullman, a white woman, in black face. It moves on to her mocking the Indian Culture, Islam, and Italians. She also mocks the very real medical ailment of Restless Leg Syndrome. It may sound funny, but, your legs burning all the time, unable to keep them still? Very problematic.

Instead of funny this show seems to show her hate. She makes fun of mostly ethnic groups, minorities, but makes fun of just enough white people to get away with her bigotry by the standards of those blind to their privilege. She makes fun of those from the south. She makes fun of everyone.

Hold up a mirror Tracey. Hold up a mirror to yourself and see just how sad you are. She goes with victim blaming, rape jokes, and does she see what this does to people? This isn’t funny. It is aggressively disgusting.

This may be old news, but, maybe someone will read this and will take notice. It is never funny to demean someone. It is never appropriate to put on black face. That was never funny. Ever. It is not appropriate to have your Indian Woman character sing her sentences in a mock Bollywood production while her life is threatened. It isn’t funny to play out acts of Xenophobia.

This show was supposed to be about America. Why then does any non white person have a thick accent that is usually unintelligible? Racism. Bigotry. Crap.

Not only is this show anti female, it is anti human. I will never watch another Tracey Ullman special. I can’t stand the stench of her tastelessness.

I am sure somewhere online you can find justifications for how she creates her characters to mock bigots. If the effect is more mocking of the minority, you have fail.

I felt this after one episode, I am trying a second.

More black face. More racial cliches. Showing a woman of color as toothless, uneducated, and irresponsible is NOT Funny. Mocking the Veterans of the Iraq war? Wrong. We need to support our soldiers even if we do not support the War itself. These individuals signed up with the intent to protect us.

Making fun of erectile dysfunction I can let pass, but wait… for many non elderly men Viagra has been an aid in achieving some of life’s more pleasurable aspects. It can help the disabled male perform, which can be psychologically freeing. Stating that elderly men who use Viagra will use it to sleep with whores is disrespectful to both sex workers and the elderly. Who has the right to judge the partner of another? Not me. Not you. Not Tracey Ullman.

Making fun of Poverty is inappropriate. Saying that a kid is “Shit at Math” is inappropriate. It doesn’t matter if parents say this all the time, a kid will believe it and will stop trying. It is important to encourage children, way to reinforce negatives.

Making fun of hard working individuals, those who have disabilities, making fun of those who are more naive about the world at large. None of this is funny. Doing this two episodes in a row? Mocking religion, not okay. No matter what religion it is. No matter how controversial you want to be, being a bigot is just not funny.

There is plenty of comedy without oppressing people. When the “funniest” stuff you do is antihuman, which this crap is… you are failing. When the non racist bits aren’t funny how do you get called a comedian?

I therefore give the elusive and rare Corkscrew of Justice to Tracey Ullman. You. FAIL.

Chain Letters about White Privilege

I recieved a chain letter long ago, and it came around again. this chain letter is about White Privilege. It touts it as a good thing, it even lists examples of privilege. The person who forwarded it to me had a note at the top, stating they didn’t see the big deal. I do. I have discovered most of my favorite blogs that are about feminism are written by People of Color. I am also aware of my white privilege. I wasn’t always but, I must address this chain letter. The letter will be in red, my responses will be in black.

So very sad, but so very true. I am not a racist….I am an American. I am very proud of my ethnicity, as all should be in this melting pot we call our home. But if we are all “equal” why is it that these comments are so true today???

Just how are these statements true? Why do we need labels for each culture that has been added to this melting pot? (Insert required fondu joke here)

Something to think about. . .

This e-mail does contain wording that is meant to express an open opinion to a major problem in the USA . It is estimated that only 11% of those receiving this e-mail will read it all the way to the end. In addition, it is estimated that only 1% of non-white color will read this past this point and 99% will blow it away because of the title. It is a shame this sentiment exists when we tell the world that the USA is the best place to Live, Worship, Work, and Play.

Very bogus statistics. Any time you estimate a percentage without any numbers to work with, it is meant to cause a reaction. I see this with doctors even, trying to ignore rare diseases. It is only rare most of the time, due to a lack of acknowledgment. We tell the world the USA is the best place, but, we live here so of course we will try and seem tough and good. I often see the USA as a little kid throwing a tantrum. If I could immigrate to somewhere I would. Not every person in the USA worships either.

“WHITE ” Pride”

White Privilege.

This is great. I have been wondering about why Whites are racists, and no other race is…..

Plenty of other races are. Every human has the capacity to be racist.

Proud to be White

Michael Richards makes his point………….. Michael Richards better known as Kramer from TVs Seinfeld does make a good point.

He does?

This was his defense speech in court after making racial comments in his comedy act. He makes some very interesting points…

He verbally attacked a man in the audience based on race, because he was heckled. As a public performer I know better, as do most. There was no excuse for his outburst. He could have used any other word.

Someone finally said it. How many are actually paying attention to this? There are African Americans, Mexican Americans, Asian Americans, Arab Americans, etc.

ETC? You want to label people, just to enhance your privilege. That is what I see from this.

And then there are just Americans. You pass me on the street and sneer in my direction. You call me ‘White boy,’ ‘Cracker,’ ‘Honkey,’ ‘Whitey,’ ‘Caveman’… and that’s OK.

No it is not okay. Every citizen of the United States is JUST an American. It is your own racism that is showing as you write this out. My friend who just became a citizen after immigrating is still JUST AN AMERICAN.

It is never acceptable to use racist terms against any person. I also do not know of Caveman being used against whites. I have heard it used against Persons of Color, predominantly those of African descent.

But when I call you, Kike, Towel head, Camel Jockey, Beaner, or Chink .. You call me a racist.

If you call someone those names, you are a racist. I am white too bub, you are being racist.

