That's retarded.

Today, a friend of mine on Facebook shared a wonderful link to another blog.  It wasn't a particularly long post, but it had an impact on me.

How many of you, like me, respond to things we disagree with,don't like, think is awful or just have a negative reaction to with, "That's retarded" or, "That's gay"?  I'm very guilty of using the latter phrase. 

I have a coworker of mine who is an incredibly beautiful man.  He's generous (almost to a fault), funny, kind, hard working, always smiling and just plain awesome.  He's also gay.  For whatever reason, it never occurred to me that when I say "That's gay" that it was hurtful to him.  I was using the word gay as a pejorative, and therefore saying that he is someone to think less of.  Of course I don't mean or even think that.  But I also wasn't thinking of what I was saying. 

One day, he was telling me a story about a weird call he had taken, or some not very happy situation in his life that I was commiserating with him on and said "That's gay".  He just looked at me and said, "Thanks."  Nothing else.  He didn't go off on me, didn't tell me off, didn't call me hurtful things, didn't react negatively in any way.  That's not his style.  He'd sooner gut himself than willingly hurt someone, even if it was in defense of himself.  All he said was, "Thanks." 

There was so much hurt in that single word.  So much disappointment.  So much sorrow.  And I had caused it.  I felt about half an inch tall and immediately apologized for saying that.  There was no excuse for saying it.  All I could do was beg his forgiveness.  Being the amazing guy he is, he accepted my apology and we moved on.  I have tried to be more cognizant of my words since then, but I can't promise that I have never used that phrase or "That's retarded" since.  It's become such an entrenched part of society's (the Western society at any rate) lexicon that we literally don't know what we're saying when we say it. 

Many of my friends have children who have Autism or are on the spectrum or have something in their brains/bodies that keeps them from living like "normal" kids.  A lot of my friends do, in fact.  Never, never would it occur to me to call them retarded.  They're not (not in the way that people think of the word, at any rate - because let's face it, when you hear the word retarded, you're not thinking happy thoughts, are you?  It's a sad, and frankly disgusting reality).  They're some of the most beautiful kids I've had the pleasure of seeing grow up through pictures, stories and videos posted on Facebook and their respective blogs.  They have some of the biggest smiles I have ever seen, and I absolutely love reading stories of them coming to grips with their situation and learning how to cope with it.  When their parents struggle, or when they struggle and their parents vent online, I hurt for them.  When they're over the moon because their child said "I love you." to them, I rejoice with them.

I don't know how or why "That's retarded" and "That's gay" became an accepted turn of phrase but we really need to think about who we are saying that about, and stop saying it.  You wouldn't say "That's so cancerous" or "That's Chinese" as a pejorative, would you?  No, because people who run you out of town for saying something like that.  You'd be labeled at best insensitive or callous, and at worst a bigot or a racist.   Well guess what?  Every time you (and I) say "That's gay" and/or "That's retarded" that's exactly what you are.  An insensitive, callous, bigot. 

Let's end the use of the R word, okay?

9/11

I remember exactly what I was doing, where I was and what I was thinking/feeling on 9/11. 

I was 18 years old, and I had spent the night at a former friend's house.  I was crashing on the couch, and her dad just came in from his early morning job delivering news papers.  I used the crash at their house a lot, so I was used to hearing her dad coming in at around 6am.  Normally, I'd just ignore the noise he made and go back to sleep.   On rare occasions I'd say a quick hello, ask him how his day was and then go back to sleep.

This time, it was different.  He came in and immediately woke me up and said, "You need to turn on the TV.  Now."  I was stunned, but did as he said.  I asked him if there was any channel in particular he wanted me to go to and he told me to turn it on to MSNBC.  As I was still pushing away the cobwebs of sleep I was having a hard time really latching on to what was being talked about, but everyone was sounding very tense and worried.  Then, I saw it.  The backdrop to the coverage was a live image of the Twin Towers.  On one of them was a huge plume of smoke. 

"Is that....?" I asked.

"Yeah.  A plane crashed into one of the Twin Towers.  They think it was an accident, but they're not sure." the dad replies. 

"When did this happen?  Do they know who did it?" I'm completely glued to the TV at this point. 

"It just happened.  I heard about it on the radio as I was driving home.  I don't think they know who did it, yet."

We sat there watching the news, quietly contemplating all the repercussions of this.  How many people were hurt?  What happened to the pilot?  Was there something wrong with the plane?  A thousand thoughts, feelings, concerns, questions were racing through my head and then the second plane hit.  I couldn't believe it.  Two planes??  Right then, I knew.  Everything will be forever changed.  In less than ten minutes, the way we look at the world won't ever be the same.  There was no question any more.  This was an attack.

