Disability

Children and Disability

Ever since I turned 27, the thought of children has been on my mind. At 28, I am now a year older than my mother was when she had me. I always thought that my life would go a certain way. I would get my degree, get married, start a career, and have a baby. All of this was supposed to happen before I was 30.

Then I got sick, and one by one those dreams went up in flame.

I couldn’t go to medical school. Not only that, but I might even be able to manage a regular job let alone a career.

I got a degree, but unlike I expected my whole life, I am graduating with a bachelor with no idea of when or if I will ever be able to get more.

Some things changed, but not for the worse, just became different. Instead of a husband, I have a wife. The important part of that: the love, the support, the companionship remains the same. We live in Canada for now, which mean marriage for us is possible.

And then there are children. (more…)

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Robbing Peter to Pay Paul

Growing up I used to hear this expression a lot from my singing teacher. It usually meant that I was doing something with my throat or voice which, while sounding good at the moment, could do long term damage to my vocal cords. I’ve been thinking about this expression a lot lately.

Ever since it came up during a discussion with friends. I was explaining how some of my medication I seemed to take in order to deal with the side effects of other medications. The conversation turned into a discussion of side effects and I mentioned how almost all of mine have increased risk of cancer listed. I joked that the meds I were taking risked me dying a slow and painful death, however I take them to avoid dying a slow and painful death now.

I joked that I’m robbing Peter to pay Paul. (more…)

Interview for Bi Any Means

I sat down with Trav Mamone of Bi Any Means to discuss my book, my new vlog, disability activism, atheism, and more. You should take a listen if you get the chance.

Listening through the podcast I realized that I accidentally used  an expression I’ve been trying to eliminate from my vocabulary because of it’s ableist implications. A good reminder that even people who care about these issues make mistakes and it is up to us to make amends when we do. To those who were hurt, I apologize and endeavor to do better in the future. Mea Culpa. I’m sorry.

Teal Haired Ania Cartoon blushing and looking apologetic

I’m sorry

As such please note: CN for use of Insane as a pejorative.

Listen to the Podcast Here

11 ways ELITE DAILY used ableism to make a point about relationships.

I understand the impulse towards showing your best self at the start of any relationship. I do and have done it as well. You want the other person to like you and you are terrified that if they find out how flawed you really are, that they won’t.

So you put on make-up and wear your hair down. Maybe you wear a skirt, or that itchy shirt that you look amazing in. You might show a little more interest in something than you otherwise would. You don’t lie, not at all; you just never realized how interesting this actually was.

It is human nature and it is fair to mock it. But then lists like this one come out that point out how the acceptance of “gross” things that mark a committed relationship. I look at that list and the first thing I think is: How nice it must be to be abled.

I am going to borrow the list and instead talk about the ways in which it is ableist as fuck. And So my wonderful readers:

11 ways ELITE DAILY used ableism to make a point about relationships.
((The following list is a direct quote from this linked article and does not belong to me. What does belong to me are the comments between the number.))

“There’s no demanding need to shave.”

Ok so mandatory feminist statement: There is NEVER a demanding need to shave. But let’s talk for now about some of us who enjoy smooth legs, I among them. My decision not to shave has nothing to do with a lack of caring, but rather a decision not to inflict pain on myself.

I have a permanently damaged hip. I cannot bend in a way that makes shaving comfortable. I literally cannot reach certain parts of the leg. This also created a much bigger risk of cutting myself. So I don’t shave except as an occasional treat for Alex or myself. This decision had nothing to do with the quality of our relationship. Actually the first time Alex and I hooked up, my legs were hairy with several days growth.

“You fart in front of each other.”

This presumes control of bodily function. This presumes that everyone gets to decide if and when they fart. This presumes so much, that many of us don’t get to decide.

“Poop is discussed in any capacity.”

I wish I got to decide, I didn’t. Having an accident in the middle of a midterm made that decision for me. What is worse, is that as early as that happened in our relationship, that wasn’t even the first time the subject came up. People with digestive issues, people with chronic diseases, people who have had bowel resections or live with colostomy bags, people who have had their lower bodies paralysed in such a way as to lower their ability to control their bowel movements, all of these people like me might not get to decide when we start discussing poop.

“You let him pee in the shower when you shower together.”

This presumes that he has control over his urine.

“Morning breath doesn’t gross you out.”

During crohn’s flare ups, I have to make the decision whether it is better to brush my teeth and throw up or whether I shouldn’t brush and as a result not spend my morning throwing up bile. Morning breath is the least of my concerns.