You say that whites commit a lot of violence against you…. so why are the ghettos the most dangerous places to live?

Whites do a lot of racial profiling in order to further their white privilege. Ghettos are not the most dangerous places to live, in reality they are dangerous yes, but only due to the negligence, police profiling and poverty. You will now likely argue that poverty is a choice. I never chose to be disabled or poor, to have to fight for my right to buy cheese. Neither did they. It is much harder to get a job if you are not a white man. You have privilege. Deal with it.

You have the United Negro College Fund. You have Martin Luther King Day.

We have pretty much every other holiday on the map, and we white folk also have most other scholarships. We too share Martin Luther King JR day. Do you think that the entirety of Black History has no white men in it? Are you really going to claim that the Civil Rights movement had nothing to do with white folk? Some marched with our friends who happen to be of color.

You have Black History Month. You have Cesar Chavez Day.

We have White History Year.

You have Yom Hashoah. You have Ma’uled Al-Nabi.

Again, we have white history year.

You have the NAACP. You have BET… If we had WET (White Entertainment Television), we’d be racists. If we had a White Pride Day, you would call us racists.

We have White Pride year, we have ABC, NBC, HBO, CBS, and every other network out there for what we want. A lot of lily white people on my TV. Not all of them as talented as some of the folks on BET.

If we had White History Month, we’d be racists.

Again? Are you running out of ways to show your privilege? White history year. Every history class focuses on white white white history. I barely heard of the civil rights movement in school. I only learned it happened because one of my teachers happened to be a PoC. I am glad for that because my education would be even more incomplete.

If we had any organization for only whites to ‘advance’ OUR lives, we’d be racists.

The GOP comes to mind. As does Wall Street, oh wait, Harvard!

We have a Hispanic Chamber of Commerce, a Black Chamber of Commerce, and then we just have the plain Chamber of Commerce. Wonder who pays for that??

From what I recall, chambers of commerce sprang up out of a need. The local Hispan@ chamber of commerce came up because the white boys wouldn’t let the persons of hispanic descent in. We pay for it, because we also refuse to share.

A white woman could not be in the Miss Black American pageant, but any color can be in the Miss America pageant.

A disabled person cannot enter the Miss America pageant. It is inaccessible. Even white disabled people. I have no issue with Miss Latin@ America, Miss Black America, or even Miss Fat America. They all exist. If we limit ourselves to one choice for everything, it does not circumvent our privilege and continues the absolutely obvious racism.

If we had a college fund that only gave white students scholarships… You know we’d be racists.

We used to. Most Ivy League schools qualify. We are pretty darned racist.

There are over 60 openly proclaimed Black Colleges in the US . Yet if there were ‘White colleges’, that would be a racist college.

Did you forget about SEGREGATION? A lot of people get illegally denied access to education based on skin color. I am all for the underclassed, non white, or non male having a leg up. It’s called EQUALITY. You claim you want it but you are spewing racism.

In the Million Man March, you believed that you were marching for your race and rights. If we marched for our race and rights, you would call us racists.

A lot of different groups march for their rights. The disabled even do it. Do you really believe there were no non blacks in the Million Man March? What about the Suffragettes? These women were mostly white fighting for the right to vote. They marched. The White folk in this country already have their rights, it is not about taking from you. It is about making certain that everyone has an equal opportunity.

You are proud to be black, brown, yellow and orange, and you’re not afraid to announce it. But when we announce our white pride, you call us racists.

I am proud of who I am, my ancestry is a part of that. This does not mean that as the ruling race, I have the right to expect those who have been dominated, abused, and beaten to not find pride in themselves when a large part of the American Culture is to try and devalue their race.

You rob us, carjack us, and shoot at us. But, when a white police officer shoots a black gang member or beats up a black drug dealer running from the law and posing a threat to society, you call him a racist.

The phrasing on this implies that only persons of color commit crimes. A lot of white people car jack, murder, and beat on one another. Violence with in race is often very high. This includes white people. Not every black person who is shot is guilty, in a gang, or a drug dealer on the run. Not all people of color are posing threats to society. Nor is every white cop going to racial profile. Do you deny that beating a person who is already in cuffs is appropriate? Denying the wrongs that happen does not make the rights apparent.

Why is it that only whites can be racists??

Delusion. If only white people could be racists then, the world would be very different.

There is nothing improper about this e-mail. Let’s see which of you are proud enough to send it on. I sadly don’t think many will.. That’s why we have LOST most of OUR RIGHTS in this country. We won’t stand up for ourselves!

We have lost most of our rights? Since when? Do you mean that enslaving other races is just fine? Do you mean that denying innocent victims is fine? What about segregation? It sure sounds like that is what you want. I am white. I am also aware that being white means I am automatically given more respect than a person of color. We white people have not lost our rights. This letter is a reaction to the fear of losing your power over another culture, race, or religion. There is a lot wrong with this letter, as you can see.

Why is it alright for us to stand up for our rights but if a group of women, disabled, persons of color, or even Gays, Lesbians, Transgendered Persons, or any mixture of the above do, your rights are suddenly going to vanish. Why is a culture and society advancing towards the elusive goal of equality so hard? Why do you see nothing wrong with trying to be aware of white privilege? I am a womanist. I am a white person. I have all my rights. Check under the couch for yours.

BE PROUD TO BE WHITE!

I would rather be proud to not be a bigot, I would rather be proud to be aware of my privilege, and I would rather be proud to look someone in the eye and see that they are a person not a threat.

It’s not a crime YET… but getting very close!

Congress, Most of Obama’s cabinet, and the Senate…. most of them are white. Why would they make it illegal to be white? Are you insane? I think you are.

It is estimated that ONLY 5% of those reaching this point in this e-mail, will pass it on.

