This is what disabled looks like.

A few years ago, my parents, my husband, and I were in Gruene, Texas. I’ve already told all of you that I use a walker. Well, so does my mom. My dad uses a cane, but my husband doesn’t have mobility issues. (Well, besides a bum knee from his Navy days, anyway.) My mom said some guy gave me a “look”. You know, those “looks” that say you’re faking it. She nearly said something, but apparently decided not to get into a fight. The rest of us didn’t see it.

I’m fairly sure I know what he was thinking. After all, mom and I are overweight. Two chunky women who wouldn’t be disabled if they would just drop a few pounds. Dad is also a bit overweight, but not badly so. I know what he thinks he saw….but I’d like to tell you what he really saw.

My parents are the strongest people I know, and both of them have invisible disabilities. They are both cancer survivors. If mom had worn shorts, you would see the huge scar that runs up her thigh, the outward sign of the battle she fought and won with cancer. Malignant Melanoma, to be exact. Only stage one, but the removal of a single lymph node left her with lymphedema. She fights this battle so well that you can’t see the swelling in her leg. Between the hunk of leg she lost and the lymphedema, her mobility is most definitely impaired. In addition, she has diabetic neuropathy, which doesn’t help her mobility in the least. But she hasn’t given up. She is up, moving, and active. Despite all of her health battles, she worked until retirement age as an interpreter in Deaf Education with toddlers.

My dad has been active all of his life. He started working at an early age and never stopped until his cancer took the ability away. Even in retirement, he can’t relax. He’s constantly doing stuff around the house or helping others. He worked as a Master Electrician my entire life, crawling around attics and wiring houses. Just a few years before he was due to retire, cancer struck him too. Prostate cancer, stage 4. Between radiation and Lupron, he’s been cancer free for several years now, but the Lupron severely hurts his mobility. It’s only barely slowed him down, and he stays active. (If we are being honest, he could use a vacation from his retirement.) He is disabled, despite his lack of scars. (From cancer, anyway. Ask him about the ones my cat leaves on him.) He will be on those shots for the rest of his life, to keep the cancer away.

My parents are fighters, and they are my heroes.

My husband is diabetic, but not limited in mobility. He is a wonderful support system, and I couldn’t do without him. I can’t tell you how luck I was to marry such a man. My husband is God’s greatest gift to me, and I thank Him for that gift everyday. He is my soulmate.

And me? I was fairly physically fit when I got RD. Well, from a civilian standpoint. I wasn’t the most fit in the Navy, exactly. It was never my strong point, although I enjoyed softball and running as a teen/young adult. Until I first started feeling symptoms, I passed my fitness tests and was about 10 pounds overweight. I started gaining my weight from high doses of steroids to get the disease under control, coupled with an inability to exercise because of the pain. Could I have done better? Surely so. But weight didn’t make me sick. Bad luck did. I teach high school Algebra for a living, surely I can’t be called lazy. (Until after school. Then I most certainly am.)

When people think of disabilities, they think of visible signs. Wheelchairs, deformity, or visible injury. Perhaps they think of the white cane of the blind. They might include my walker in there, although I have been questioned on my need to use one. (I’m too young.) They think it only happens to the old. They think that several people in a family is too much for coincidence. Maybe my parents are lazy and passed that on to me.

There is a huge range of disabilities out there, and the vast majority are quite possibly invisible. They range from early to moderate RD, or the early stages of autoimmune diseases. They could include cancer, if chemo left you your hair. They include heart problems, COPD, and other lung issues. They include mental health disorders. Diabetes. There’s a whole range of conditions. Some of us don’t like the term “disabled.” Some, like me, embrace the term so that we don’t hide in the shadows. Or get shoved into the shadows, as is sometimes the case. I beg you, don’t ever make assumptions about someone. The disabled community is just as diverse as the able-bodied community. Maybe more so, when you consider the diversity on medical conditions alone.

They could just be like my family, fighting battles that you know nothing about, and forgetting them for a day to have fun.

They could, one day, be you. Think on it.

“Judge not, that ye be not judged.”