I had a good friend way back in high school who told me that given my physical handicap, getting a girl to fall in love with me would be next to impossible.
My friend was, of course, being frank and simply telling the truth. Still, the stubborn part of me ignored the above statement, and went on courting several girls. Take note, these are not your ordinary, run-of-the-mill women. They are particularly attractive and can easily stand out in a crowd.
In all of these courtships, the results were naturally not to my disadvantage. Thus, I always ended up nursing a broken heart over and over.
The heartbreaks finally stopped ten years ago when one special girl entered my life. She was, like all the other girls I have courted, particularly attractive, but she had one single difference. She actually said 'yes'.
This girl eventually became my wife, to the dismay of my mother who believes that this girl is not really serious with me. She said that given my disability, it will not come as a surprise if this girl will one day decide to look for a more normal guy and have a more normal life.
I refused to believe this, confident in the fact that my wife is faithful and completely in love with me.
There are times though when I can see her looking at other men. When confronted, she would deny this.
Still, those are rare occasions, and my wife would often assure me that she is not the playgirl type and that she will never do anything that will bring ruin to our family.
We now have four children, and are still living happily together. Last weekend, however, a chance encounter with another man awakened me to a dark reality in my life.
My wife was then playing at the arcade while carrying our one-year-old son. I was by her left side looking after our two-month-old baby. To her right was a young man in t-shirt and who was wearing a white cap. He was quietly watching her play although I believe that they do not know each other.
At that point, my wife was on a winning streak, having earned several arcade tickets. I could see that she was particularly happy as arcade victories came rarely to her.
I was half-expecting her to look at me and smile. To my surprise, however, she looked at the man to her right, smiled at him and said something about being particularly lucky that day. The man smiled back, and then hesitantly walked away.
My wife then looked at me innocently. I asked her if she knew the guy and she said no. I then asked her why she smiled at him, and she jokingly said it's because I was not looking at her.
To others, this may pass off as something of no value at all. To me though, it was a wake-up call, a pat on the back to help me keep in mind that for disabled people like me, love can never be a long-lasting experience. That one incident alone is a clear indication that I could easily lose my wife anytime if ever a 'normal' and good -looking man should come in to her life.
In all the years that we have been together, I have known her to be extra friendly, even to men. That is why many of them are drawn to her. We have a small sari-sari store, and I often notice that whenever the customer is a guy, my wife would make the first move to be of service even if I'm the one tending the store.
Many of our customers also happen to be men as there is a car wash outlet located in front of our store. Practically all of its male employees know my wife by name and often look for her whenever they come to us to buy something.
This has somehow put a dent on our marriage since I usually end up getting jealous. My wife continues to assure me of her love, but her many actions often contradict this. Secretly, I feel that it is only a matter of time before she falls for someone else.
I'm keeping my fingers crossed that the day will never come, if only for my children's sake. Still, when I recall my old friend's declaration and my mother's belief, I can only bow in agreement.
Whoever said that fairy tales do come true is probably living in dream land. And whoever said that all is fair in love is probably one who has never shed a tear for a badly broken heart.
From where I stand right now, love stories are only for 'normal' people.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Apprehension Grips My Heart
I was sick for two days. This is the second time that I got ill in a span of less than three months. This does not usually happen to me, but given the possibility that I could be showing the early symptoms of post-polio syndrome, I'm not really surprised.
During my childhood years, I remember being very sickly, especially the period after I have recovered from my bout with polio. When I entered my school-year age, I recall getting sick often which mean being absent from my classes for weeks at a time.
That eventually changed when I reached high school. Maybe it had to do with the physical changes that teenagers are known to experience during this time. Or perhaps my body was finally able to develop a fully functional immune system.
Either way, the years that followed proved to be healthy ones for me. I seldom got sick, and even if I did, it lasted only for two days at most. And I was not even taking in any vitamin supplements; just a healthy diet, regular exercise and a good night's sleep.
This set-up went well until last March when I was diagnosed with pneumonia. I struggled through the illness for almost a week before I got fully recovered.
