*Whew!!* No theatre today. No rehearsal. No frantically trying to find props. Only have to get Husband to practice his lines tonight so we'll be ready for opening night tomorrow. Have been trying to spend today not thinking about the production for a change. I've not been successful at it, but I've been trying.
I did get to see my therapist today. She could tell that things haven't been going so well. She asked how last Wednesday's appointment was. I told her and said she should read my blog for more details. She asked how the show was progressing. Again, I told her and said she should read my blog. She asked if blogging has been helping and I wasn't sure what to say. I think it has but then there are days I wonder. Plus, she thought it was a great idea and a good way to keep-up with what I'm doing/feeling/etc. but hasn't been reading it. Glad I post for myself and not for her.
In the waiting room today there were small children. Two were about 6 or 7 years old, another was younger, and another was not quite 2 years old. Of course, when Celeste and I walked-in, she became the center of attention. Parents started trying to grab their kids and the "Don't touch the doggie!" chants started. The toddler ran to her and hugged her before his mother could grab him. When they're at that age where they don't understand what a working dog is and can't communicate themselves, I look to the parents to keep their kids in line. The mother apologized profusely but the little boy was just fascinated. She kept telling him "No" and pulling him away from Celeste while trying to get him interested in some of the toys they'd brought.
Having seen the toddler do this, the other three came over and started to pet Celeste. Their parents tried to grab them away from her and apologized. I told them not to move the kids but I also told the kids to not touch her. I then explained, in simple terms, that she is a working dog and cannot be petted by others. Of course, the kids looked at me like I was some insane lady and by now the toddler had snuck back over and gave Celeste a big wet kiss. She wasn't happy about it, but she wasn't going to do anything, either, since that would be against her training.
I had Celeste and the children sit on the floor. Every now and then they'd try to sneak a pet or try to get her to kiss them. I showed them her vest and backpack and for the ones that could read I showed them the "DO NOT PET" patches. I explained that she has to be paying attention to me and that if someone bothers her, she can't do her job which makes her upset because she's a working dog. The older boy asked if she was like the police dog they'd met at an event in town. I said that the police dog is a working dog too but that he and Celeste don't do the same jobs. His mother said, "Remember when the police officer said you couldn't pet him until he said it was okay?" and the boy replied that he did. I said that the same rules would apply to Celeste and any other dog with a vest or backpack that they might see. The youngest girl was quickly bored and wandered off but the older kids were fascinated. I explained that they should never touch a working dog unless they've asked the owner/handler first for permission. And I told them that they have to get the permission first because some working dogs can't be petted or played with and to never try to pet a dog they don't know. The two kept reminding each other about the "DO NOT PET" patches and asking first as they caught the other trying to sneak another pat on the head.
When the parents and children left, one of the other patients came into the waiting room and said how beautiful Celeste is and asked if she was trained or if I was training her. I explained that she is a service dog and assists me all day, every day. She told me how blessed I am to have a dog like her and that I must feel very lucky, which I do and I agreed with her. She asked me if I minded talking about Celeste and what she does for me. I told her that I didn't mind and the lady volunteered that she has PTSD and always wondered if a service dog could help. I could see my therapist looking out of the doorway at us and I said that Celeste has helped me immensely before she began to tell the lady what a major change in me she's seen and how much she enjoys Celeste being in our sessions.
The lady began to ask more questions -- What is it like to have the dog with you? Do you have problems going places? What does she do for you? All the typical questions that are usually asked (and not always to my face when people think I'm blind or deaf and can't hear them). I answered her and we talked for a moment about how my life has changed in both good ways and bad. I told her that once you have a service dog you can't hide your disability because there's a four-legged "billboard" basically announcing it and that there are times that the public just doesn't (or won't) understand why you have one when you "look just fine." She said she'd never thought about that but for her she'd rather have the "billboard" and could deal with stupid comments on her own. We laughed and my therapist said she'd talk to the lady's therapist about whether he/she believed that a service dog would be a good addition to her treatment. Then the lady thanked me and I went in for my session.
