“Do you know the fine for
using someone else’s handicapped parking permit is $300?” “That parking spot
is saved for the disabled! You should be ashamed of yourself!” Nearly
everyone with an invisible illness has been told, “You don’t look disabled to
me!” One of my friends replied, “Well, you don’t look stupid to me.” I just
bite my lip to try to prevent the tears from forming, broken-hearted that I
appear to be deceptive, when I would do anything to give back this parking
perk that I use on a rare occasion. As I circle the parking lot
a fourth time on this day I hope for a spot to open up within two-hundred
yards of the store, but there is nothing remotely close at this bustling
superstore where I need to buy my prescriptions and milk for my toddler. My
rheumatoid arthritis is flaring badly, causing extra fluid in my knees to
dislocate pieces of loose bones. Every step is painful and unpredictable. Finally I sigh in
resignation and pull into the farthest “blue parking spot.” I reach for the
placard—the one that has a bold white symbol of a wheelchair—and no, I don’t
have a wheelchair—yet. So after fifteen years of having this “privilege” at
my disposal I still warily scan the area before reluctantly dangling the
placard from the rear view mirror. Is there anyone watching, wondering, or
waiting, ready to confront me? I’ve had scathing notes left
on my windshield and many people, empowered by television exposés, have
approached me with their opinions. Judgmental expressions and whispers sting
just as much. My husband and I adopted a baby and when I would get my child
of the car I would avoid eye contact with onlookers because I could hear
their whispers of, “She’s not disabled! Or—if she is—she has no right to have
a child!” Nearly 1 in 2 Americans
(133 million) live with a chronic illness. It could be diabetes, cancer,
cystic fibrosis, fibromyalgia or even chronic back pain. Many illnesses make
walking long distances impossible because of limited lung capacity, physical
pain, or unpredictable numbness in the legs. According to statistics provided
by the U.S. Census Bureau, about 96% of these illnesses are invisible. There is no sign of the illness existing,
nor the use of an assistive device like a cane or a wheelchair. I began National Invisible
Chronic Illness Awareness Week in 2002, which is held this year Strangers and loved ones
alike doubt the severity of our illness or even the diagnosis. We’ve heard,
“You look so good! You must be feeling better.” But we don’t feel better. We
just bought some fake tan in a bottle and pasted on a smile. National Invisible Chronic
Illness Awareness Week is a time to acknowledge that invisible illness is
more prevalent than we’d imagine and everyone—both those who are healthy and
ill—can make a difference by encouraging someone with an invisible illness,
rather than tearing someone down. Are those parking spots
painted blue because they give so many people the blues? That small area of
square footage is a breeding ground for many frustrations as we are forced to
defend our illness and character to total strangers. I’d gladly trade in my
placard indefinitely for just a week of having my old body back when I could
run, sit on the floor, or even hold a fork without tendons popping out of
place. I anticipate the day when a
nationally designated system is formed. The next time you see a
healthy looking man loading groceries into his car—parked in the “blue
spot”—don’t glare. Stop and offer to help him, or just smile nicely, giving
him the benefit of the doubt. Seventy percent of suicides have uncontrollable
physical pain as a factor. Your smile may save his life. At the least, it
will astonish him, perhaps providing him with genuine encouragement he hasn’t
felt for months. Lisa Copen is the founder of National Invisible
Chronic Illness Awareness Week, http://www.invisibleillness.com
, and author of "Beyond Casseroles: 505 Ways to Encourage a Chronically
Ill Friend." She is the founder of Rest Ministries which has served the
chronically ill with spiritual support for ten years. #
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