What was really difficult for me was watching the anchor people really struggle with what they were seeing.  I think Brian Williams was on that morning, along with another woman and they didn't have a clue of what to say.  They were seeing this at the exact time we were, so they had no time to process what they were seeing.  No time to compose themselves.  No time to come to terms with the fact that one of their city's greatest landmarks was literally going up in smoke. 

My friend woke up and came out of her room at this point.  I can't remember who got her; it may have been me.  I told her what had happened and it was around this point that we learned about the other planes going down in Pennsylvanian and the Pentagon.  Everyone was quiet in the house.  My friend's toddler son was up and being loud (as toddlers are wont to do) so she put him in their room to play with his toys as we all watched in horror.  More and more footage was coming in, and more and more people were calling in.  Experts, witnesses, politicians.  All of them were trying to keep their cool as they were seeing what was happening.  

Tunnels, bridges, borders, airports; everything was shutting down.  America was locking it's doors. 

It seemed like we were watching the news for days when, two hours after the first plane hit, the southern tower collapsed in itself.  What was odd was the that people watching the coverage were aware of it before the anchor people.  Tears came to my eyes as I watched, knowing that if someone survived that, it would be a miracle. As reports came in that the tower had indeed collapsed, the anchor people just couldn't believe what they were hearing and seeing.  They kept asking the people who were reporting this if they meant something had fallen off the building, or if just a part of the building collapsed, and the people reporting would say, "No. The whole building has collapsed.  There's nothing left.  It's gone."  You could hear them fight back tears as they were fighting to stay professional, trying not to incite fear or panic from their viewers. 

September 11th has always had special meaning to me.  My older brother's birthday was that day.  One of my oldest friends birthday was that day also.  I have always had a reason to celebrate and be thankful for September 11th.  As I was watching New York go up in a plume of smoke, my thoughts went out to these two very important people in my life and about what was possibly going through their minds.  Were they feeling guilty for celebrating their birthdays?  Would they even want to celebrate it anymore?  Would they feel like they shouldn't?  I imagine I would be thinking along those lines if this happened on my birthday.

2,996 died as a result of the 9/11 attacks.  2,977 were innocent victims.  The number of victims of the attacks perhaps cannot be counted.  So many families are grieving the loss of their loved ones who died on that day.  So many people who managed to survive the attacks will be forever haunted by what happened that day. So many people were injured that day, have suffered or perhaps are still suffering from survivor's guilt, post traumatic stress disorder.  Many of those people will forever wear a scar on their bodies that mark that day.  Dozens, if not hundreds, of firefighters, police officers, paramedics, doctors, nurses and other medical, emergency and military personnel have died or were injured as a result of trying to save as many people as they could from the attacks. 

Children lost their parents.  Parents lost their children. 

Everyone around the world watched the day the world changed, just like I did.


*****Writer's Note*****

For many in BC, while this is a day for remembering, it's also a day of joy as a little boy was returned to his parent's loving arms.  Kienan Hebert has been found!  Sparwood RCMP received a call at around 2:00am this morning and were told that Kienan was brought back to his family home.  The Heberts were staying at a friends' house down the road and they saw a large police presence in front of their house.  They went over to their house to see what was going on and they saw Kienan, in the living room, holding his blankie. 

The suspect, still believed to be Randall Hopley, is still at large so please keep your eyes out for him and let the police know if you spot him or his vehicle, a light brown 1987 Toyota Camry, BC License plate 098 RAL.

Is Visiting Your Family Taxing?

Today I was going to post about my fiancé again.  He’s been such a rock for me these past three plus months, even more than usual, so I wanted to go on at great length how amazing he is.  I’ve been inspired to write about something else, so you’re just going to have to take my word for it, or read the last post I wrote about him instead.

A friend has a father that’s currently in the hospital.  Naturally, she wants to spend as much time as she can with her father while he’s there.  The problem is, whenever she does, she has to pay out the nose for parking.  I just looked it up.  For her city’s major hospital, which is where he’s staying, she has to pay $15 for parking because she has the nerve, the unmitigated gall to go see her father while he’s in the hospital.  Who the hell does she think she is?  Yeah, she can get it validated (the website says that that’s only for patients of visitors.  Umm.. . aside from hospital staff who probably have staff parking, who else is going to the hospital??  A door-to-door salesperson? Jehovah’s Witnesses?) , but she’s still paying a minimum of $6 to visit her childrens’ papou.

The thing is, it’s not exactly like this is an uncommon occurrence.  When I had to go get some paperwork straightened up when I first went on disability assistance last year, I had to pay $3 for less than 15 minutes worth of parking, because the government facility that I had to go to had pay parking, and because you couldn’t pay for a portion of the hour.  I was applying for financial aid and I had, essentially, had to pay to do so.  When I had my son, and we were discharged, we had to pay to leave the hospital because my mother dared to pick me up in her car (nevermind the fact that they will not allow you to leave the hospital in anything other than a car or ambulance) and there again was pay parking.