It is estimated that ONLY 95% of people reading this letter and reaching this point have not deleted it because it is completely inappropriate, incorrect, and full of racist, white male patriarchial, and white privileged propaganda.

I do not understand the need to defend a racist action. This is the same as blaming the victim for being beaten, raped, or saying someone deserved to be murdered. What ever you believe, at times it is wise to question it. This can shake the foundations of your reality. It can also make you a better person.

I remember reading this letter several years ago. I was fresh into my legal adult status, and I felt things. Disgust mostly. I feared it was true, and realized upon a small bit of research that this was fake. I deleted it and asked the person who originally sent it to me to please go away and not talk to me anymore. My moment of realization caused some over reaction, but, I became aware of the Isms, the discrimination of others.

I had yet to taste it for myself. I post this here, and I welcome you to share THIS version of the letter, if you so desire.

Firing your Doctor

I followed a link in a blog and it lead me to Alas, a Blog. I found there a well written essay on undiagnosed chronic pain. The focus is on women and is intersectional because it deals with discrimination and medicine. As any disabled person knows, doctors do not always listen. It is easier to get a diagnosis when they are fresh out of Med School, but that diagnosis can be wrong via wrote of inexperience. I have written two other How To posts, and this is the third. How do you fire a doctor?

Step 1. Determine why you do not feel you are recieving adequate care. At times this comes from a doctor being frustrated that you are not magically cured of your congenital issues, and then losing their effectiveness. Other times this comes from sitting in the ER for three days wishing you could just get some help, being told “No drinking or eating, the doctor might need to operate” and being told that they can see nothing wrong with you, without tests.

Lets start with the latter first.

Step 2. Become the Bad Patient, Angry Cripple, or Annoying but Empowered Patient who knows their body better than their doctor. Most people when seeking medical treatment have a vague idea of what is going on already. They know where it hurts, and yet it is not really their job to know why before they get to the doctor. Most people in the Emergency Room are often disoriented, queasy, and focused on a fast cure. That is the tenet of the ER. When you do not get your care you must ask, as calmly and politely as you can, “I want a second opinion, can I please see another doctor?”

Expect anger. No professional wants to be second guessed. None of them like it, but some will gladly send you to see someone else.

Step 3. When they decide to ignore it and try and send you home, you might need to call an advocate. If you are disabled it is easier to find advocates, but if you are able find someone who is coherent to help push for your needs. This step is best done before you are in the ER, but, sometimes you can find a patient who knows how to handle it and is willing to help you. This advocate will help you repeat your request for a second opinion over and over until you finally see another doctor.

Step 4. If you can, remember to breathe between each step, each sentence, to try and retain a claear head. It is horribly annoying but remember losing your temper will make it worse for you, and no one else.

Step 5. IF you are in an Emergency situation and are at risk of death, DO NOT GO HOME. You need to stay there, even if they want to send you home. You might need to sign in right off, after leaving. If you are uninsured this can raise your bills. This is horrible, but, if you are in danger of death money is not an object.

Returning to our first scenario, firing your Primary Care Physician:

Step 2. Write a letter to your doctor, you are not sending this letter but you are detailing out why you do not want them to see you any longer. If you are insured you might need to write a letter to your insurance explaining these very things. You will have to explain to your new doctor why you left your previous PCP (Primary Care Physician) or Specialist if they are in the same health care system. In many cities one stands above the rest for their level of care, my personal choice is to stay with in the system I know and trust may differ from yours.

Step 3. Try and find a list of approved doctors with in your insurance, if you have insurance. If not, then, this step still applies. Find a list of doctors. Depending on how you work you might want to contact your local medical review board for a list of physicians with complaints against them. In America this is legal, if you are not in the US, you can still find this information. Some of it is available on the internet. If you still trust your previous doctor, try asking for a recommendation.

Step 4. Write a list of your known medical complaints, when and where you were diagnosed, if you have any preexisting conditions, and write a list of expectations for your doctor. Remember to stay reasonable, you cannot expect your doctor to do anything that goes against their personal morals or professional morals.

Step 5. Make the appointment. If you do not feel safe, do not stay in the appointment. You have freedom, you can leave at anytime. IF this is the case, start at step three.

There are other times you might need to fire a doctor. Very rarely have I said to a doctor, “You are fired.” I have however, said it most in the ER. Remember, firing a doctor does not black list you from treatment. It does not preclude you from proper care, and it does sometimes make a difference.

Your pain is not in your head. You can find an answer, do not give up. Remember, there is no such thing as Hypochondria. You have the right to proper medical care. If you are uninsured most hospitals have payment programs, or will even waive the cost if you are unemployed or low income. No money is not an excuse for a lack of care. In the US (sorry I just do not know the other countries laws well enough) you are guaranteed medical care in an emergency, and can often obtain it outside of one.

Why I did not turn to “God”

I am too tired to sleep. Instead I decided to read some disabled blogs. I am not a Christian. I rejected Christianity a long time ago. I do not reject Christians but I do not share your beliefs. My own religious choices come from exploration, to seek what is right for me. Part of this comes from the fact that the God of the Christians was used as a tool to facilitate the abuses I suffered. “God hates you. You must die to please him.” “God hates women who have short hair, and that child has short hair. She must have the devil beaten out of her.”

Two out of thousands of excuses that their God fearin folk used to beat a child. They used god as a reason for why I did not deserve to eat. A reason for my mother to stay with a man who wanted her dead. Before I was aware of my disabilities, I heard often how a disabled person found god. I keep a Jesus figure in my couch for occassions to “find” him and make the conversation stop, with a good laugh.

