Am I disabled "enough"

"Am I disabled enough" seems to be a running theme in many of our lives when we contemplate having a Service Dog.  Do I really need the extra help?  When we first think of Service Dogs, we typically think of dogs for the blind.  That seems to be the bar for disabled.  I can see, I can speak, I can walk; do I really need a Service Dog?

It is all about degrees. I can see - better at the beginning of the day, but when tired my eyes play tricks on me.  I can speak, though with the fibro fog there are times I don't know what I just said or can't keep a train of thought going.  I can walk, though it is limited and wobbly.  But am I disabled enough?

It is hard to come to this part of your life.  To accept new limitations.  To know that you probably will not be able to do the things that you used to enjoy.  That life has to become more structured for you to be "safe".

It's the loss of independence that is a scary thought.  What if I can't do for myself? What if I can't care for myself?  With that, there is grief, a sense of profound loss.  I am struggling with how to be independent.  I need to find out what I can be, on my own, before I can readjust on how I can be with others.

It is a powerful feeling, thinking that you might be dependent on others to live.  Heck I can't even go to the bathroom alone anymore (Spirit is quite insistent about that!).  It marginalizes who you are and what input you can have on your own life. 

I am lucky enough to have some wonderful people in my life, though I hurt them in my struggle to accept that I am disabled.  I hurt them because I have a desperately need to prove that I can take care of myself.  That, in my own way, I am still ME, not my condition.  If I don't find that out, if I can't sort that out, who am I? A burden to be taken care of for another 40 years? Or a person that can contribute?  Am I an overgrown child being told when to eat, when to sleep?

Being independent and disabled is a terrifying thought.  But if I don't push the boundaries, how do I know if I can be more - different what and who I was before this - but a new person accepting who and what I am.

My mother lived her life and went to her death with no regrets.  I hope to do the same, but in doing so I cause pain.  But if I don't, how can I know who I am?

This blog post started out to be why I got a SD, and seems to have blurred into something else.  I am tempted to erase it, but blogging is all about who you  are in the NOW and if I keep turning away from this inner voice, than I am ignoring myself (which I think I have done for too long).

Having my SD as a companion I find that I can stretch my boundaries.  It is a scary thing.  Begin able to do more forces me to think more and to try to become more than I am alone.  With a dog as a helper I don't feel as powerless as i do/would with a human companion.  

Spirit is dependent upon me as I am upon him.  It is almost a symbiotic relationship.  We are both alien enough from each other to take away the hidden resentment from the care we give each other.

So when thinking "Am I disabled enough" this is what I came up with:

Are there other "adaptive medical devices" that I could have used? Here were the options offered to me:

Cane - great if I am listing only to the side.  Crap if the world decides to spin and I go over in the direction the cane isn't in or backwards.  I also have coordination issues so me walking with a cane and then something else in one hand . . . I will drop on of the two and picking things up with my issues can be a challenging event.

Walker - kinda like a shopping cart for me, but I have tipped a half full cart once when I over compensated going around a corner.  I figure if a long cart with 20+ lbs of stuff could not keep me up, a walker wouldn't stand a chance :)

Wheel chair/power chair - no way! I want to still use my muscles and I would still have the issues with positional changes.

Why a dog works for me:

First off a mobility dog is NOT a walker, cane or any other device that you put downward pressure on!  There is an upward pull to re-balance with and a touch on the handle to let me know WHERE in 3D space I am at. 

Some days I can bend down and get up safely, other days I can't.  A cane and walker cannot do pick up work.  Those things cannot undress me when I'm having range of motion issues, nor can they tell me I am being stupid and need to rest (intelligent disobedience). 

It is work, I won't kid you on that.  I was a 5 min out the door kind of gal, now it takes me at least 10-20 minutes.  If he is having a down day and my back-up dog isn't up for what I need or a friend isn't available, I don't go out.  I've tried and I've learned my lesson, so I try to be smart about my health and safety.

People don't get it, they think "How nice you can take your dog everywhere with you.  I wish I could." I wish I was healthy enough to leave him at home and enjoy the things I used to.  But that is not where I am at in my life now.  He just makes it easier. 