“Sicknesses don’t make kissing off-limits.”

I am immunosuppressed. My partner not kissing me when they are sick has nothing to do with how much I love them or how much they love me. That decision is based on the fact that a two day cold for them could be two weeks of misery for me. It could mean having to postpone my Crohn’s medicine and adding a flare up to things that are wrong with me. Just now I had the flu that lasted for two months. Near the end I couldn’t tell whether it was the virus causing me to throw up or my Crohn’s.

But let’s ignore contagious sickness for a minute, and focus on other definitions of sickness such as say vomiting. I can’t tell when I first threw up in public in front of Alex. I do remember the warmth of the hand massaging my back while the other held back my hair. I do remember that we hadn’t been dating that long that the kiss that followed was in any way required.

“Weight gain isn’t a big deal.”

Weight has been my cross to bear for as long as I can remember, and now more than ever it is intimately intertwined with my disabilities. My weight gain, my diet, my exercise are all things that keep me up at night. The implication that it should be a big deal or affect the intimacy of my relationship keeps me up even more. The social perception that fat people like me are not entitled to love is such a pervasive bit of fat shaming that it has formed our whole script surrounding relationships. If you don’t think so, I dare you to watch every episode where a man has to prove his love for his wife by realizing he loves her enough to find her sexy when she gains weight.

“Despite all of this, you actually still find your significant other sexy.”

This is the one that cinches it all. That underlines the problem. Everything on this list is considered gross and unsexy, and all of it can be related to disability. I haven’t listed everything here so as not to be redundant and not because there is one thing on this list that isn’t in some way ableist (and also possibly cissexist, transmisogynistic, sexist, classist, and so forth). These things are considered gross, as are the people who do them.

For many of us with disabilities, these things are a major part of our lives. In other words, according to this list, I am gross. I am unworthy of love. This is just yet another perpetuation of the social idea that people with disabilities are sexless and loveless. It is a lie, a damned lie, and damaging to many of us.

On the day that I received my diagnosis of arthritis, I cried. Nothing major had happened yet. It hadn’t really factored into my life at all yet except as an occasional twinge of pain which pills took care of. I had no idea what was coming. I had no idea that by that time the next year I would be in a wheelchair after several months of walking with a cane. For all intents and purposes, the diagnosis was a name for something that hasn’t really happened yet. It was nothing! And yet, I cried. Why? Because I was convinced that it was this news that would doom me to dying a virgin. That I would never marry, never find love, all because I had a diagnosis that others might find scary.

I wasn’t disabled yet and I already knew what the social script had in mind for me.

And lists like this don’t help. Because they just serve as a reminder to all of us, that us disabled folk better not get too uppity by thinking that we are entitled to being treated like human beings.

Worth Less

In my fights for women’s rights, I have been startled to see how often the issue had an important element of disability activism. Take abortion rights and access to birth control.  I am under consideration for being included in drug trials. My participation includes the need not to become pregnant.  In order to ensure this, it is important that I have access to birth control. This means that doctors or pharmacists who choose not to make birth control readily available don’t just take away my rights as a person to make my own medical decisions; they are actively putting my health at risk. In the event that I do get pregnant, having safe and easy access to abortion services is necessary. As long as I am not in remission, being pregnant is a serious risk to my survival.

Similarly, my atheism and skepticism is brought into sharp focus by my struggles with medical conditions. Responding to religious and anti-science pundits is a daily act for those of us who are disabled. We face woo on a personal level, with it directed directly at us from friends, family members, and authority figures. Even non-atheists are harmed by the lack of secular services available to help those in need within our community.

Disability activism highlights the importance of intersectionality since it can be the result as well as the cause of discrimination and marginalization. Many people who fall within the category of being trans, queer, women, people of colour, and so forth live with the very real risk of physical harm and abuse, and as a result are at risk for anxiety, ptsd, depression, and physical impairment resulting from violence.

If we define disability as a physical or mental barrier from successfully and/or comfortable navigating our society, then race, gender, sexual and gender orientation, can all be seen as being disabilities. Perhaps disability activism should be then seen as changing the world in such a way as to make the whole world more accessible to people of all genders, orientations, races, religions or lack thereof, and physical and mental ability. Where potentially other social justice concerns differ from disability is that in the case of the former, the barriers are almost universally external, whereas in the case of the latter there do exist internal barriers as well, which may be further strengthened by the external.