I do not want to offend anyone, but, I am offended by disabled people always being portrayed as God Fearing White Men. The man who saved me yesterday was Black. I felt comforted by his presence, as if two strong arms held me. Does this make god a black man? Some say feelings of security all come from god.

I am well aware that this conversation is a bit controversial. I respect many people of many religions. I read a blog by Wheelie Catholic with great regularity. I just ignore her posts that are just about god if I am feeling uppity. I am leaving god as a lower case because I am a polytheist. I believe in multiple dieties. Not every person comprehends the notion of one omnipotent and infallible being.

I cannot believe in one god. Instead I believe all religions come from a root need. I need something to put my faith in. I still pray, just to the gods that my brain can fathom. Religion begins with one person, be they a prophet (IE Muhammed, Jesus, Buddha) or a Seer. They see this unadulterated light, they feel guidance from it, and explain what they see. People see the light through them.

Eventually Prophet Seer dies. How do the people still reach the light? They take paint to the window that they looked through, trying to outline what they remember, and what they themselves can see. Over time, through generations, people might add things that are not there. They might try and demonize people who do not see what is there from the same perspective. They might forget some important lessons.

This perspective has let me help people who ARE Christians. I respect your religious choices, and expect the same respect. I may not always have my expectations met, and I am a known idealist, but I will not discriminate. I am reminded with this line of thought about a woman who discussed her life with me.

She was healthy, not disabled, but depressed. She was going to commit suicide and had come to a bookstore to find how to books as well as books on how to heal after someone you love commits suicide to leave with her body for her children. She had sent her disabled child to visit family, so that she would not be the one to find her. She felt drawn to me, she could see me in the shoes of her daughter, productively assisting someone else.

We talked for several hours about her life, and she wanted to commit suicide because she felt helpless. She thought if she died, her daughter could obtain the insurance money and pay for her medical treatment. I debated with her on the invalidity of this thinking, I shared access to resources, and she left with books on how to train cats. She is alive, right now. Her daughter did not lose her caregiver or her mother.

Isn’t suicide verboten to Christians? Don’t you go to hell if you commit suicide?

As if this wasn’t controversial enough, now I am going to bring up Eugenics and Hitler. I am against human euthanasia. I never thought about it, before Teri Chaivo. I was too busy struggling in my own blind existance and praying I could survive. When I heard about how she died I wanted to scream. I wasn’t positive that no one was home in her mind. I felt a sick certainty in my gut, as I had felt the snap of bone in my back, that she had felt each and every agonizing moment.

I began to debate in my mind about the value of euthanasia. It is wrong. I do not need more pressure on me to just die. My own nephew asked me why I am not dead. I explained to him that just because I hurt, doesn’t mean I do not feel joy and that I want to live. I have a lot to laugh about. I have a lot to live for.

I have considered suicide rather recently, due to the pressures of environment. I took away the abuser, and I haven’t thought about death since. I am still fighting to get my pain meds. I am facing another two month stretch without pain medication and this is frightening. I don’t want someone to decide that because I am aware of my rights and will fight tooth and nail for my civil liberties to be respected, that I should die. I do not want people to be put to death or denied treatment because they lack insurance. I was denied proper medical care and it disabled me further, doctors ignoring broken bones left me in permanent agony.

If you help someone die, add pressure to their lives, or even neglect them to the point that they must starve, you are a murderer. Our government is full of murderers in my eyes. When I think on this, I question all of these prolifers. Why is it that they can fight for an unborn baby who may or may not live, but they fight FOR the right to kill me? Most people who contemplate suicide have a reason they feel despondent. Usually there are ways to remedy this.

There is a woman out there whose name I do not remember, I heard about her hunger strike, to fight against improper care. First and foremost, the media victim blamed her, soft peddling the facts. Secondly, problematic patients are often given substandard care. No extra care is given for those with cognitive challenges. Often, when someone reacts with violence they are triggered.

This all forgiving God I hear so much about, the one who disables people for their own good, the one who lets children get beaten in his name. I cannot fathom his reality. The faith of millions of people, lead by a bigot (that would be the Pope), has been open to question. I am not so blind as to presume all Catholics agree with the Pope or even respect him. I am aware that the world is shifting, truths are coming out about the history of the Catholic church. Truths are coming out everywhere about reality. We are on the cusp of great change.

I do not feel hope when someone tells me how they felt god. I have felt my gods just as equally. I do not want to be told I have to be religious or even faithful now that I am disabled, but I do want people to question the Euthanasia debate from a standpoint of their personal religion, as well as a social one. History shows the danger of Eugenics.

Hitler was a gay disabled dark haired Jewish man. He hated himself so much that he tried to eradicate all disabled, gay, non blonde persons, many of whom were Jews. Eugenics were his tool. Washington and Oregon both allow for human euthanasia, and I can tell you now, other states may follow. Are we really going to allow for weak laws that do not require psychiatric involvement (as far as I know, I could be wrong) and for people who are “terminal” to die earlier? It may not sound bad to you, but, what does terminal mean?

I have heard it means a condition that will kill you. I have heard it is an uncurable condition. Does this make spinal cord injuries TERMINAL? Who defines terminal? I often disagree with medical professionals assessments of the condition the disabled live in. I lived in a very dangerous environment, and many people remain blissfully unaware that a respected person is actually an abuser. Many people ignore what to me is obvious. What if a person who hates the disabled comes along and determines that terminal means you are not white, have any physical ailment including Athsma, and must be redheaded? The end of the world comes.

One arguement for Euthanasia is that people are suffering. If someone is terminal, (definition meaning six months to live) they will die. Not true. My aunt has lived with cancer for over 25 years. Before I was born she was told she would not make it to the end of the week. She is still here, she is healthier than many people I know and she IS terminal. She will die from cancer eventually.