Last May, I got sick again, and although it was comparatively milder, the illness was a surprise as it came in the midst of summer, and only two months after my last sickness.
This was when I learned about post polio syndrome. Considering my age and the period when the initial polio attack took place, I suspect that my last two illnesses are early symptoms that I am suffering from this condition. Of course, I still need to confirm this with a medical doctor.
I am keeping my fingers crossed that my suspicion is unfounded. Still, apprehension grips my heart like a vise. Just like many polio survivors who are now suffering from post polio syndrome, my fear is that after years of believing that I have recovered from the effects of the disease, polio has returned for a second round of battle, and this time, it seeks to ensure that it will come out the victor.
During my childhood years, I remember being very sickly, especially the period after I have recovered from my bout with polio. When I entered my school-year age, I recall getting sick often which mean being absent from my classes for weeks at a time.
That eventually changed when I reached high school. Maybe it had to do with the physical changes that teenagers are known to experience during this time. Or perhaps my body was finally able to develop a fully functional immune system.
Either way, the years that followed proved to be healthy ones for me. I seldom got sick, and even if I did, it lasted only for two days at most. And I was not even taking in any vitamin supplements; just a healthy diet, regular exercise and a good night's sleep.
This set-up went well until last March when I was diagnosed with pneumonia. I struggled through the illness for almost a week before I got fully recovered.
Last May, I got sick again, and although it was comparatively milder, the illness was a surprise as it came in the midst of summer, and only two months after my last sickness.
This was when I learned about post polio syndrome. Considering my age and the period when the initial polio attack took place, I suspect that my last two illnesses are early symptoms that I am suffering from this condition. Of course, I still need to confirm this with a medical doctor.
I am keeping my fingers crossed that my suspicion is unfounded. Still, apprehension grips my heart like a vise. Just like many polio survivors who are now suffering from post polio syndrome, my fear is that after years of believing that I have recovered from the effects of the disease, polio has returned for a second round of battle, and this time, it seeks to ensure that it will come out the victor.
Monday, May 23, 2011
An Ancient Enemy Has Come Avisiting
For the last few months, I noticed that I seem to get tired easily. I can readily feel the strong beating of my heart and a slight shortness of breath after walking for just a few minutes.
In recent years, I have also been having a hard time getting a good six to seven-hour sleep.
These conditions were unheard of in my younger years.
Last week, when I began this blog and started reading up on articles about disabilities, I came across the term 'PPS' or post-polio syndrome. This is a condition known to affect victims of polio and is characterized by general body function slowdown.
The discovery came as a surprise to me. After recovering from polio, no one has discussed to me the possibility of suffering from its after-effects years later.
Yet, this was indeed a real possibility. Many prominent personalities who were polio victims in the past are now in fact dealing with PPS. These included Arthur C. Clarke, a science-fiction writer, who was diagnosed with polio in 1962 and who suffered from post-polio syndrome in 1984 before passing away four years later.
Briefly, PPS affects about 50% of all polio victims, with many of the symptoms beginning to manifest themselves some 15-30 years after the initial attack. The most common of these symptoms are fatigue, and weakness and pain in the muscles. Less common ones include sleep and breathing problems.
Often, the situation is exacerbated by the fact that PPS is hard to identify since its symptoms can be attributed solely to aging. Still, there is growing evidence that many polio victims who were able to overcome the damaging effects of the disease are now finding themselves facing what was previously regarded as a vanquished opponent.
Post-polio syndrome is now a new battlefield for us. Although it is not life-threatening, PPS has rekindled an old fear, the fear that we may eventually bow down again before an ancient enemy before our time is up.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Post-polio_syndrome
In recent years, I have also been having a hard time getting a good six to seven-hour sleep.
These conditions were unheard of in my younger years.
Last week, when I began this blog and started reading up on articles about disabilities, I came across the term 'PPS' or post-polio syndrome. This is a condition known to affect victims of polio and is characterized by general body function slowdown.
The discovery came as a surprise to me. After recovering from polio, no one has discussed to me the possibility of suffering from its after-effects years later.