Our society has such a negative attitude towards disability however, that even people that fall into the socially accepted definition of that category struggle against being labeled as such. “I’m sick, but I’m not… you know… disabled.” It is hard to make the argument that disability is in any way a positive. Disability is painful, whether mental or physical. It makes your life harder. It can make it difficult to live a life that is socially deemed as worthwhile or productive.  The personal aspects of disability won’t change, but what can change are the external barriers that exist in our societies. By changing our concept of normalcy from “white cis straight able bodied male who is financially secure” we can begin to change how our society handles differences.

Take mobility impairment for example. Most of our architecture and infrastructure is predicated on the assumption that people can walk. As a result, most buildings, sidewalks, and so forth are difficult to navigate for those of us for whom mobility is an issue. Where mobility disability is taken into account, it is usually in such a way as to be out of the way. Elevators are the most common solution, but of course elevators break down, are not consistently implemented, and in the event of an emergency such as fire, they are inaccessible.  Imagine if we had a paradigm shift and instead based our architecture on the idea that a percentage of the population is not mobile? What if we replaced all stairwells with ramps? True, ramps take up more space then stairwells as they have to have lower incline then staircases do, but such a change would not negatively impact anyone. In fact, it would be beneficial to more than just the wheelchair bound. Parents with strollers, for example, would have a much easier time navigating, as would anyone who relies on wheel-based carriers. There would be a lower incidence of injury as falling down a ramp is less physically intense then falling down stairs.

Our culture’s obsession with ranking relative value and worthiness is at the heart of many instances of oppression; white is more valuable than not-white, male is more valuable than female, cis is more valuable than trans, so forth and so forth. We do this with every aspect of our culture: someone who becomes a janitor or a blue collar worker is seen as less valuable then someone who majors in business. In fact blue collar or no collar work is seen as the domain of “stupid***” people, and anyone who is “stupid” is inherently less valuable.

People with disabilities struggle with the concept of worthiness, or more specifically worthlessness, in particular. Our culture values productivity above many other things and the definitions of productivity can be limiting. When you exist in a body that forces you to spend entire days in bed for no other reason than because the pain you feel makes it too exhausting to get up, it can be difficult to feel like you have worth. When you see your friends and family members have to rearrange their lives around you, you get caught thinking over and over again, is it worth it? You feel like a burden. You feel worthless since by conventional standards you are not a productive member of society.

By the standards of our current society, we are worthless, and we are introduced to this idea every day.  We hear about how people who rely on disability support payments are lazy. Every time someone talks about how they were “useless” because they spent the day in bed or at home, it is like a hot needle of shame shoved in our hearts. It is a reminder that as far as the majority of society is concerned, we are worthless.

Casual ableism is so prevalent in our society that in many ways what many would consider the most benign of insults, are actually terms most often used to marginalize people with disabilities. That’s so lame, dumb, stupid, idiotic, retarded*,  he’s so blind, slow, crazy, such a spaz, all these phrases and more have lost in the social memory the association with disability. And yet, that association exists. Imagine being a non-verbal child who knows that the designation for their impairment is used as a synonym for lacking in intelligence? Why is the opposite of cool or awesome a word that means having mobility impairment?

This casual ableism is prevalent in many social justice communities as well.  Often, little to no thought is given on how a given subject, action, and what not affects the disabled. Marches are organized without thought on how this limits participation by those who have difficulty with walking. Having sign language interpreters is the exception and not the rule. The activist behaviours most accessible to people with disabilities, the creation of online petitions, writing, Facebook posts, is given the dubious label of slacktivism. This term is given without consideration of how for some, these may be the only outlets for social change available to them.  Many in the community see nothing wrong with comparing religious belief to mental illness.

Within the feminist community, when calling out the gas-lighting behaviour that associates the word crazy with women, little to no thought is given to the inherent trouble with using crazy as a pejorative. What about women with bipolar disorder, depression, anxiety, ptsd? Is it ok to call them crazy since in some ways they are? Is it ok in that case to disregard what they have to say as unimportant, lacking in reason or merit?

When these concerns are brought up the thoughts are often dismissed as unimportant or at best thought exercises. When prominent atheist activists like Miri of Brute Reason have brought up the negative impact on atheists with mental disabilities to compare religion to one, the matter sparked some debate but no pressure existed to enforce a change of behaviour. The culprits had no fear of continuing their actions, even where they had previously done so to accommodate other social justice concerns.

In other cases where concerns over ableism or inaccessibility were brought up, they were met with hostility and immediate dismissal.