I'd been feeling really frazzled and angry over the past few days, but getting to sit and educate others on service dogs and how they can help people with "invisible disabilities" was awesome. When I left for my appointment I could barely stand to be anywhere and was just sure I was going to scream or cry or do something because everything had been so negative recently. Watching the kids understand to not disturb a working dog and helping another PTSD survivor realize that there is another way without tons of medication to mitigate your disability was very therapeutic. Even more therapeutic than the therapy session -- and I didn't have to pay for what I did in the waiting room.
Maybe I'll actually get a chance to sleep tonight. I probably won't since I'm sure the voices (which have already started again) will be reminding me of every little thing that has been going wrong with the show and worrying about my doctor appointment on Friday when I try to go to bed. But at least today I feel like I've accomplished something positive. And for now, that will do.
Showing posts with label PTSD. Show all posts
Showing posts with label PTSD. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Thursday, January 5, 2012
A public service "rant" sponsored by me
So, what is the best way to say, "I don't really give a rat's ass" while being polite?
I don't like to think that I'm a rude person. Okay, yes, I can be snippy at times. But who isn't? For example, I'm walking through a store with my service dog, Celeste, who is quite large and wears her vest and packs that state clearly, "DO NOT PET." I see a small child, perhaps 2 or 3 years old, running and then they've draped themselves over her squealing "Doggie!" with endless delight. The parent peels their child off and apologizes profusely and I tell them that I understand that the child is too young to understand and that it's okay and thank them for removing their child so Celeste can continue working. Later, an adult (you can choose the age if you like -- I've had everything from freshly-minted 18-year-olds to senior citizens) will do what I call a "drive-by petting." They come up behind me, begin to pet Celeste, and then walk around and try to get her to play with them. Obviously this person has a grasp of the English language because I can understand what they're saying even if they sound like they're babbling to a baby while saying it. They've obviously decided that the "DO NOT PET" badges do not apply to them. And Celeste, by now, is leaning hard against me to be sure that my attention is drawn to the person she'd love to get away from because they're touching her.
At this point, I usually say in a stern voice, "Do NOT pet my service dog! She is working and you are putting us in danger." Many times, the adult will then ask if it's okay to pet her. I'm sure the expression that crosses my face isn't pleasant, but I often end up stammering, "If I just said you couldn't pet her, why on earth would you ask me now if you can?" Or, if the adult isn't the offender but a child under that adult's care who is certainly educated enough to read the three small words in large, bold, reflective type on her patches, I will usually say "Do NOT pet my dog" to the child and "Please remove your child" to the adult. After which, in either scenario, I'm usually the target of their fleeting comment, "Well, you don't have to be so rude about it!" Occasionally the addition of a colorful metaphor that would make this posting rated over PG-13 is added to the statement, but we'll leave that out for now.
I don't believe I'm being rude. First of all, who in their right mind allows themselves or their child to wander up to an 85-pound dog they don't know and start petting it? We're not a display and it certainly does NOT say anywhere "PET ME NOW." And secondly, when I point out that their distraction of my service dog can place me in danger because she might not be able to alert me as she's been trained to do, what business is it of theirs to start grilling me with "What does she do?" or "What disability do you have?" Now who's the rude person?
I understand that most people only think of service animals in the sense of guide dogs for the blind or assistance dogs for those who use wheelchairs. People don't understand invisible disabilities and they don't know that dogs are trained to help mitigate symptoms and alert for possible emergencies. It always makes me laugh when someone sees me with Celeste and tries to say something without me hearing it and I look directly at them. They just completely freak-out because they think I'm blind and have now embarrassed themselves.
But just because you think my dog is beautiful or you're really fascinated by the fact that a service dog is walking around the local grocery store does not mean I really want to stand and listen to you babble on about every dog you've ever owned while my ice cream is melting. And I certainly don't want to hear you say how lucky I am that I get to take my pet with me everywhere I go. She's not a pet! She's classified with the IRS as durable medical equipment and I can deduct her and her costs from my taxes!