Does anyone else find it absolutely abhorrent that many hospitals and government facilities have pay parking?  These are essential service buildings, and all the taxes we pay throughout the year aren’t enough for these facilities aren’t enough.  No.  They need to add yet another tax for the luxury of going to these buildings.

One could argue that you don’t need to drive to these facilities.  You could take the bus (bus fares), the taxi (taxi rates) or an ambulance (in BC, we have to pay for an ambulance ride.  Tommy Douglas is probably rolling in his grave) instead; but unless you’re within walking distance of these facilities, and you are capable to walking there on your own two feet, or have someone who can push/carry/drag you all the way there, you’re somehow paying for it. 

I don’t what can/should be done about this, but it definitely makes me want to watch Sicko again. 

Sigh.

Focused on Can'ts

Because of my temporary disability, I am always filling out various forms and having to answer to so many different people.  The question they always ask is: What can't you do right now? This is such a demoralizing question, as it keeps me rooted in that question, because every time they ask me that question, I have to provide updates on what I can’t do.  For the past three months, that’s been what I’ve been focused on.  What I can’t do.  

Here’s the list:

•  I can’t sit for long periods of time.  The length really depends on the position and chair I am sitting in and my willingness/need to put up with the pain.  I can drive for about 30 minutes, but I’m in discomfort from almost the beginning.  By the time I reach 15-20 minutes, I’m in pain.  I can’t really go beyond 30 minutes.  Not without taking heavy duty pain meds, and then it’s a question of safety because of the meds.  Couches I can’t comfortably sit in, however I can lie down on one.  Office chairs, the chairs at my doctor’s office, at physio are agonizingly uncomfortable. 
•  I can’t swim.  The current and instability and resistance are too much for me.  The hot tub helps, but even walking slow and small steps is awful.  If I go to the pool, which my physiotherapists and doctor wants me to do, I’m in so much pain afterwards I can barely move to a few days afterwards.
• I can’t take my kid to the park.  I do, every now and then (I’ve taken him exactly three times in the past three months), because why suffer for my disability?  When we get home, however, I head straight for bed with a heating pad and lots of medication.
•  I can’t walk more than a few meters without help from my cane.
•  I can’t make dinner for my family, unless it’s something really simple and I’ve had a somewhat pain free day (relatively speaking).
•  I can’t sleep without a heating pad, 2 – 4 morphine pills and a pillow between my knees for when I sleep on my side.
•  I can’t walk up or down stairs without hep from my cane.  Slopes or hills? Forget about it. My hips are put in too awkward of an angle.
•  I can’t ride a bike, go hiking, go to the gym or go horseback riding.  Granted, of the things mentioned, I’ve only been to the gym this past year.
•  I can’t stand for too long.  If I do, my hip starts to throb and my legs start to shake.
• I can’t bend over to pick something up.  Not without doing a really slow pirouette and holding on to a wall or table or something to keep me from falling and to aid me in getting back up.
• I can’t pick up my son. I can’t bend over to give him a hug, or kiss him goodnight.  He needs to climb up on my bed so that I can give him his night time kisses, puppy noses, snuggles and hugs.
•  I can’t afford my bills, or to send my son to daycare so he can hang out with his friends, or to buy little treats for me or my family.  I’ve exhausted most of my options in regards to financial assistance, and am still waiting to see if I’ll be accepted for Long Term Disability.  My fiancé has taken on basically all of the household expenses.  Without him, I’d be pretty screwed right now.
•  I can’t go on vacation this year.  All year since my fiancé got his new job, I’ve been looking forward to going to Las Vegas in the fall with him again.  He took me in 2006 when I was pregnant, and I’ve always wanted to go again with him.  As I go more and more days not working, the dream of actually getting a vacation this year got dimmer and dimmer until all hope of being able to go has been completely snuffed out.  I’m quite bummed out by this.  I try not to dwell on this one too much, but it’s pretty difficult not to. 
•  I can’t plan my wedding this summer. I had been working (with the help of my fiancé) very aggressively on getting rid of a personal debt I had, and I was so freaking close to having it completely paid off.  Once I had accomplished this goal, we were going to start planning our wedding.  I was getting so excited at the prospect of finally sitting down with him and fleshing out a plan.  The longer I stay off work, the more I start to wonder if a wedding is going to happen at all.  It certainly won’t be in the next year.  Not with me not working.  That’s quite depressing.

There are other things on this list, but I’m not able to think of them right now.  The ones I mentioned are the big ones.  The ones I’m faced with almost every day.  My world is all about can’ts right now.  Every day I struggle with depression as I start to see more and more can’ts.  Some days aren’t so bad, some days are scary.  It helps knowing I have allies.  It helps knowing that my fiancé is standing by my side, fighting for me to get better, or to at least make our lives as liveable and as enjoyable as possible with the circumstances presented to us.  It helps knowing that my mom, particularly bad days, is willing to drop everything and just come be an anchor for me; a port in the storm, if you will.  