When members of the community are dismissed or forced out from their positions due to their illness, we do not see the same level of public outcry as if someone were let go for reporting harassment, or forced out due to their race, beliefs, or gender expression. The marginalization or discrimination against people with disabilities doesn’t cause scandals. It is as most a blip on the radar evoking the half-hearted response of “that sucks”.

Disability concerns are an after-thought at most, if that. When it comes to activism, disability doesn’t have the sex appeal of issues such as sexual orientation, gender, and race**.  When you are someone who struggles with disability and particularly with raising awareness of the issues as they exist within our communities, this dismissal creates a feeling of resentment. This is particularly the case when an inability to raise awareness on such issues means a continuation of the devastating impacts of living with these disabilities.

When a known member of the community struggled with potential homelessness as a result of their disability and inability to get the support they needed, the response was half-hearted at best despite the money being asked for being less than outrageous. Raising it took a long time, putting pressure on the person in question as homelessness loomed. This occurred around the same time that the response to an unknown preacher losing his job due to a publicity stunt involving atheism raised in the tens of thousands in a matter of days.

We as a community need to respond to the call to arms to support our own members. Members whose everyday struggles are a lived manifestation of the need for atheist and feminist activism; our members whose struggles are intimately intertwined with the professed concerns of this social movement. It is time to examine our own ableism. It is time to let wounded voices have a chance to speak. It is time to show the morality we claim of ourselves. A response to arms means more than just bringing awareness to a necessary social issue; it can quite literally save lives. I call on all those who call themselves humanists, intersecitionalists, to shut up and listen.

 

*I include the word “retard” here as a strengthening example, with full knowledge that it is becoming less socially considered to be benign.
**It is worth mentioning that when it comes to social justice, race concerns are dismissed more frequently than many of the others and is lacking in representation among our community concerns.
*** My use of the term stupid in this case is to illustrate how the term is used as a pejorative against people who have different types of intelligence. It was included with an assumption that I would continue on to explain how the term affects people with cognitive disabilities, but in the end chose not to include those paragraphs.

Our Concerns Won’t Be Flushed Away

Content Warning: If you have a problem with discussions and descriptions of bodily functions, this post is not for you. you have been warned.

I’ve recently joined reddit, and have spent some time on the r/crohnsdisease. Among one of the articles was this one about a bathroom bill that didn’t pass.
The bill would have made it required that businesses allow Crohn’s and other IBD patients access to washrooms, even those that are for employees only. The bill didn’t pass and this author takes this opportunity to mock the idea of its existence and follow it up with an anecdote about how a woman tricked a business into using the restroom in order to steal something.
In the author’s mind, this anecdote is proof enough that the bill was useless and would not benefit anyone. The author “sympathizes” with people with intestinal and digestive disorders, and recommends compassion on the part of the businesses, but doesn’t see the need for such a bill.
For people without these disorders, crohn’s (which I shall now unfairly use to represent all IBDs) doesn’t seem like such a big deal. I’ve even had people quip that everyone gets stomach aches and that loose bowels really aren’t a big deal. When these people imagine what it must be like, most have nothing to compare it to other than that slight feeling of urgency you get when you’ve held it for too long.

I am about to share something very personal. The feeling of urgency when you have a flare up isn’t like that feeling of “Ooo I really have to go” but is more like “I need a bathroom right  stat fucking now!!!” With Crohn’s you don’t always get a lot of warning before the need to go to the bathroom is completely overwhelming. You have maybe 5 minutes to find a washroom. If you don’t get one in time, too bad. You have no control. Your body is your enemy as you do what you can to try and save yourself from embarrassment.