Oh, and lucky? People think I'm lucky having her with me? True, I feel VERY fortunate to have her with me because she helps to mitigate the disabilities I have and I am much more functional than I was before I had her or any other service dog I've owned. But as far as being "lucky" because she can go anywhere with me -- that's absolutely not it. It's not that she can go everywhere with me; it's that she HAS to go everywhere with me. There are no more quick trips to the store to run-in-and-out while picking up something needed on the way home. I can't even use the restroom without her being in the same stall, staring at me as if I'd just have used the tree I told her to use not 10 minutes before we wouldn't be in this crowded, smelly place. She is a walking advertisement that I have a disability. No longer can I hide what ails me and pretend to be "normal" like everyone else. And for an agoraphobic person who really hates drawing attention to things like that, it's not easy.
Yes, I hear some of you saying, "But you love attention! You've always loved attention from others!" There's the kind I seek which makes me and the other person happy and the kind that causes panic attacks because I don't want it and can't deal with it.
So imagine you were given a large sign to wear around your neck that states any ailment or disability you have. If you wear glasses, you have a visual disability but people don't point and stare because glasses are considered socially acceptable and not at all unusual. If you have hearing aids, people may see them but other than screeching at you as if they don't work (which irritates me when I see people do that), people accept them and go on about their business. But now you have an invisible disability -- autism, dyslexia, MS, etc. -- that people can't pick out from across the room. Or maybe you have odd habits or quirks that others might consider strange. Or perhaps you have a phobia or two that can cause everyday activities to become excruciating tasks -- and you now have to wear a sign saying what it is (or what they, if you're blessed with more than one, are). And you have to wear it everywhere, even to the restroom.
Or the sign doesn't specifically say what the disability is, just that you have one or more. Would you enjoy it? Would you feel "lucky" to have that? Do you think you'd enjoy others asking questions to try and find out what your sign represents? Would you like everyone to tell you about how they have or know someone who has it while you're trying just to get through the day or try to treat you as if you're incapable of doing anything for yourself anymore? And, by the way, you also have to carry supplies for your sign to make sure that it's well taken care of and doesn't disturb other patrons of wherever you are.
I'm sure there will be plenty of other posts in the coming days/weeks/months that will ask and answer these questions. But for now, as a favor to me, please take a moment to learn a bit about service animals. And pass this article to your friends and family if you like. Because more and more people are now being able to be helped with service dogs -- soldiers returning from combat with PTSD, autistic children in schools, hearing impaired, and those needing diabetes or seizure alerts -- there will be an increase in their visibility in the general public. I personally don't want others to have to go through what I've experienced. I want them to be able to have their service animal and feel they're still a part of "normal" society instead of something at which to be stared.
Well, at least as "normal" as you can be when you have to carry a bag of poo with you until you find an outdoor trash can.
I don't like to think that I'm a rude person. Okay, yes, I can be snippy at times. But who isn't? For example, I'm walking through a store with my service dog, Celeste, who is quite large and wears her vest and packs that state clearly, "DO NOT PET." I see a small child, perhaps 2 or 3 years old, running and then they've draped themselves over her squealing "Doggie!" with endless delight. The parent peels their child off and apologizes profusely and I tell them that I understand that the child is too young to understand and that it's okay and thank them for removing their child so Celeste can continue working. Later, an adult (you can choose the age if you like -- I've had everything from freshly-minted 18-year-olds to senior citizens) will do what I call a "drive-by petting." They come up behind me, begin to pet Celeste, and then walk around and try to get her to play with them. Obviously this person has a grasp of the English language because I can understand what they're saying even if they sound like they're babbling to a baby while saying it. They've obviously decided that the "DO NOT PET" badges do not apply to them. And Celeste, by now, is leaning hard against me to be sure that my attention is drawn to the person she'd love to get away from because they're touching her.
At this point, I usually say in a stern voice, "Do NOT pet my service dog! She is working and you are putting us in danger." Many times, the adult will then ask if it's okay to pet her. I'm sure the expression that crosses my face isn't pleasant, but I often end up stammering, "If I just said you couldn't pet her, why on earth would you ask me now if you can?" Or, if the adult isn't the offender but a child under that adult's care who is certainly educated enough to read the three small words in large, bold, reflective type on her patches, I will usually say "Do NOT pet my dog" to the child and "Please remove your child" to the adult. After which, in either scenario, I'm usually the target of their fleeting comment, "Well, you don't have to be so rude about it!" Occasionally the addition of a colorful metaphor that would make this posting rated over PG-13 is added to the statement, but we'll leave that out for now.