Yet, this was indeed a real possibility. Many prominent personalities who were polio victims in the past are now in fact dealing with PPS. These included Arthur C. Clarke, a science-fiction writer, who was diagnosed with polio in 1962 and who suffered from post-polio syndrome in 1984 before passing away four years later.
Briefly, PPS affects about 50% of all polio victims, with many of the symptoms beginning to manifest themselves some 15-30 years after the initial attack. The most common of these symptoms are fatigue, and weakness and pain in the muscles. Less common ones include sleep and breathing problems.
Often, the situation is exacerbated by the fact that PPS is hard to identify since its symptoms can be attributed solely to aging. Still, there is growing evidence that many polio victims who were able to overcome the damaging effects of the disease are now finding themselves facing what was previously regarded as a vanquished opponent.
Post-polio syndrome is now a new battlefield for us. Although it is not life-threatening, PPS has rekindled an old fear, the fear that we may eventually bow down again before an ancient enemy before our time is up.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Post-polio_syndrome
Friday, May 20, 2011
Of Stigmas and Disabilities
As I continued to read more about Franklin Roosevelt and his supposed bout with polio, I began to learn more about how he came to grips with his disability.
One sad note is that in his many appearances, Roosevelt convinced the general public that while he may have been struck down by his illness, he was not really disabled. In private, he used a wheelchair to get him to move around. Publicly, however, he was always seen standing upright which, I recently found out, was choreographed.
I understand that to boost his chances of running for public office, Roosevelt had to project the image of a 'normal' and healthy man. Unfortunately, in doing so, Roosevelt had underscored the stigma often attached to a physical disability; that it is a disgrace to the family and that it is something that ought to be kept from public view.
Of course, that was a long time ago, back when disabiliities were still considered oddities and in some cases, curses.
These days, while there are still some who regard people with disabilities as second-class citizens, there are many laws which protect them from discrimination. If Roosevelt had lived in the present time, then, he would most probably have opted to go public on his wheelchair.
One sad note is that in his many appearances, Roosevelt convinced the general public that while he may have been struck down by his illness, he was not really disabled. In private, he used a wheelchair to get him to move around. Publicly, however, he was always seen standing upright which, I recently found out, was choreographed.
I understand that to boost his chances of running for public office, Roosevelt had to project the image of a 'normal' and healthy man. Unfortunately, in doing so, Roosevelt had underscored the stigma often attached to a physical disability; that it is a disgrace to the family and that it is something that ought to be kept from public view.
Of course, that was a long time ago, back when disabiliities were still considered oddities and in some cases, curses.
These days, while there are still some who regard people with disabilities as second-class citizens, there are many laws which protect them from discrimination. If Roosevelt had lived in the present time, then, he would most probably have opted to go public on his wheelchair.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
The Case of Franklin Roosevelt
For years, the story of former US President Franklin D. Roosevelt inspired me, particularly the episode of his life when he was said to have contracted polio. For me, it was the perfect recovery story after polio.
Recent data, though, tend to show that the late US president actually suffered from Guillain-Barré syndrome, a disorder that triggers ascending paralysis of the peripheral nervous system.
Why the quick diagnosis of polio for the late president can be due to the fact that at the time of contracting the illness, polio was widespread, particularly in northeastern United States.
Still, regardless of his actual illness, there is hardly any doubt that despite his condition then, Mr. Roosevelt was able to overcome the challenge presented by his disability. He rose to become one of the greatest leaders the world has ever known.
More importantly, his experience led Mr. Roosevelt to put up the National Foundation for Infantile Paralysis, eventually referred to as the March of Dimes.
Initially established to help in rehabilitation efforts for paralytic polio victims, March of Dimes soon expanded its scope by supporting various works aimed at developing the needed polio vaccine. These days, the foundation keeps itself busy by helping find ways of preventing infant death, premature birth and the occurrence of birth defects.
For all his charitable works in behalf of polio-stricken people, Frankiln Roosevelt's image has been immortalized in the US dime.
Recent data, though, tend to show that the late US president actually suffered from Guillain-Barré syndrome, a disorder that triggers ascending paralysis of the peripheral nervous system.
