Accepting My Disability

There came a point when my life started spiraling out of control. I couldn’t keep a job because I couldn’t work an eight or ten hour shift. In one year I had 13 different jobs/w-2’s at the end of the year. I wasn’t accepting of my illness and the limits it imposed. I tried to live as if I had no health problems. Honestly, I started to wonder if there was any company that would not hire me. Though, the jobs all ended usually because I quit from the embarrassment.

The lesson I learned from the experience was how easy it is to get a job; the hard part is keeping one. I became a master at job interviews and landed most jobs easily. The problem with Crohn’s is the consent trips to the restroom are not only embarrassing but disruptive to any work environment.

I had a job at a factory. I was so excited because it was a high paying job. Yet, with Crohn’s disease, even the best job doesn’t last. I was constantly running to the restroom and living daily life in excruciating pain. At work one day, I had to ask to leave for the second or third time within the first 90 days because of the pain and diarrhea. The man in charge kindly said “why don’t you go home and come back when your better”; it was a polite way to say “you’re fired!” because you don’t “get better” when you have a chronic illness.

So, in a deep depression and unwilling to accept the situation I sat down with my mom. During the conversation she looked at me and said “I think you’re just going to have to accept the fact that you are disabled.” She was as kind and gentle as any mother can be giving their child a life changing message. Though it truly hit deeply. I had to accept that I was disabled.

It felt as if everything I had been told, everything I had worked toward, my life’s ambition was gone. In that one conversation my life had been taken away. The hurt and pain I felt was immense. Deep in my soul, my goal in life, was a career and maybe a child. Accepting my disability required a grieving process. The grieving process spanned many years maybe even decades. I don’t know if I’ve truly accepted it, fully.

It wasn’t long before I couldn’t ignore it anymore. The pain worsened and the trips to the emergency room increased. Each trip to the emergency room I felt as if I was going to die. I can recall many times being wheeled in screaming in pain. Luckily my mom was always by my side; however, it came at great cost to her. My mother eventually lost her job because of the amount of time she took off from work to look after me while I was in the hospital. She gave everything to ensure I stayed alive.