I wrote an article on how I was denied treatment. It garnered attention and some readers urged me to file a complaint. I admit now that I tried and wish I didn’t because I heard painful words that showed how people viewed people with disability.
I asked for a consultation with a public firm. Remember how I was told I didn’t deserve to be treated? The attorney said there’s nothing wrong with that statement. After all, it’s their license on the line, their lives on the line. What about mine? What about the joke of slitting my throat when I had an episode? Was “Rotten” justified? Am I so unworthy, my value so low, that I’m going to treat someone like a god?
So I asked disability advocates about their views on the situation. I did accept that there’s little chance that she’ll be reprimanded, even to be made accountable for the damage she caused. However, it is getting tiring that most people I’m talking to want me to value her education and livelihood over my suffering.
I heard outrage from people with debilitating disabilities. My case isn’t unheard of, and it is something they continue to fight for, so hearing how I’m being treated disgusts them. I was recently released from the hospital, and I admire how my doctors work hard to save what’s left of me. But this shouldn’t be the case because they knew what was best for me. In February, ableism won, and my doctors are left to find ways to slow down and stabilize my state when there’s a simple fix to all of it, an infusion that should’ve been given to me months ago.
The attorney said I should accept it. How can I? I’m going blind, drinking four painkillers every day to ease different types of pain that continue to paralyze me and take most of my day. I sleep 16 hours. I can’t even take a walk alone, much less be alone. I’ve gone from semi-independent to bound, now shackled to my bed. My mobility is decreasing, that I had to change my utensils because my grip is weakening. My legs feel like jelly, and even the simplest task can leave me breathless. We had to buy an oxygen tank, and it cost us P11,500. We’ll face problems with refills and transportation. There are days when I need to use it for hours because my muscle feels like it’s going to collapse, to tighten and squeeze my heart.
When she denied me of that treatment, I had to let go of a well-paying job. Okay, ignore my emotions, depression, but I wanted to work. I have dreams too. I’m studying Philippine literature with hopes that I can take a Master’s in Development Communication. I was doing good with my advocacy. Do you know how much these episodes impact me? The pain will make you unable to move for hours until the medicine works, and it only does in a short while. I’m progressing, and it shouldn’t have been like this in the first place.
I had to pause writing my Webnovel and finishing my advocacy book because I’m having a hard time writing. My cognitive skills are affected to the extent that I forget the things I’ve learned and have a hard time focusing. I stutter more, and I experience sharp pain in my jaws when I yawn. Attorney, tell me, am I supposed to accept the fate an ableist society is forcing upon me? By ableist, that also includes you.
To the goldens and other ableists of society, disabled people have dreams too. We also yearn for independence, and when it’s achievable, we want to fight for it. I will accept my disability because it’s out of my control. However, I will never let anyone tell me what I deserve, what my life amounts to, and accept abuse. For that, I will tell you, the only way I’ll give up is when my body is stone cold. Even in my last breathe, I will fight. (MIRANIEVA BUEN)
May 2, 2024