When I was first diagnosed, the actual bathroom aspects of the disease were not the worst. The constant nausea that never went away was. I began vomiting in public so often, that I started telling people I have morning sickness to avoid the ackwardness that was explaining to someone what was going on.
I remember one situation in particular where I started crossing a street and had to run back so that I could safely fall on my knees and bring up my breakfast. It was a choice between keeping going and end up tying up traffic or getting hit by a car, or running back to safety. As I knelt there trying to discretely throw up behind a stone, a woman began panicking asking me if I needed an ambulance. The last thing I wanted was a scene, but this woman was among the first people to ever show concern and I couldn’t scoff at that. But how to explain to someone who is freaking out that this is a normal part of your life? That you have a disease that sometimes makes you throw up in public without any control? How do you then convince that woman that no, you don’t need a hospital? “I have morning sickness” I answered.
I also now have had the pleasure of vomiting udon noodles all over the department of National defense.  No it wasn’t a political statement, I just couldn’t help myself.
As I did research into this condition that I now knew I had, I found frequent recommendations suggesting you travel everywhere with an extra pair of underwear.
Eventually I figured out why. As my nausea came under control, I noticed the bathroom symptoms. I was lucky and managed to avoid an incident for quite some time. I was in school, and there are always plenty of washrooms on campus. This made my first “accident” that much more traumatic. You see, it happened during a midterm of a class I couldn’t stand. I was already feeling sick, when suddenly the urge hit. I asked for permission to go to the washroom, and ran to where the nearest one was. Unfortunately it was out of order. I ran from one to the next, but the university had decided to renovate all the washrooms in the building at the same time. I finally had to run to the building next door to find one. I didn’t make it. Just stop and think about that for a second. Think about being an adult and not being able to control your bowels. Imagine the embarrassment as you try and clean yourself up in the bathroom. Of praying no one notices as you try and wash your underwear in the sink so that you can put it in your bag. Of having to trudge back to class feeling unclean, wondering if everyone can smell it on you. Of having to go up to your teacher and explain that you are unable to finish writing the midterm. That fear of hoping he understands and doesn’t just fail you on the spot. The horror of having to take the bus back to your apartment so that you can shower. Or the choice of going to your boyfriend’s place, who lives within walking distance to the school to ask if you can use his shower and his laundry machine. Wondering if he will ever be able to look at you and think your sexy ever again, or if every future encounter will be tainted with the subtle odor of “unclean”.
I was lucky, my boyfriend is a wonderful man. He hugged me, wrapped me up in his robe so that I could go shower, and washed my clothes for me. When I got out, he spent the next couple hours cuddling me, and loaded up a funny movie to make me feel better. Not a lot of guys would have reacted that way. For many, the fear of dealing with someone with that kind of disability can be too much.
While that was the first time it wasn’t the last. One night, my apartment building has a 2am fire alarm. In the hustle of trying to pack up our dog and the roommate’s cat, I didn’t stop to use the washroom. When we reached downstairs, the urge hit. I went to the little mall that had the only businesses in the nearby area. The only place left open was a Tim Hortons. I begged the drive through to let me use the washroom. I pleaded, explaining that I had this condition and that it was an emergency. The answer was no. I had to stand around in my mess for over an hour, while I waited for the firemen to clear the building. By the time I managed to shower, my leg had developed a painful rash. It would have been a 5 minute inconvenience for the restaurant. I would even have bought something to make up for it. But they didn’t, and I suffered.

I am not unique in having had these experiences. Despite the high level of embarrassment and inconvenience, this isn’t even the worst part of this illness. The lack of control over your body is bad, but the pain, the nausea can be infinitely worse.

During the worst of my flares, I remember laying on the bathroom floor shivering because my body didn’t have enough energy to keep itself warm, and I didn’t have enough to stand up. I lay there because I knew that in just a few minutes I would be throwing up bile once more. I remember avoiding brushing my teeth for some time, because the motion had me leaning over the sink coughing up bile. I remember the pain of using mouthwash because my mouth was filled with canker sores. I remember spending hours at the hospital emergency room, waiting to get yet another IV with fluids, just to be sent home without an answer as to what was going on. This happened about once every two weeks. I remember the months of barely leaving the house, of napping constantly, because my energy just wasn’t there. I remember bending over in pain, as once again I was seized with excruciating pain. I remember forcing myself to eat, wondering if this time, I would manage to keep it down. Of lying perfectly still, trying hard to force my body to absorb the nutrients I had eaten. Those moments of stillness, I remember wondering if I would survive this. I remember wondering if the rest of my life would be spent not being able to eat or digest. Wondering how much weight I would have to lose before I was admitted permanently. All of this wasn’t constant. It was interspersed between brief moments of normalcy that made it seem at the same moment so much worse but also better than it was. It took a long time before I realized just how bad things were. In hindsight, I look at what was going on and wonder why I didn’t just give up?

Not everyone with Crohn’s feels comfortable talking about it. It can be difficult. What we go through is so personal, the details about what it is like can be so embarrassing, that it is not surprising that most of us would rather not talk about it. I need to talk about it. I need to because it is less painful than this author’s assumptions about what having Crohn’s is like. Because maybe if I talk about it, next time that Tim Hortons will open its doors and let me in. Because maybe someone reading this will take pity on someone else and give them access to the bathroom.
I am not alone out there. My experiences are not unique and they are not even rare or the worst of what people have gone through.
This author, rather than recommending compassion to others, should stop and find it in themselves first.