Arguements for Euthanasia also imply that the able bodied should have the right to tell me how I feel. You may look at me and see a woman shaking from pain, in a wheelchair who must surely hate life. I feel utter peace. Often, I find my internal balance can over ride the burning pain in my body. When I gave my speech today, I felt energized, I felt alive, and I did not feel like a disabled person. I felt like ME.

Euthanasia is bad. Some people may want to die, but, should they? Euthanasia devalues life itself. Do you think you should be put to death for your challenges? Do you think that if you break your back you will want to die? You might, but, you will over come the stupidity of people who ignore your rights. Euthanasia is prevalent with animals too. We kill thousands of animals, and people protest this. It still happens but there are some against it. Let’s not risk shelters full of rejected humans being lead to the slaughter. Can anyone say Soylent Green?

SuperCripple VS Advocate Woman! Issue#1

Sometimes you have days that feel like everything that can go wrong, will go wrong. Other days everything goes right, even when you least expect it. Today I had a day of Advocacy. I felt compelled to advocate not once, not twice, not three times, but four times. Each atttempt at advocacy costs energy, so, I am considering taking an epic nap right now. Instead, I see this as an  opportunity to discuss advocacy once again.

I found myself waking up to the phone and I actually answered it. I am antitelephone, and since ours does not have a speaker phone option I get pain when I use it. I still felt the need to answer and found myself being told that tommarrow at nine AM I was due for my mammogram. I had some questions, and was reminded the value of questions. Here is a sort of rewrite of the conversation.

“Don’t wear any make up, powders, deoderants or parfumes. These can cause false positives.”

“Great, I have some questions for you. Do I have to lay down during the mammogram? I am concerned about positioning.”

“Uhmn, you have to stand ma’am.”

“I am a wheelchair user, what is your accomodation for this eventuality?”

“Well the technicians can hold you up?”

I felt anger at that response. I should not be forced to stand during a painful proceedure. I consider mammograms painful, due to the fact that they crush your breasts. I will find out how painful on Thursday.I took my deep breath and responded with this.

“Ma’am that is wholly unacceptable. Not only could that damage my body further but it puts me at risk for passing out. I find the notion that you can just hold me up until you are satisfied humiliating as well.”

“Please hold.”

I was put on hold for disagreeing with her, though it wasn’t for very long. I hadn’t even decided what to feel about her thrusting me into Hold Limbo. This was good, I dislike being on hold and forced to listen to cheesy instrumentals of current pop hits. I once heard an instrumental of some Eminem music. That was just weird.

“Ma’am I see here you are not over fourty. I am cancelling your Mammogram, you can just get an ultrasound.”

“No, my doctor and I discussed the need for a mammogram. My doctor knows what I need, and you are not a doctor. You are a receptionist. It is your duty to follow the orders given to you by doctors. You can cancel the appointment, but, I would like the number for the head of radiology please.”

I was wide awake now, and having dreamed last night of a future when I was fighting for the rights of others on a National Scale, I felt inspired. In my dream I was the next Civil Rights Leader for the disabled community. My voice was the voice that pushed for training for the police, that pushed and pushed until finally equality came. It was a good dream and pushed me into action. I was put on hold again. She came back and said something I found shocking.

“I don’t have the head of radiology for our hospital.” What? Why not?! Instead I took a breath and asked, “Then, is there someone else I can talk to?” She was quiet for a moment then said, “I think the Women’s Hospital can accomodate your need.” Not only is the Women’s Hospital my neighbor, but, I love that place. When I need an ER I can get in, almost immediately. She did give me the number for the head of Radiology for the Women’s hospital.

I called and made my appointment, and then I left a voicemail for the woman who runs radiology, expressing my concerns and my challenges with the Mammogram. I wasn’t even ready to drag myself out of the bed yet. This takes time and my body wakes up paralyzed. She called back before I had even managed to scoot to the edge of the bed. We’re meeting on Thursday to discuss accessibility with in the confines of her hospital, and to discuss a plan to raise awareness for other hospitals so that women can get their mammograms. She agreed with my statement that a woman should not be denied a medically necessary and preventative screening based on her ability.

On Thursday I will be in a nonchair, but I will not be standing and she promised options for adjustability in seating to protect my body from the risk of fainting. There will also be extra nursing staff incase of the inability to accomodate that. This is challenging, at times my wheelchair isn’t adaptable enough. This was a victory. I negotiated for what I needed and am in return going to fulfill a need for others.

After getting dressed I was going to grab Sprite to take her with me for my speech, because I miss her working and she has finally begun to regain her Meow. She had a temperature. Instead of letting her come out, I had to let her stay in. This either was helpful or harmful, a mixture of the two most likely. Right now she is so glad I am home, that she is curled up on my knees with a little kitten grin. I need some blood work done, and after fasting and making myself drink only water (makes me queasy) I went for it.

My person unloaded me and my chair, and while he hefted the ramp back into the car I went on my merry way to sign in, that way I wouldn’t have to wait. I did not make it in the door. The curb cut was blocked off by a car, a woman sitting inside waiting for someone. I considered my options and decided for passive protest, waiting to educate the miserable soul who could be so inconsiderate. Out came a man who wore a hat declaring he fought in World War Two. He is the first veteran I have not thanked for their service to this country. I feel slight guilt at that, but only in the form that I could not undermine my own rights.

This converastion was full of his hatred of the disabled. His wife had just broken her leg and couldn’t walk to the car. I understand needing to use the curb cut for a chair. Instead of making sure anyone else who might be in a chair could use the curb cut and go inside, he felt the need to take fifteen minutes of my time with his selfishness. He felt the need to make it appear that it is my fault I cannot go over a curb, and that because he fought in the war he gets a free pass. I did my best to keep a calm tone, and success was had. He was not happy when he left, though I did try to accomodate his need to enjoy his able bodied superiority, his white priviledge and his manliness. I did not want to upset him, I wanted to educate. Here is my conversation summary there.

