Labeled Disabled

Recently, I received some wonderful news. I have officially been declared disabled.

Wait, what?

Come on. Let’s talk about what nobody wants to talk about. Disability. Everything about it seems to scream caution. Judgement. Legalities.

Who really wants to be disabled? Who really wants to be limited by what their body can or cannot do? It just doesn’t make sense to speak disability upon yourself at the same time you’re claiming healing.

But to some, it’s an answered prayer.

My Story

It took a year from my epidural for my health to spiral out of control. But I still remained too proud to admit that my body was not what it used to be.

I was in the hospital when the people came around asking if I would like to apply for disability. Had I been alone, I would have brushed them off with a laugh. I had every intention of returning to work. In my mind, this was just a sick day.

But my husband was there. He had been there from the beginning, and he knew too much had changed. This condition had become far too unpredictable and debilitating to allow me to return to work.

And man did we fight.

I’ll admit it. I was stubborn. I didn’t want to leave my job. I didn’t want to be labeled as disabled. I always felt I was perfectly fine. I thought I could have this all resolved before my sick days even ended.

I was wrong.

The Frustrations of Disability

If you think applying for disability is as simple as submitting your information, think again. In fact, be prepared for months of submitting your information. Over and over and over again.

Three months after my admission, I was ironically in the hospital again filling out more disability paperwork.

This was the frustrating part. I already didn’t want to deal with this sickness, yet I was constantly having to prove I was sick. I had been doing it since my epidural went wrong, always trying to prove I needed help. I did it with the doctors, and now I had to do it with the government. None of it seemed fair.

On top of that, I didn’t find it fair that I had to keep filling out anything at all. Having worked with people and paperwork, I could guarantee that half the people I knew on disability hadn’t filled out their paperwork as extensively as I had. I had seen firsthand how lazy and inefficient people could be with applications, so why was I the one having to do all of this when they could get approved without even trying? I was the one with the actual sickness, yet I was the one having to work to prove it.

My judgmental attitude of others quickly repaid itself.

The Judgement of Disability 

There is no doubt a stigma towards the disabled. Of course, if you can see the impairment, your heart may feel nothing but compassion. However, if you can’t, judgement immediately ensues.

I am ashamed to admit that I used to give in to this same judgement prior to becoming sick. It is far too common where I live for people to avoid the responsibilities of life if they can easily get something for free instead.

Now I was the one with an invisible illness, feeling judged by others. How dare I apply for disability when others obviously “visibly” needed it more.

But now I see that not all disabilities come with visibilities.

And I learned one important lesson the hard way – judge not, lest ye be judged. (Matthew 7:1)

The Constant Battle

It was a week post-brain surgery when disability wanted me to meet with one of their psychiatrists. And I was angry. I couldn’t wait to present myself in person. I would let my weak, sickly frame and shaved head show this doctor how much I had been through!

Yet through it all, God made it clear to me to tell the truth. Do not exaggerate. Do not lie. Only tell the truth.

The truth was, this condition makes no sense. Yes, it is debilitating, but it also has days when I feel 100% normal. But how do you reliably work a job when you don’t know how you will be feeling at any given moment? How would I ever be able to get them to understand that?

Month after month, form after form to fill out, it was nothing but waiting. Waiting as we continued to fall further into debt.

Then the letter finally came – right when I got home from yet another hospital admission.

Denied.

Apparently, they believed my brain surgery had been the cure. Apparently, they believed my condition would not last twelve months, even though it had done nothing but progress for almost two years.

So then what? I couldn’t possibly go back to work. Nothing had changed. It had only evolved.

I had to appeal.

Now, when the accident happened with my epidural, causing this condition, everyone told me to get a lawyer. I didn’t, and of course I ended up regretting it.

But this time, I would do things right. I filed the appeal and found a lawyer.

Then the long wait began again.

Patience & Perseverance

Lessons were learned to sit and be still. Patience was taught. Acceptance and trust were in the works. I was determined to take this on the right way altogether.

Although I was constantly researching the process, I refused to research anything regarding the possibility of denial. Every time a thought of doubt popped in my head, I rebuked it. I only believed in success and victory.

I daydreamed only about winning. Our future would only consist of the money from winning, not of returning back to my old job or my old life. We would not be going backwards anymore. Only forwards. By faith and God’s great reward, I would win this case.

A year after my first denial, my hearing arrived. Ultimately, I trusted that God’s will would be done.

As I sat in the waiting room, I researched the judge. Out of all of the local judges, mine had the highest approval rate and the lowest denial rate. My friend’s words came to me, “Only the best when God is involved.”

But the hearing was nothing like I expected. The judge asked no questions, and I was barely able to explain or express everything I had prepared. It seemed to have only lasted ten minutes, if that. Was that good or bad?

I told myself it didn’t matter. It was in God’s hands.

Still, I had spent two and a half years, day and night, rehearsing my story and lines in my head.  It was tormenting. All of the things “I should have said” came up. There were so many things that could have helped my case that I never even got the time to say. After all that time, it wasn’t fair.

But I had to continually remind myself that it didn’t matter. God made known what needed to be known. God was over me. God was over the courtroom. And God was over the judge. Regardless of what I said or could have said, His will would be done.

God is Able

I braced myself for another three months of waiting. However, the month didn’t even end before I received word that a decision had been made.

Fully favorable.

Shock triumphed elation. Disbelief wouldn’t be the correct word because I knew fully well that God had His hand on it all. Still, I couldn’t believe it was finally over.

While the money is obviously the part that everyone is quick to rejoice about, my first and biggest joy was the fact that it was all finally over. God had answered our prayers.

The burden had been lifted. Two and a half years of trying to prove something was wrong was over. Rehearsing my story was over. Doubt, fear, worry were all over. My mind was free.

I’m no longer ashamed that man knows I have a disability because I know God does not see as man sees. It doesn’t matter that man looks at the body because I know my God looks at the heart. And in my God’s eyes, I am healed.

And I am thankful to have finally been officially declared disabled – all because my God is able!