How it all started

I have Fibromyalgia, Chronic Fatigue syndrome and something else that makes me either pass out, or lose about 2 hrs at a time.  When I started school, the pain and fatigue of carrying books was too much.  When I talked to my provider she suggested a Service Dog.  So I went home and did research, told the school and looked over the dogs we had at home.

• Max - shep/chow mix about 50 lbs, the old man of the family a TOTAL daddy's dog.
• Jake - Shepard/Dane mix.  Great height, but complete basket case.
• Then there was George.  I love my George.  I love his color, how he is built and his big old block head.  He had basic obedience and very tuned into me.  So I got him a pack and started taking him just to school with me while I searched for a trainer.

I found a wonderful woman who looked at me and shook her head.  She felt that George just wasn't going to work, but she sent me home with homework and we practiced our down-stays, leash work, etc.  And each week we got more homework.  I think we surprised her because we did it and I didn't question her.  Right before we did our final work with George she told me that while he loves me and works for me because he loves me, that at one point something might happen and he would "wash-out" so I had to be extra careful to help him, as much as he was helping me.  For some reason children loved him.

So George and I worked for 5 months together, at the barn (I teach and coach at shows) at school, around town, etc.  Due to his breeding (daddy was a Weimaraner and mom was some type of staffie mix) he had a very minimal coat.  The trainer talked me into dressing him.  I was all for solid colors (taupe gray/his coat color, neon-green/because he looked good in it and safety orange/because bright colors kept people from bumping into him), though she finally persuaded me into bold prints to make him look more “clownish” so people would go, “Awwwe look at that poor pittie! He must be a good guy/well trained if he puts up with that!”  But no matter how we dressed him, he was a Kid Magnet.

Now George didn’t mind kids, as long as they stayed away, or pet him under the chin.  Nope, at our PAT test at a mall & Rainforest café there was a kid who could not just stay away. He was at least 7-8, no idea where his mother was and in the end he grabbed his tail.  George turned and looked…looked at me and got a cookie.  There were a few other times when I didn’t catch the little buggers quick enough, normally they were making direct eye contact and coming straight for his head arms open.  One time they grabbed the harness, and then there was the time that his little mind “broke” for indoor work.

We were at WalMart and I was looking at a shelf, he was sitting looking up at me and he got blindsided by a little blond girl, who took him to the floor kissing his big old head.  I looked at the mom, who had this smug little smile on her face, “She just loves dogs!” with a ‘what can you expect’ shrug of her shoulders.  I was just about to lay into her when the little girl lifted her head and said “Mommy, we need a puppy just like THIS!” and that’s when the big old block head appeared next to her precious little darling, panting with stress (still in a down position).  The woman’s face went from indulgent to scared to hell.  “How dare you bring such a dangerous dog into a store! You must be a faker! Pit Bulls can’t be Service Dogs”  Then I laid into her, telling her that her daughter had a very dangerous habit and not cute at all.  She was very lucky that she pulled that stunt with George who had been temperament tested and trained for it.  I had seen labs attack children from their own household after doing something like that.  That she had better teach her daughter dog safety, before some dog did.

George finished out his day like a trooper.  Got extra yummy food that night, next day grabbed his gear to bring to me, got suited up, happy walk into the school doors and then he started trembling.  We had someone come up behind us and he whipped around nearly dumping me.  For the next week we did small quick trips, lots of treats, lots of praise and he tried so hard!! But I had to make the decision to give him a break from indoor work (he still loved barn & show work) and I called the trainer up.

I was lucky that the placement of Spirit hadn’t worked, the trainer couldn’t have him in her house because she had already taken another dog in to train…couldn’t I please take Spirit for a month and that might be enough of a break for George.

Three months later she offered me Spirit and I took it.  George had been alerting me to my "spells" of fatigue/passing out/memory loss but it was an "Oh crap! Mom get somewhere safe!!!!" and he would pin me down. Spirit's alert was better and more consistent.  He had stages that he went through depending how close one was....but that's another story.