Disabled, Not Broken
From a distance, “disabled” always seemed like an innocuous word. It was simply an adjective that described a set of physical circumstances. It’s a word I’ve often used, never aware of its power. But when a friend used that word to describe someone that I love I had a startling realization. Up close, “disabled” sounds an awful lot like “broken”.
When my friend causally described my neice Corrina as disabled, I remember thinking “she’s not disabled she just can’t hear!” I was angry that someone would label her that way. And then I saw the fallacy in my words. He’s not disabled, he just can’t walk, she just can’t speak, his brain just hasn’t developed. . . How quickly my thinking changed.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this
I remember so clearly the day we learned that my niece Corrina is deaf. To be precise, I remember the following morning. I was in church and as the congregation began to sing I realized that music would not be a part of Corrina’s world. Tears ran down my cheeks, silent and unstoppable. It was so brutally unfair.
Our family is fairly musical. My entire childhood ran to a soundtrack of my Dad playing piano in the dining room. We always sang in the car on road trips, we’re champion whistlers. To this day my older brother will phone from the other side of the world to sing to me on my birthday. The idea that Corrina would be outside of that, cut off from it, just broke my heart. I kept thinking, “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
I am one of them now.
Someone in my family is different. She has special needs and it has changed the way I see things. Corrina’s parents choose to pursue cochlear implants for her. The implants are an amazing, though controversial, technology that doesn’t restore hearing, but does give the brain an alternate way to process sound. With surgery and years of therapy Corrina has learned to hear, to speak and even to sing. She has come so far.
But she is still deaf. Anytime she has to take her processors off – at night, in the bath, at the pool, going down plastic slides – she is returned to her silent world. The processors are very visible, and always will be. Corrina will live her life immediately identified as someone who is different.
It’s so interesting watching adults and children react around Corrina. Adults will often look away. They won’t mention it or they might ask if she has hearing aids. Children are much more direct. Once in a park a little boy came up to my sister in law and asked “Why does she have those things on her head?” When Janie told him that they were there to help Corrina hear his face lit up. “Like a robot?” he asked, delighted. He asked if they hurt and Janie assured him that they did not and then the little boy went back to playing with Corrina.
Once again I am reminded of how much we can learn from children. Some adults would scoff at the boy’s direct question, but it was honest and not mean spirited. Something was different and he wanted to understand. I know Janie would much rather explain Corrina’s situation that have her be ignored or have the other children look away.
I don’t think of Corrina as disabled or broken, she’s just deaf. She’s also tall, red haired, quick to laugh and eager to help. Her deafness is a part of who she is but it does not define her. I’m sure that the same can be said of anyone who faces a physical challenge.
We hope and pray that our children will be born whole and healthy and many are, but not all. It seems only fair that a child be given a body that works, a fresh start to begin with. I wish I could tell you why some children have health issues, why some never leave the hospital, why others are taken so soon. I do not have an answer to that.
I’m sure there are schools of thought on whether or not “disabled” is a nice word. For me, it’s one that I avoid. It may seem like semantics but I think it’s more than that. People are people first. What we do, what are skills and limitations are, are an afterthought. They do not define our hearts. I know this: Corrina is not broken or damaged. She’s deaf. And she’s wonderful.
Upcoming online chats: Join us for daily online chats! One of our features will be “Do you worry about losing your home?” on March 15 at 12:15 pm EST. Please join us to discuss how to stop worrying!
I have a grandson with cochlear implants, I have never once thought of him as disabled, challenged yes in a hearing world. He is the happiest, smartest little man now nearly 7. He is our special boy!
I agree DMW! Very well written…and so true!! A great reminder that we need to rethink some of the words we use and how we look at life and people around us.
I cannot agree more….I have a child with Down’s Syndrome…otherwise seen as Disabled….he is beautiful and charming, with gorgeous big brown eyes, ten little fingers, ten little toes, two ears and a nose. He lights up a room with his smiles. He learns everything that kids his age learn, just at a slightly diffeent pace. He is Him, different in his own way but no more different than someone tall or short, or blue-eyed or brown-eyed,…. He is not broken, he is special. On that note, do not use the term ‘special needs’ either, because these kids still have the same needs we do – love, affection, food, shelter, education, self-esteem, etc… just maybe alittle extra assistance or attention to get there!