Why the quick diagnosis of polio for the late president can be due to the fact that at the time of contracting the illness, polio was widespread, particularly in northeastern United States.
Still, regardless of his actual illness, there is hardly any doubt that despite his condition then, Mr. Roosevelt was able to overcome the challenge presented by his disability. He rose to become one of the greatest leaders the world has ever known.
More importantly, his experience led Mr. Roosevelt to put up the National Foundation for Infantile Paralysis, eventually referred to as the March of Dimes.
Initially established to help in rehabilitation efforts for paralytic polio victims, March of Dimes soon expanded its scope by supporting various works aimed at developing the needed polio vaccine. These days, the foundation keeps itself busy by helping find ways of preventing infant death, premature birth and the occurrence of birth defects.
For all his charitable works in behalf of polio-stricken people, Frankiln Roosevelt's image has been immortalized in the US dime.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Iron Lung Warriors
Yesterday, I talked about being placed inside a machine at the height of my bout with polio years ago. It turns out that the experience was common among the many victims of the disease.
The machine, as I jiust learned it, is actually called the 'iron lung' , sometimes called a tank respirator, and was a device closely associated with polio and its victims. Since polio is known to attack, among others, the chest muscles, the victims would normally experience difficulty in breathing.
Apparently, this was the very same experience that I had at the time, although like I said before, that episode of my life was a complete blank even now.
Anyway, as I read more about the iron lung, I came across several people, also victimized by polio, who lived practically all of their human lives inside this contraption. One of them, Dianne O'dell, has actually lived inside her very own iron lung for nearly 55 years. This was after she contracted polio when she was only three years old.
Despite the unusual and difficult set-up, Dianne has lived a full life. Weddings, birthdays and many family celebrations were held at the O'dell home so Dianne can attend.
She even got a high school diploma, topped by a scholarship that she used to be able to study for a short time at a local university.
Read about her amazing story at http://www.post-gazette.com/pg/05100/485341.stm
The machine, as I jiust learned it, is actually called the 'iron lung' , sometimes called a tank respirator, and was a device closely associated with polio and its victims. Since polio is known to attack, among others, the chest muscles, the victims would normally experience difficulty in breathing.
Apparently, this was the very same experience that I had at the time, although like I said before, that episode of my life was a complete blank even now.
Anyway, as I read more about the iron lung, I came across several people, also victimized by polio, who lived practically all of their human lives inside this contraption. One of them, Dianne O'dell, has actually lived inside her very own iron lung for nearly 55 years. This was after she contracted polio when she was only three years old.
Despite the unusual and difficult set-up, Dianne has lived a full life. Weddings, birthdays and many family celebrations were held at the O'dell home so Dianne can attend.
She even got a high school diploma, topped by a scholarship that she used to be able to study for a short time at a local university.
Read about her amazing story at http://www.post-gazette.com/pg/05100/485341.stm
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
The Beginning
I was born a normal kid; healthy, precocious and full of life.
Yet, fate, with its characteristic mood swings and unpredictable moves, apparently had other plans. Part of those plans was to turn me into an abomination.
Thus, on a cold mid-morning, as I entered the eighth-month of my first year of existence, I was found in bed burning with high fever and suffering from a heavily-bleeding nose. What happened after that was a complete and dark emptiness.
Several months later, I was made aware that I had contracted a then incurable but highly-contagious and highly-fatal disease that was known to afflict infants. It was called poliomyelitis, more commonly referred to as polio.
The year was 1967, a time when the anti-vaccine for the lethal disease was not yet readily available. Hence, you might say that I was an accident waiting to take place; and so, it did.
For babies of my generation then, it was a dangerous time to live because polio was notorious for making surprised and often deadly attacks. At any given time, you could be down and dead. At one point, you could be running around in total freedom; in the next, your mother could be crying over your limp and lifeless body.
Yet, I was one of those who miraculously survived this savage attack on infants. Based on stories repeatedly told to me by my late father, babies who caught the polio virus during that time were given a 50/50 chance of survival.