The more I think about it, actually, the more I realize that I have quite a few ports in the storm.  I am actually quite fortunate.  I’m not so bad off that I’m completely unable to fend for myself.  I’m surrounded by a strong support network; there are a number of people who are willing to help me out.  I still have a roof over my head and food in my fridge.  I live in a country that makes my several trips to the doctor possible.  

I try to keep thinking positive, but with so much negative events appearing in my life in the last 10 (not able to work for a month; fiancé getting laid off; getting injured again, preventing me from working for over 3 months now; getting rear-ended, having my wallet stolen) it’s a lot easier said than done. 

Handicapped Parking Spots

I currently am living with a disability.  I can't walk more than a few feet without the assistance of a cane and haven't been able to work for three months as a direct result of this (hopefully temporary!!) disability.  Because of this, I have a temporary handicapped decal.  For me, walking more than 100 meters[i] is like asking a fit person to do the West Coast Trail, just to go to the grocery store.  And I have a disability that still enables me to stand on my own volition or have complete control over my limbs.  Can you imagine how difficult it is for people who are forever bound to a wheelchair?  How difficult it is for people who can’t even operate the wheelchair on their own? 

When I see people who park in a designated handicap parking spot who do not have a decal, I get angry; even before I had need of a decal myself.  What on earth gave you such an inflated sense of entitlement that you feel that it is your right to take away the parking spot that has been specifically designated for people who have a physical disability that makes it difficult (or even impossible) for them to walk more than 100 meters?  Oh you only need to pop in and out of the bank?  So what??! Maybe I need to pop in and out of the bank, too, you jack-ass! 

Yesterday I had to go to a physio appointment and I was running a teeny bit late.  I wasn’t too terribly concerned about it because kitty corner from the clinic is a metered handicap parking spot.  I got there, and there was this red 2006 BMW M3 parked in the spot.  After my split second appreciation of such a fine machine (it’s one of my favourite cars), I realized that the turdnozzle[ii] didn’t have a decal!  So here I am, forced to have to search for another parking spot further away, causing me to have to walk further to get to my appointment.  As I mentioned at the top of this post, I can’t walk without a cane and have difficulty[iii] walking more than 100 meters.  If I walk up or down a slope, this makes matters worse. 

Now, in fairness to this person, they didn’t know that I have this disability, but that’s not the point of the matter.  Because of his[iv] (assumed) inflated sense of self worth, he felt as though he were more entitled to the spot than I or someone else with a disability.  Because he felt as though his convenience was of greater importance than my (or someone else’s) disability, I was in greater pain than I was throughout the entire day because I had to walk that much further and up a hill. 

Again, in fairness, it is safe to assume that had he not stolen that spot, someone else who was entitled to that spot would have taken it before I would get a chance to so I would have been in the same situation as I was in, but then I wouldn’t have burned with the feeling of social indignation and I wouldn’t have felt inspired (yet) to write this post and more poor readers would have suffered too!  (Now who has the inflated sense of self-importance?)

Even before my injury, I hated seeing this and I would often call either the towing company that managed the private lot, or I would call the city’s parking enforcement department (if I was in Vancouver).  Since I’ve established precedent of doing this when perfectly abled, you’d better damn well believe I’m going to call now that I’m not.  It turns out the jerkburger is a diplomat or consulate employee.  A-ha! We have discovered where he got his sense of self-importance.  The laws and rules don’t apply to diplomats.[v]

Well, since this snotnose not only parked in a designated handicap parking spot without a decal and let his meter expire (it was expired before my appointment), he got towed (at least that was what I was led to believe).  Ha!  The city may not be able to make the parking violations stick, but he still will have to deal with the inconvenience of going to the impound lot to pick up his car.  That’ll teach him. 

So be warned: If I see you parked in a handicap decal, be prepared to pay!  I more than likely will call a towing company or the city[vi] and you will have to pay.  If you’re lucky, all I’ll do is call you an asshole. 

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[i] One of the criteria for a handicap parking permit in BC is your inability to walk more than 100 meters.

[ii] I may be immature using less than kind words about this person, but I don’t think this calls for civility.  I don’t intend to curse at someone for doing this, but I certainly won’t be kind.

[iii] Difficulty = Can’t! Not without lots of pain and lots of pain meds afterwards.

[iv] I’m going to be using masculine pronouns from now on as shorthand.

[v] A bunch of hogwash, if you ask me! 

[vi] If you live in the City of Vancouver (in Canada), and you want to get a hold of parking enforcement, call 311 and ask for that department.