Him: “Move. I can’t pull forward with you there.”

Another car had come up behind him after I had made myself cozy blocking him effectively in his spot.

“Sir, you are breaking the law. You left your car illegally parked. blocking me in the street. Not only did this endanger my saftey but it is a federal crime. ” I then started to move out of his way.

“So what? I needed to put her wheelchair back inside. She broke her leg.”

“Sir, there is a parking spot less than three feet from us. You should have used it. Next time, please make certain that you are not denying persons access to the emergency room.” The ER is right across from the medical lab. I found myself at that moment wondering if today was ADA Awareness for the folks at the Women’s Hospital courtesy of yours truly.

“Well I fought in World War Two.” That part made me want to snarl at him about rights, priviledge and why he fought. I wanted angry discourse. Instead I took a deep breath and responded with this.

“I do appreciate my freedom, but, that does not give you the right to violate the federal law. My civil rights include access to this hospital.” I was out of the way of his car now, and he had begun to snarl. I lowered my voice, just a bit, “You should be aware that I could call the police to have them enforce the Americans with Disabilities act, having you fined. Instead I chose to make you aware of the law. ”

“No one reads the ADA anyway, you’re the only wheelchair person who has.” This man was using the ADA for his wife, so that she could have a reasonable accomodation of transport to their car. The ADA protects his right to medical care for service related disability, as do other non ADA laws.

“Sir, I am afraid you are misinformed. Most disabled people discover the value of knowing their rights, so that when people discriminate they can educate. You should try reading the ADA, you might be surprised at how much it effects you.”

He finally got in his car and snarled at me, “No one cares about you gimps.” It was difficult to not give him a rude gesture. Instead, I smiled and said, “Sir, I am not a gimp. I am merely wanting to go and get a blood draw. I need my cholesterol checked.” He turned purple. When people turn purple I always want to see if a purple people eater is around. This makes me relax, internal laughter at their overreaction feels good. “Have a nice day sir, if I see you doing this again I will call the police so that you can pay the fines. The minimum, I believe is about $500.”

I was reacting to my sun exposure at this point. My right ear was throbbing, as it had been for some time, and my back ached. I signed in for my blood draw, then began to see about getting my sleeves up. My good arm for blood had developed a giant sore right over the spot where the needle had to go. I have two spots to draw blood, one in each arm. Everywhere else is not an option. This meant that even the small children’s needles aka Butterfly Needles were not only necessary but any deviation could result in my bleeding. I have the hemophiliac gene and often display symptoms, though, my doctors assure me this is not true hemophelia. I agree with that diagnosis as I do not always bruise easily. At times I am injured and no bruises appear in my flesh.

My next and third for the Women’s Hospital opportunity to advocate came as soon as I went back with the tech. I reminded her of my need for a butterfly needle, and she went off to gladly accomodate me. She was great, and it turns out a med student. First, I had to argue with her teacher about the butterfly. They apparently keep them locked up now, to cut costs. This means if she is not there, a person needing a butterfly cannot get their blood drawn.

“Ma’am my student tells me you are requesting the butterfly needle. We reserve those only for people who actually need them.”

“Without the use of the butterfly needle I bleed enough to require hospitalization. Also, most of the time I then require six or seven attempts at penetration.”

“Are you a hemophiliac? You don’t look like a hemophiliac.”

Slow deep breaths. I had left my person out in the waiting room. I may be terrified of needles but I am not about to have him hold my hand when I can control my terror.  “That is discriminatory. Not only do I suffer from excessive bleeding, as I stated to your technician, but, declaritive statements that try to diagnose ability based on appearance are disabling to this hospital.”

She made a face and said, “I’ll call the head of security and have him escort you out.” Disagreement means I cannot have my blood test? I put on my inner Mule and let my stubbornness guide me.

“I’ll be contacting my local ACLU to sue this hospital. In this economy this hurts more than just you. I do not want to have to sue, and yet, people like you perpetuate the stereotypes of disability. Calling security merely proves your need to dominate the wheelchair user who knows her body. You will provide her with the butterfly needle, you will also apologize for your bigotry. I do not care if you actually mean it, but, if you want to discriminate, I will fight you. I will fight you so hard that you memorize the ADA just to survive the onslaught. I am just one woman, who has made a reasonable request. I have a speech to give in the next hour, and I would rather do that than bleed out in your hospital over your under educated notions.”

This was a bit harsh, but, being straight out nice was not working. I said this mostly tonelessly, trying to not let my anger win. Yes, I threatened to take legal action. This is my right. I have the right to sue for action when I am being discriminated against, denied proper medical care, and I also know the power of my words. She apologized, gave the tech the b utterfly needle and walked a few feet away to watch the student work. Her apology was a muttered thing that I barely heard, but, she relented. Before I tell you about my educational moment with the tech, I will say this. She stopped me on my way out and asked me where she could read the American’s With Disabilities Act. I wrote out several URLs for her. She will not make the same mistake again, especially as she is now educating herself.

The tech was curious. She asked me how I knew what to say and do. She also discovered that aloe allergies exist. I watched her reaching for the green gloves, the name on the box actually clear enough for me to read.

Me “Do those contain aloe? I am allergic to it.”

She grabbed another nonlatex glove, “Really? Sorry about that. I never considered allergies beyond latex. Do you have a lot of allergies?”

“Yes, I have enough that I have to be on constant guard against them.”

She nodded then and asked, “So,  how did you learn about the ADA?”