In my case, when I was rushed to the hospital on that fateful morning, I was said to have been given a variety of vaccines, none of them anti-polio. When these did not seem to have had any effect, I was supposedly placed inside a machine side by side other polio-stricken infants, one of our respective feet ready to go down the grave.
Those placed beside me died one after the next, until in the end, I was left all alone, scarred but surviving. Doctors were amazed at this seeming determination to live on my part. Later on, they were said to have told my late father that God has probably assigned me to a special mission that I needed to accomplish first before I can go home to Him.
After recovery, I was taken home but I could hardly remember anything. My mind remained a complete blank.
By the time I had gotten grasp of where I am, which took another several months, everything appeared normal to me. I had a shorter than normal left leg founded on a twisted left foot; apart from that, I sported a completely paralyzed right arm. Yet, these differences did not seem to matter to me. It was the appearance that I grew up with and for a kid my age, this did not look a lot different from others.
Living with the disability that polio gifted me with was never easy. Apart from making constant adjustments on how to move, I also needed to face the fact that there are things that I simply could not do. Then, there are the uncaring and at times, hypcritical stares from people who simply do not know any better.
And of course, there were the heartaches that came in torrents, particularly upon reaching adolescence, the period of your life when nothing else seemed to matter but the one you love. Getting broken once was enough, but to be broken countless times was something no sane person would readily welcome.
Despite these limitations and the many pains that these brought in, my late father decided to put me to school. He had every intention of sending me all the way to college and even through my masteral studies, both of which I was able to complete through determination and Divine intervention. For this, I am eternally grateful to my old man.
Getting a job after school became an eye-opener though. This proved to be a turning point in my life as I began to realize that I had been a sheltered child. My late dad, despite his good intentions, had unfortunately kept me insulated from how the world outside actually works. I was never taught that if people give you lemon, you had the option to make lemonades.
Still, one company took its chances on me, along with several others who shared similar physical conditions. For several years, I found a second home where I could move around without having had to endure many a condescending stare from people who had nothing better to do.
Work then took much of my time and helped me forget, albeit temporarily, what I am and what I am not. I began seeing myself as an actual part of a 'normal society', not some 'freak' trying to fit in.With friends who treated you as their equal, this was not that difficult to achieve.
Then in early February, on the feast day of Our Lady of Lourdes, fate decided to strike again, dealing me another major blow.
Everything took place in a matter of minutes. An innocent bus ride, heavy traffic, swerving, a sudden stop, a quick turn, a tragic fall.
When the smoke cleared, I was down on the pavement of a major thoroughfare, an ugly gash peering out of my left temple coupled with a left leg covered in fresh red blood, tissues, muscles and bones gravely swollen and openly exposed to the humid air.
To make the long story short, the leg was amputated for medical and health reasons. In its place, a prosthetic one was fitted. Thus, there is now a piece of me that is no longer human. In the cyberworld, I am now technically a cyborg, part human and part machine.
Technically as well, this is my second lease on life. And just like most second chances, the experience has led me to search for the reason God has led me this far on this earthly journey of mine.
I began looking back at my previous life. As I did, I found that I have been given many things that others in my situation have not been blessed with. I have been given this rare opportunity to rise above my limitations. The disability is there, but I have also been armed with the gift to prove myself worthy of existing in spite and because of this disability.
The beauty of it all is that I am not alone in this discovery. There are many others like me out in the world. People whose physical bodies have been scarred but who have chosen to use these to their advantage. These are the people who ought to be recognized. Lesser mortals living among mortals, waiting to be called so others will realize that even among the weak, the mighty hand of God is at work.
This is the mission....join me.
Yet, fate, with its characteristic mood swings and unpredictable moves, apparently had other plans. Part of those plans was to turn me into an abomination.
Thus, on a cold mid-morning, as I entered the eighth-month of my first year of existence, I was found in bed burning with high fever and suffering from a heavily-bleeding nose. What happened after that was a complete and dark emptiness.
Several months later, I was made aware that I had contracted a then incurable but highly-contagious and highly-fatal disease that was known to afflict infants. It was called poliomyelitis, more commonly referred to as polio.
The year was 1967, a time when the anti-vaccine for the lethal disease was not yet readily available. Hence, you might say that I was an accident waiting to take place; and so, it did.
