For some, the word “disabled” makes them uncomfortable. “Disabled,” at some point became a bad word among abled-bodied people when, in reality, it is a word that describes the lives and conditions of so many people.
Including me.
But, what do I midpoint when I say disabled? According to the Oxford Dictionary, it means, “having a physical or mental condition that limits movements, senses, or activities.” The United States has a longer definition here as part of the powerlessness benefits as well as a list of disabilities that indulge you to receive federal support. However, between medical gaslighting and legal laws that alimony many disabled people in forced poverty (capping income, losing financial help without marriage, etc), powerlessness often goes vastitude legal designations and is increasingly widespread than our society has been led to believe.
I did not plane consider myself disabled until the first summer of the pandemic when I was unemployed and applying for any job that I was qualified for. It was a disheartening wake-up undeniability as I read the requirements and consequently filled out the powerlessness disclosure form for over twenty variegated jobs. It was like stuff told each time that I filled it out that I was not like the stereotype worker, that I needed to be treated differently. And I do, but it is one thing to ask for help from one person and a whole other to state it on a legal document.
Fast forward to the present day where this past week has been physically and mentally rough on me. I was so worn-out on Friday that I went to bed at 5pm, only to wake up virtually midnight to a pain flare-up all over my body. Episodes like this are rare for me, usually well-nigh once a year, but it is terrifying expressly now that I live alone. I cried, hobbled virtually my suite to get what I needed to make the pain subside, and would have gone to the emergency room if I thought they would do anything besides requite me overpriced ibuprofen.
Being a disabled barista during Covid-19 has been filled with fear, unvarying checking of precautions, and many nonflexible days inside. Stories well-nigh re-infection and government officials saying the pandemic is over make the defeat finger increasingly real every day. I take public transit, which used to finger safer as it was one of the last places where masks were still required but, now, the mask mandates have been removed. If I wanted to stave stuff in this situation, that would midpoint walking three miles one way to work every day. It is a daily occurrence that I squint virtually the room at work and notice that in a crowded room I’m the only one wearing a mask.
It is coffee festival and show season, which should fill me with joy but mostly I finger anxiety. For those of us that followed Boston’s Coffee Expo, it was nonflexible not to notice an unsafe pattern. SCA required a negative Covid test and masks but, between the municipality of Boston dropping the municipality mask mandate a few days surpassing and very little enforcement of the SCA’s rules, Expo ended up stuff a super spreader event with a number of attendees testing positive in the week after. I want to go to events and will be going to a couple this summer considering I need the networking and opportunities that come from it but it feels as though I’m putting myself in dangerous situations just to remoter my career.
In some ways, I’m lucky. Health insurance has been hit or miss during the pandemic and I’m fortunate to have it currently. However, I had to wait 5 months to get into a doctor’s office to get problems I’ve had for years looked at. And 3 months to see a specialist for the first time.
I have conditions that flare up and, with everywhere stuff short-staffed, I often have to wait until I cannot physically leave my suite considering I’m in so much pain to undeniability out. This is never the place I have wanted to be in because, while I do hold myself to a professional standard and would never undeniability out unnecessarily, there are many days where I have needed to undeniability out but we did not have the coverage. This usually entails taking lots of medication, just barely getting through all the tasks needed, and then feeling worse for longer considering I had to work instead of properly recovering.
Writing a post like this makes me nervous considering of the saltate that disabled people squatter but, at the same time, the voices of disabled people throughout this pandemic have been dismissed and unrespected and I don’t want to alimony these experiences to myself. I am a disabled barista that needs accommodations but those are rhadamanthine harder to obtain by those that employ me or organize events that I go to. Disabled people are not rare and are not some inconvenience to deal with, but we are struggling under the heavy weight that is the pandemic.