“I was told I was healthy as a child, but crazy. I was told I hurt myself because of the sores from one of my genetic conditions, supposedly rare. Hospitalization trained me to try and hide everything wrong with me. As an adult this challenged me to accept my diagnosises. The doctors had been wrong. I was treated for hypochondria.”

The H word caused her to roll her eyes, “So, you really didn’t need the butterfly then.”

“No, I do. I have medical documentation for the need. Hypochondria does not exist.”

“Ten percent of the US population has it.”

This made me smile. I love the statistics game sometimes, it can be an easy win.

“Okay, how many people have hard to diagnose, rare conditions such as Ehlers-Danlos Syndrom or Fybromyalgia?”

“Uh 30%.”

“So, with these numbers increasing daily, people suffering for years with their invisible illnesses and the like, what would you guess the percentage to be for undiagnosed illness?”

“40%.”

“Well, if Hypochondria is in just ten percent of the population, then, that covers your instances of hypochondria. It does not exist. I am in this wheelchair because my pain was not allowed to exist for so long, that my invisible illnesses became visible.” She was quiet, and finished the draw before she said.

“So, what other disorders of the mind aren’t real?”

I shrugged then, and answered honestly, “I do not know, but, statistics cannot accurately guide you or any other medical profession. They can only analyze the data that is present.”

This was the fourth chance to advocate. I am not counting the usual advocacy for safe food at fast food resteraunts. Dairy Queen had an employee who didn’t comprehend about no bread and no pickles. Her manager is going to read the new ADA ruling, I gave her a heads up that more people with food requirements will venture out now, and she should be prepared because when her employees tell someone to just eat paper and ruin their food, it will hurt her. Some advocacy and education comes from the strangest places.

I made it in time for my speech, the first speaker, Don Dubois, is an advocate for Lupus. He gave an educational seminar on how to negotiate. I learned from this, and had some of my own self discoveries reenforced. I picked up new techniques I will try, and, I got to see a great speaker. His disability melted away as he worked the room.

My speech, Wordabration was hard. I admitted for the first time outloud to a nonmedical group that I have suffered abuse. I admitted the challenges behind why, and honored the words that lead me to my freedom. I explained my wordabration, and recieved a standing ovation for my speech. I am so happy to return to my Toastmasters Family, that I used the words. I even remembered my closing.

I never use notes for speeches, I panic if I forget something, and then I ruin my flow. Everything felt like a scene from a movie. Everything felt wonderful, safe, and I was awarded the best speaker award for this week. To me, for my first speech in six years, this is a great honor. I am going to evaluate a speech next week and volunteered myself to work more speech contests.

I came home to a half dozen voice mail messages, and ran out of advocatability today. I had to have my Person make some calls for me. Walgreens automated system had gone insane, trying to deny the prescriptions, deleting one, and filling one.I also had my right earlobe explode. Apparently, since mid December when I last wore earrings, I had a growing abcess. It hurt, and now I have five holes in one earlobe. I am certain I just lost the ability to wear earrings.

This is a fairly average day, when I think on it. Every chance to educate must be taken. I feel at times like the world expects me to be SuperCripple, flying my way around their bigotry. Instead, I aim for Advocate Woman, Advocating her way to JUSTICE!

Womanist Musings

I have been posting on Renee’s Blog Womanist Musings for a few days. I started to reply yet again to yet another hateful comment, and instead felt I should post my comment here. It is very long, and, this opinion deserves to be spread around. This is a link to the post that sparked this comment.

I would love for the ism flinging to stop. It hurts me in my heart. I am sensitive, and often that is overlooked when I advocate. Each person has emotions connected with the hot topics that we fight for. They are hot because our passions burn inside of us.

I too would love for everyone to stand up/roll up together to fight for causes that are not related to our own passions. I believe this would indeed give great strength to the movements. That is also a Utopian ideal that would prove the isms were truly dead. It is not happening with in my life time, though I will dream for it.

I also wish for people to acknowledge the overlap of isms. This is why people get upset with blanket appropriations. Someone posted in these threads that everyone has the same response to being oppressed. This is a lie. Some people shut down, others become angry, still more become violent. There are infinite reactions, feelings, and responses to the isms in the world.

I am disabled. I face ablism whenever I go outside. I face it when I pay my rent. I am a woman. I face sexism just as often. Sexism hurts less emotionally but not in the reality of society. I would not however compare a wheelchair user’s challenges with those of a white woman who has working legs.

I am a Bisexual. I face sexual discrimination when I go on dates with women. I have at this time found a man who fits my ideals, but, I never expected to do so. I spent most of my adult life self identifying as a Lesbian. Some GBLT might see my falling for a man as a violation of the cause, some might see a person like me who has one male attachment and a thousand female as an underminer to the cause. My own happiness doesn’t matter in that aspect.

I face other isms, each of us likely does. Race is an ism I face from the side of a white woman. I am often scoffed at and told to stop being nice to people, because the (racist word for a POC here) do not deserve it. I get this response from the Hispanic persons in my area not just the white.

When we attack people for having different perspectives we weaken our causes. When we try and deny that a POC can be GBLT, disabled, or have any issues beyond race, I get angry and I am not a POC. When we, the we in these statements being GBLT activists, ignore any subculture within our cultures we negate all of the work done to try and raise awareness with in our group. We are not mindless borg, we are each individual humans with different goals and expectations from the movement.

This is why I find it distasteful to use blanket appropriations. I cried earlier when reading this post, because we would never accept appropriation as white people. We appropriate and it looks like we want “Pain Cred”. This goes further, poisoning the movement by devaluing the actual experience that every member has had.

Why not post a picture of one of the gays who was curb stomped in the bigger cities? Why not post a picture of the newly forced divorcees? There are a thousand non stolen pain filled images. IF you want a shocking image, try and find an image of a mixed race couple, with one disabled, both women or men, and try and show them as they truly are. Show their challenges, and show their potential for happiness.

