Not just gimpy. Disabled

Yup. It's official. Yesterday I went to the DMV. One hour and $6 later, I had an official disabled parking permit. I felt weird joining the ranks with the elderly lady with a walker in front of me, but then a pain in my ankle had me sitting right beside her.

This tendinitis/bursitis/plantar fascitis (yes, apparently I have all three) hasn't gotten much better over the last month. It's like playing whac-a-mole with different tendons and ligaments. This doctor's strategy seems to be a carrot-and-stick approach: be nice to it with orthotics, a cane, and minimizing walking (hence the permit), while simultaneously tormenting it with physical therapy and cortisone shots.

At least with the cane I look the part of the disabled person, though fortunately not the old man. I found a nice black cane, which I'm told makes me look "dapper". (So far I've worn a suit with it three times and a top hat once.) It also makes a huge difference in how people treat you. People surrender their seats on trains (it helps that I look like the dude with the cane in the icon on the window). People try extra hard not to run you over. Even TSA screeners treat you gingerly at security (though I get my own personal wanding every time I go through, thanks to the metal in my boot).

As amusing as this has been, it's getting old. I've found people are much happier with the barfight story than the real one. But I miss dancing, hiking, and standing up for longer than two minutes at a time.

It has given me an interesting perspective on mobility, and how much it impacts your life. It affects how you spend your time and who you spend it with. It's such a simple thing to be empowered by, something I'd taken for granted (and being in my 20s probably justly so). But lots of people live with these infirmities, and have them much worse than I do. I heard an interview on NPR about how people experiencing hearing loss tend to withdraw from their social circles, because they feel they can't share the same experiences as easily.

It's easy to fall into the trap of retreating into a disability and giving up. One grandfather did just that after his hip replacement; he decided it was far easier to sit in his chair and be lazy than work at trying to regain his strength. The other decided that having only a quarter of his heart working wasn't going to stop him, and poured himself into researching vitamins, drugs, and exercises, fighting for every last day; ultimately this probably gave him an extra year or two to live.

So while this gimpiness is annoying as all hell (how annoying is hell? pretty friggin' annoying), it is only temporary. I need to be more like the latter grandfather, doing everything I can think of to bring closer my triumphant return to the world of the standing.