YSI Excerpt: Disability and Mental Health

When struggling with pain, constant fatigue, nausea, malnutrition, loneliness, and a variety of other symptoms, it is not hard to believe that it is common for people dealing with chronic illness and disability to be vulnerable to depression. Whether this is because at times everything becomes overwhelming, due to circumstances influenced or worsened by your condition, or because of deficiency in necessary vitamins and chemicals, it doesn’t ultimately matter. The result is the same: depression.

With all the concern about managing your apparently more serious chronic symptoms, it can be tempting to simply ignore the mental health concerns. It makes sense that you are depressed. Who wouldn’t be if they lived like you? You already have all these other drugs, do you really mean anti-depressants. It’s not like you are going to hurt yourself, you don’t have the energy. And even if you did, would anyone care? You would stop being a burden. No one would have to worry about you anymore. It would stop the pain…

Just like that the depression becomes severe and cause for concern. At the worst moments during a flare, you might be stuck indoors for long periods of time alone. You might be in a hospital bed, your only human interaction the occasional visitor and the nurses, not to mention the person who comes to take your blood every morning. Regardless of whether you see a lot of people or not, you are stuck in one place for a long time. Imagine having to spend your entire day in a small, somewhat uncomfortable bed.  The only time you get up is to go to the bathroom, and to do that you have to push an IV pole that is attached to your arm.

Even if you aren’t hospitalized, the exhaustion can create the same results at home. After a while it starts to drain you even further. Your life starts to stretch out before you, and endless miasma of pain and boredom. You don’t even have the energy to watch TV. You just want to lie in bed, and wish you could get up the energy to have a shower.

What can further complicate the situation is that symptoms of many chronic conditions and depression overlap: fatigue, difficulty falling asleep, lack of energy, pain, and so forth. It can be difficult to tell when you are dealing with one thing or another. Are you unable to get motivated because your Crohn’s kept you up all night, or because your depression is making it hard to care about anything? Is the exhaustion mental or physical? Is my joint pain a physical response to inflammation or to psychological pain? Moreover, sometimes physical pain can cause the psychological pain. It all intertwines until it is almost impossible to tell.

Despite the frequent connection between disabilities, illnesses, and anxiety/depressive disorders, the medical community still has a hard time understanding the correlation. Frequently depression, anxiety, or any psychological diagnosis is treated very negatively. Even if you have a documented disorder that you are getting treated for, a diagnosis of any psychological condition could mean a decrease in the quality of care. Suddenly, every trip to the doctor or ER becomes suspect. Some doctors will wonder if you are faking your symptoms in order to score drugs, while others will assume you are over reacting or confusing mental symptoms with physical ones. It creates a situation where there is an incentive for people with chronic conditions not to seek help for their related psychological conditions.

I have seen this manifest personally. The usual procedure when I come into the hospital is to be given an anti-nausea agent and pain meds. Regardless of whether they think I need to be admitted or not, the usual assumption is that if the pain is bad enough for me to feel the need to come in, then controlling the pain is a concern. On one such occasion, I noticed a slight change in how I was treated. Usually there is an effort to reduce my pain symptoms as quickly as possible. This time around, it seemed that there was a hesitancy to do anything about it. I was offered some anti-nausea medication, but not once was there even a mention of anything to do about the pain.

When the doctor came in to see me, the first questions were not about why I was there, but clarifications about my last visit to the hospital being labeled “psychiatric”. I was confused, having never come to the hospital for anything mental health related.  I wracked my brain for every time I had been to the hospital in the last few months: visit with my gastroenterologist, visit with my rheumatologist, weight management clinic…. Bingo. It seems that the clinic that my GI had sent me to to see about getting help in losing weight with the difficulty of Crohn’s and arthritis, registered as a psychiatric visit on my hospital file.  In combination with my medication for anxiety and ADHD, they has assumed that I had come in to be treated for something else. The pallor of having sought help for a mental health problem changed how they viewed my physical health. I never was offered anything for pain, and I was sent home without any satisfactory aid for what was wrong with me. For the first time I was given the answer that it was “just Crohn’s”. A condition that had such a profound impact on my life was suddenly seen as no big deal because of one tick on my chart that might suggest that I also had depression. That the Crohn’s might be the cause of the depression was never considered. That a person can have two things wrong with them and have them be equally valid and serious was never considered. No clearly, despite the fact that I had a documented condition, depression, anxiety, or any other form of mental health disorder had to mean that the pain was all in my head.