Things I Have and Things I Am
Much academic writing, discourse, and teeth-gnashing has been devoted to the subject of
what exactly do we call sick people.
Part of this semantic argument includes the difference between "to have" and "to be."
"To have" implies a lack of attachment. It implies a cure; if you have something, then there
is a chance that one day you may not have it.
"To be" is identifying. It implies something innate.
I have Dysautonomia. Despite the lack of an obvious cure, it's something that I could concievably
be rid of one day.
I have Diabetes, and I am Diabetic. Short of a miraculous medical breakthrough, there is nothing
that will change the fact that my pancreas doesn't work anymore. Yet, something about that
ambiguious possibility of a medical breakthrough places Diabetes in both the "to have" and "to be"
category.
"Disabled" is a word that feels comfortable to me. Not insulting or minimizing; just a
pragmatic way to express "can't do as much."
I can understand why some of my disabled peers are resistant to having the term applied to them;
American culture in particular inculcates an image of hopelessness and despair, due
largely to the poverty trap that makes up our only social safety net for the disabled.
I argue with myself sometimes; are we really so far off from the days of sanatoriums and
forcible medical institutions? Or have we simply replaced these institutions by allowing
people to die?