I was receiving medical care recently and the nurse was reviewing my medical history. There is a lot of history, folks – a plethora of history – a history that makes one tired just reading about it. As she reviewed my history, I told her that my COBRA coverage was ending and that I had just made arrangements for the new insurance to begin but was still recovering from the sticker price. She then suggested with all my history, I should claim disability which would allow me to go on Medicare at my age of 60. I was stunned.
I do not think of myself as disabled. While I have had back issues, breast cancer, cardiac disease, sport a degenerative hip which will require surgery, and battle reoccurring breast cellulites; I continue to maintain a fairly active life. I may be slow, but I am not disabled. I can no longer ride my bike; sit cross legged, take long walks; but I still clean my house, lift weights, swim, walk my dogs, can work, write, drive, etc. Disabled is defined as (of a person) having a physical or mental condition that limits movements, senses, or activities. My mental status might be in question – especially if you ask my family. But nevertheless, I have maintained a good work ethic. At the height of some issues it may take me “out of the dance” for a while or slow down my ability to perform certain tasks. But disabled? No. Additionally, why would I burden the tax payers (that’s you and me, folks) by asking my government to pay for something that I honestly do not qualify for? It takes away from those individuals that do need disability support. And it smacks of taking advantage of the system rather than taking care of oneself. What does that say about a society that seems to depend upon the government? And why are we so quick to accept this?
Each issue may feel like I am moving through a fire, drowning in a tsunami, or climbing Mount Everest, but they have also taught me much about life, humanity, my own human weaknesses and strengths. Most importantly, I see God through each one. With each adversity I have reached for Him and He has been there. During surgery, receiving the diagnosis, or in the middle of the night, burning up with fever – He is there.
He is my strength, my personal bravery and my invincible army (Habakkuk 3:19 AMP).
A time may come when I may NEED to claim disability: when I am unable to walk, talk, dress and/or clean myself. Then yes, I will be disabled and I will reach out for help. But for right now I am merely an aging, worn, torn, and scarred child of God. God walks with me through the fire and floods as He guides me throughout this life and into eternity.
No, I am NOT disabled. I am refined.