For babies of my generation then, it was a dangerous time to live because polio was notorious for making surprised and often deadly attacks. At any given time, you could be down and dead. At one point, you could be running around in total freedom; in the next, your mother could be crying over your limp and lifeless body.
Yet, I was one of those who miraculously survived this savage attack on infants. Based on stories repeatedly told to me by my late father, babies who caught the polio virus during that time were given a 50/50 chance of survival.
In my case, when I was rushed to the hospital on that fateful morning, I was said to have been given a variety of vaccines, none of them anti-polio. When these did not seem to have had any effect, I was supposedly placed inside a machine side by side other polio-stricken infants, one of our respective feet ready to go down the grave.
Those placed beside me died one after the next, until in the end, I was left all alone, scarred but surviving. Doctors were amazed at this seeming determination to live on my part. Later on, they were said to have told my late father that God has probably assigned me to a special mission that I needed to accomplish first before I can go home to Him.
After recovery, I was taken home but I could hardly remember anything. My mind remained a complete blank.
By the time I had gotten grasp of where I am, which took another several months, everything appeared normal to me. I had a shorter than normal left leg founded on a twisted left foot; apart from that, I sported a completely paralyzed right arm. Yet, these differences did not seem to matter to me. It was the appearance that I grew up with and for a kid my age, this did not look a lot different from others.
Living with the disability that polio gifted me with was never easy. Apart from making constant adjustments on how to move, I also needed to face the fact that there are things that I simply could not do. Then, there are the uncaring and at times, hypcritical stares from people who simply do not know any better.
And of course, there were the heartaches that came in torrents, particularly upon reaching adolescence, the period of your life when nothing else seemed to matter but the one you love. Getting broken once was enough, but to be broken countless times was something no sane person would readily welcome.
Despite these limitations and the many pains that these brought in, my late father decided to put me to school. He had every intention of sending me all the way to college and even through my masteral studies, both of which I was able to complete through determination and Divine intervention. For this, I am eternally grateful to my old man.
Getting a job after school became an eye-opener though. This proved to be a turning point in my life as I began to realize that I had been a sheltered child. My late dad, despite his good intentions, had unfortunately kept me insulated from how the world outside actually works. I was never taught that if people give you lemon, you had the option to make lemonades.
Still, one company took its chances on me, along with several others who shared similar physical conditions. For several years, I found a second home where I could move around without having had to endure many a condescending stare from people who had nothing better to do.
Work then took much of my time and helped me forget, albeit temporarily, what I am and what I am not. I began seeing myself as an actual part of a 'normal society', not some 'freak' trying to fit in.With friends who treated you as their equal, this was not that difficult to achieve.
Then in early February, on the feast day of Our Lady of Lourdes, fate decided to strike again, dealing me another major blow.
Everything took place in a matter of minutes. An innocent bus ride, heavy traffic, swerving, a sudden stop, a quick turn, a tragic fall.
When the smoke cleared, I was down on the pavement of a major thoroughfare, an ugly gash peering out of my left temple coupled with a left leg covered in fresh red blood, tissues, muscles and bones gravely swollen and openly exposed to the humid air.
To make the long story short, the leg was amputated for medical and health reasons. In its place, a prosthetic one was fitted. Thus, there is now a piece of me that is no longer human. In the cyberworld, I am now technically a cyborg, part human and part machine.
Technically as well, this is my second lease on life. And just like most second chances, the experience has led me to search for the reason God has led me this far on this earthly journey of mine.
I began looking back at my previous life. As I did, I found that I have been given many things that others in my situation have not been blessed with. I have been given this rare opportunity to rise above my limitations. The disability is there, but I have also been armed with the gift to prove myself worthy of existing in spite and because of this disability.
The beauty of it all is that I am not alone in this discovery. There are many others like me out in the world. People whose physical bodies have been scarred but who have chosen to use these to their advantage. These are the people who ought to be recognized. Lesser mortals living among mortals, waiting to be called so others will realize that even among the weak, the mighty hand of God is at work.
This is the mission....join me.
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