Too often the GBLT loses sight of the fact that there is more than MY own desire for activism. At times instead of sorrow, happiness is more effective in the quest for equality. Happiness is a universal emotion, and is often the main reason activists continue on.

Just Die Already

Tonight while shopping for clothing at the Thrift Store I had two experiences, one uplifting the other utterly depressing. Lets start with the depressing one, that way we can end our time together on a happy note. I was told to just die.

I was struggling to check the size of this really sexy green dress, alas it was too small or I would own said sexy green dress. I asked for help from the employee nearest me and while she was great, the hispanic man sitting on a couch chewing his cud looked up and said, “You can’t do it yourself? Just give up and die.” He said this without blinking and just resumed staring off into space. The poor employee fled, she wasn’t sure how to handle this and likely could tell I was about to go KABOOM. Few things make me want to yell, but being devalued as a person who should just die? I had to ask why.

“Why would you say that?”
“Life ain’t worth living if you can’t walk. You have to be sad, so just give in and die.”
I ranted, in the store, and half expected my significant other to come and ask why I was so pissed. I did not yell, or he would have. I haven’t told him yet either. I want to make sure the man is gone so he doesn’t get beaten down by my man.

How do you respond when someone devalues you to the point of declaring that you should be dead? I get angry. I told him this. My legs may fail, but, I have the energy to shop, sing, and actually contribute to society because of my wheelchair. I am happy, I have great sex, and every reason to live that he does, maybe more. I managed to not cuss, trying to remind myself I have to set an example.

I also asked this man if he had forgotten about Hitler or just wanted to sound like his best friend. I am not stupid, I am not weak. I am full of fire and the spice of life. I am a person. I have every right to live, just as the young man who followed me around that store with Downs Syndrome does. I asked the man too, why he was sitting on the couch wasting aisle space, since I might need to roll past him eventually. “My feet are tired.” That was when I smiled coldly, and snapped out, “Mine aren’t. I think I am going to go and look at shoes, since mine won’t get worn out. Sorry your feet are tired and you want to die, but I can go eight miles per hour on this thing, I can go back to the future.” I went then and found my caregiver.

Could I have handled that better? Probably. I have issues with being told to just die. My father spent my entire childhood making sure I thought death was the easy way out. I am also feeling a bit depressed due to the acceptance stages of new disability and a side effect of wanting to confront my mother, but not being able to do so. I am aware eventually she will read my blog, but I plan to talk to her before I give her the URL.

Some of you may comment that the disabled having nothing to do with Hitler. Sorry, but it wasn’t just the Jews who were killed. Disabled people, persons who were not just white but of mixed race. Disabled people, persons with even manic depression, and sometimes someone who pissed the Reich off were all labelled. One of the many labels I would’ve worn in the concentration camp was Blod or German for stupid. A black square with white letters. I never will forget, neither should you. Yes, genocide is horrible, but, trying to eradicate disability or assuming that all disabled people are second class citizens? This is just as horrid. I am afraid of the future, I am afraid that assisted suicide will become legal, and that more pressure will be put on the disabled.

This happened after my uplifting moment, but I am excited about that. I was in another store, hanging on tightly to this high fashion top that was going to run me four dollars. It’s in style right now, my size, four dollars, and not puce! I had to have it. My rental scooter started bucking like a Bronco. I lost total control over it and almost ran through a window. A man in a wheelchair blocked my exit point with his body, thankfully neither of us was hurt. I looked up and I recognized him from the Veteran’s Shelter I used to volunteer at. This shelter is just for the disabled veteran. He has grown in health and was looking so happy. He did not recognize me. I thanked him for his service to our country and for saving me.

He expressed gratitude at my understanding the sacrifice. He became a para when he took a bullet in his spine for this country. He expressed his frustration at seeing any other person, especially a young person in a chair. We talked, and I told him I sacrificed my spine for children. We communed in the honor of life itself. He told me it was good to see someone who wasn’t down about their chair. He’s in a nursing home because he cannot care for himself and although home health care would likely be enough, Medicare denied him this. We exchanged information, and I hope to help him go home again. He fought so hard before for his home. I think he recognized my name, but, that does not matter. What matters is that he exuded strength, saftey, and honor.

He honored me by risking pain to protect me. I am grateful for that, how can I begrudge someone a sacrifice? I focused on this man when I wanted to lose my temper with the second fellow. I know better than to yell, but, it would have felt good. There are so many times when I am told I am a second class citizen. I am first class. My significant other tells me he loves me because I am a Lady, not just a woman, but a Lady of the highest degree. He reminds me why I must maintain my dignity, and he does not see it as shameful for me to cry.

I am going to live a long time. I must, because I have so much to offer this world. Bicycles are much like wheelchairs too. They have two wheels, they ambulate for you, leading you towards a destination. The only difference is wheelchairs come inside and are differently shaped. You say our tires are dirty, I say so are your shoes. You say we make the aisles wide, an inconvenience for you who wants to over stuff your shop. I say, aesthetics. You say I am a burden to society because I am currently not working. I say society and it’s bigotry is a burden to me. I should not be assaulted when I go out because of my wheelchair.

Today is also the first time in a long time I looked at clothing that will show off my magnificent bosom. I have more than ample cleavage, and, I am done hiding every bit of it just to comfort people who expect every woman to be shaped like a hanger.

I am done with self slut shaming, and I am done with conforming to stereotypical fatty clothing. I am fat, but, I am also gorgeous. How can a person who is happy be anything else?

Do you deserve to live? I agree, you definitely do. Lets live on together in our high fashion and accessible world.

Two Grey cats with wide eyes peering into the camera, captioned with "Sorry to wake you, we need your shovel."