No hoops. No rain delays. No spilled milk.
Nothing to prove, nothing to curse while waiting, and nothing to cry over.
So why did I cry?
The process of applying for and receiving Canada Pension Plan Disability Benefits is complete. The wait is over. The hours spent focusing on what I can't do, versus what I can do, have paid off. This afternoon, I received a phone call to let me know that my application for CPP disability benefits has been approved.
So again, why did I cry when I got the news?
Well to me, this means that somewhere out there, in the paper universe, there are papers that outline a grim past, present, and foreseeable future for me. Whatever medical proof my doctors gave, represents a disabled person. The key words regarding the eligibility for the benefit are "severe", "prolonged" and "indefinitely". Not too mention, "under the age of 65".
When I realize that I am considered a disabled person, I get upset. I don't see myself as disabled. Instead, I have unpredictable, and often all consuming, physical and cognitive challenges...that you yourself, likely don't experience...unless you also have MS ;) So the idea that someone wrote medical jargon (that I actually feel I don't know the half of what was said...I often feel as if I have been left in the dark concerning what actually happened to me) that a group of other people then read and analyzed, compared it with another person's medical jargon, compared it with my own self-account of my day-to-day life, and decided that I'm disabled, and am therefore entitled to some government money.
I think that the reason for my tears, is that I don't want anyone to think that I feel sorry for myself. Although I have experienced what society commonly considers a "loss" or a "tragedy", I don't like the idea that someone might think that my story is a sad one. When you are challenged with an illness (for lack of a better word) I believe that you have a different load to carry through life. I believe in the power that my reaction(s) to these event(s) hold.
Don't get me wrong...I still feel sad once in awhile. But there is probably only ever going to be one other time when it would be better to have a diagnosis of MS than now. So for now, I accept the help that I have been given, and thank my lucky stars that it's the year 2008. I accept the label that I have been given...and I will strive to change the stereotype that comes with it.
Maybe that's why I cried.
Catch you in a few...