Disability is a Four-Letter Word

Pain Disability Index

From 0 (no disability) to 10 (the worst disability), score how badly pain prevents you from doing what you would typically do or how poorly you accomplish each category due to the intrusion of pain.

Respond based on the OVERALL impact pain plays on your life, not just when you feel your worst.

Family & Home Responsibilities

The house is in desperate need of an overhaul, or my body hates me; there is no in-between.

EVERYTHING gets tackled at once, whether I feel capable of handling the chores or not. The deadlines of company sends me into a frantic cleaning mode: scrubbing, sweeping, mopping, dusting. Royalty could descend on the porch and approve of my work. Nothing is ever out of place, much to the chagrin of the cats and dog, who immediately set about destroying my work.

And I pay for my efforts.

Within seconds of finishing, my muscles lock into the PAIN configuration. I can barely move. Every BLINK requires energy I no longer possess. And I pay for my frenzy for weeks afterward.

When I will repeat the process. Because I learn NOTHING.

Recreation

My hobbies are many and varied. They consist of lying on the couch in agony, soaking in the tub in misery, and curling up with a heating pad. For flavor, I stand in front of the medicine cabinet and contemplate which of the various pill bottles won’t work to ease my discomfort.

And on weekends, I fall asleep on the couch when I’m supposed to be interacting with friends and family.

Social Activity

If I speak to someone outside of the house, it counts as social activity.

My mailman and I are BFFs. We have a standing date. (Except when he decides to cheat on me and spend time with his family without notice. Then I’m stuck waiting around for some stranger who doesn’t know when to arrive or how to smile and exchange pleasantries properly)

Occupation

“You have it easy.”

Of course, I do. I sit at a desk and type words on a screen for a living. How could anything be easier? There’s no effort or expenditure of energy required. I don’t even have to wear a fancy uniform. (My selection of pajamas is the envy of my fellow writers)

Sitting upright, moving my arms (shoulders, elbows, wrists, fingers—all of those fiddly joints), and engaging a brain prone to short-circuiting requires nothing at all. Anyone could accomplish such tasks.

It’s why everyone in the world fancies themselves writers.

Sexual Behavior

• “Was it good for you?”

• “Are you in the mood?”

• “Do you want to try…?”

I remember those days—somewhere in the distant past. When I made an effort to push the pain aside so I could seem alluring and appealing. (I was an idiot)

Now different sentiments fill the bedroom:

• “Not tonight; the pain’s too high.”

• “Ow, ow, ow, ow, OW!”

• “You’ve got to be kidding.”

Romance is dead.

Self-Care

Normal people consider self-care sitting with an absurd number of scented candles and the latest meditation app. Or taking off work a few hours early to hit a boutique coffee shop they read about in a pretentious magazine. Or spending quality time in a hot tub as a congratulatory back pat when they complete a workout at the gym.

It isn’t surviving a shower—complete with washing their hair. (And the world wonders why I keep such a ruthlessly short pixie cut)

Self-care isn’t propping up an arm to hold the electric toothbrush as it grinds away the last of the enamel on the teeth. (More like electric icepick!)

Or wrestling your boobs—those obnoxious appendages you were SO excited to get as a kid—into the most infernal contraption ever invented: the bra. Because climate change has decided that sweatshirts aren’t appropriate attire 365 days out of the year, and I have to be presentable to venture out in public. But my arms no longer want to contort behind my back or lift over my head.

And I’m not a stick figure or a 20-something who can run around without the man-handling support of those straps and wires.

Life-Support Activities

Breathing is overrated.

And how much sleep does a person REALLY need in their life? That magical number of “eight hours” was clearly made up by the mattress industry to push sales of pillows.

Index Interpretation

Minimal Index = 0

Maximal Index = 70

The higher the index, the greater the person’s disability due to pain.

Someone became a doctor to prove that pain impairs a person’s ability to function. And then chose to ignore the implications of that ground-breaking revelation.

Four years in an undergraduate program (business, most likely), four years of medical school, and six years in residency. All to spend five minutes shaking their head when I profess that my pain is incapacitating.

• Have I tried losing weight?

• Am I getting enough sleep?

• Do I want a referral to speak with a therapist?

Would I care to assign a number to my pain today? For the past week? Over the past year?

Does the finger I’m holding up represent my pain or my personal opinion of their disinterest in my case?