Friendship and disability

Yesterday, I got an email with attached picture. It's of a coffee place in town, with a couch. So? you may be asking yourself. Couches are huge for me. Couches mean the difference between me going somewhere, or not. The vast majority of my going out somewhere falls under the "not" category.

With my back problem, I can't sit upright in a chair. 20 years, four surgeries, nine million physical therapy appointments later, and I still can't. The pain is too high. So, I don't have much of a social life.

So, when somebody actually went to the effort to scout something out for me, it means a great deal. This person is in my tribe (chronic health issues), but even so...she cared. She put the effort forward. She thought about me.

I love it when people do this. I wish they did it more! My wonderful friend across the continent has wanted me to come visit for a long time. It hasn't worked out, mostly due to surgery schedules (ugh), but now I'm gearing up for it. I've been worried partly about money (living on one income doesn't leave a lot of discretionary income), but mostly about how I could do it. Plane travel is painful. Getting around is painful. And, I can't sit like a normal person. But my friend has already been thinking of this, and making plans for me and us--things I can do.

I'll be sore as heck when I get there: I'll find a massage place for you.
I'll need to go to a Target or something for a chair that leans back: I'm on it.

She's even planned daily time for me to be able to chill out and rest up, has scouted locations with couches or outdoor seating, and/or planned fun take out places for me. I didn't ask her to do it. She did it because she's put love into action.

This is pretty rare for me, and a complete blessing. Yeah, I'm a bit scared about the trip. Most of my life feels defined by what I can't do. So I think it's a good thing to spread my wings and jump--see what I can do. Maybe that's one of the blessings of real friendship--it gives you wings.

As a disabled person, and a young one, I miss out on most of the fun, easy things most moms in my age bracket take for granted. They flit here and there, go for walks, go to coffee houses (with or without couches!) all the time. They don't have to make special plans. I see it all the time. Moms drop off their kids at dance and say, "Hey, let's go get some coffee," and away they go. While I stand there alone.

I'll walk into the building with another mom and kid (incidentally at arrival time), I walk over to the elevator, and they leave me standing there and take the stairs. This happens all the time. And yes, most of them know about my health issues. And it hurts my feelings.

Is it so impossible to slow their roll? For most, it is. Even for friends. I'm a normal person. I want to do things! And I can do them, with tweaks. But most people aren't willing to make tweaks for me. I wish I knew why.

It's a gift when somebody's willing to come to my house for a visit. Some act like I live in the Yukon Territories, when it's just five miles from town. And it hurts, and it's disappointing. I pretty much feel like there's an invisible bubble up between me and most everybody else.

I want to do things, I want to go places. It's a silly, embarrassing dream of mine to have a friend offer to come pick me up (can't drive far, obviously, if sitting is a problem) and go out to lunch with me (take out, of course). Or better--take me to Target or World Market! Spend time with me. Slow your roll. Going to Target is nothing to you, but it's special to me. Where are you?

I don't often ask for these things, because I get blown off. But sometimes, I swallow my pride and ask. But if you're not listening with your heart, you won't hear me.