I don't believe I'm being rude. First of all, who in their right mind allows themselves or their child to wander up to an 85-pound dog they don't know and start petting it? We're not a display and it certainly does NOT say anywhere "PET ME NOW." And secondly, when I point out that their distraction of my service dog can place me in danger because she might not be able to alert me as she's been trained to do, what business is it of theirs to start grilling me with "What does she do?" or "What disability do you have?" Now who's the rude person?
I understand that most people only think of service animals in the sense of guide dogs for the blind or assistance dogs for those who use wheelchairs. People don't understand invisible disabilities and they don't know that dogs are trained to help mitigate symptoms and alert for possible emergencies. It always makes me laugh when someone sees me with Celeste and tries to say something without me hearing it and I look directly at them. They just completely freak-out because they think I'm blind and have now embarrassed themselves.
But just because you think my dog is beautiful or you're really fascinated by the fact that a service dog is walking around the local grocery store does not mean I really want to stand and listen to you babble on about every dog you've ever owned while my ice cream is melting. And I certainly don't want to hear you say how lucky I am that I get to take my pet with me everywhere I go. She's not a pet! She's classified with the IRS as durable medical equipment and I can deduct her and her costs from my taxes!
Oh, and lucky? People think I'm lucky having her with me? True, I feel VERY fortunate to have her with me because she helps to mitigate the disabilities I have and I am much more functional than I was before I had her or any other service dog I've owned. But as far as being "lucky" because she can go anywhere with me -- that's absolutely not it. It's not that she can go everywhere with me; it's that she HAS to go everywhere with me. There are no more quick trips to the store to run-in-and-out while picking up something needed on the way home. I can't even use the restroom without her being in the same stall, staring at me as if I'd just have used the tree I told her to use not 10 minutes before we wouldn't be in this crowded, smelly place. She is a walking advertisement that I have a disability. No longer can I hide what ails me and pretend to be "normal" like everyone else. And for an agoraphobic person who really hates drawing attention to things like that, it's not easy.
Yes, I hear some of you saying, "But you love attention! You've always loved attention from others!" There's the kind I seek which makes me and the other person happy and the kind that causes panic attacks because I don't want it and can't deal with it.
So imagine you were given a large sign to wear around your neck that states any ailment or disability you have. If you wear glasses, you have a visual disability but people don't point and stare because glasses are considered socially acceptable and not at all unusual. If you have hearing aids, people may see them but other than screeching at you as if they don't work (which irritates me when I see people do that), people accept them and go on about their business. But now you have an invisible disability -- autism, dyslexia, MS, etc. -- that people can't pick out from across the room. Or maybe you have odd habits or quirks that others might consider strange. Or perhaps you have a phobia or two that can cause everyday activities to become excruciating tasks -- and you now have to wear a sign saying what it is (or what they, if you're blessed with more than one, are). And you have to wear it everywhere, even to the restroom.
Or the sign doesn't specifically say what the disability is, just that you have one or more. Would you enjoy it? Would you feel "lucky" to have that? Do you think you'd enjoy others asking questions to try and find out what your sign represents? Would you like everyone to tell you about how they have or know someone who has it while you're trying just to get through the day or try to treat you as if you're incapable of doing anything for yourself anymore? And, by the way, you also have to carry supplies for your sign to make sure that it's well taken care of and doesn't disturb other patrons of wherever you are.
I'm sure there will be plenty of other posts in the coming days/weeks/months that will ask and answer these questions. But for now, as a favor to me, please take a moment to learn a bit about service animals. And pass this article to your friends and family if you like. Because more and more people are now being able to be helped with service dogs -- soldiers returning from combat with PTSD, autistic children in schools, hearing impaired, and those needing diabetes or seizure alerts -- there will be an increase in their visibility in the general public. I personally don't want others to have to go through what I've experienced. I want them to be able to have their service animal and feel they're still a part of "normal" society instead of something at which to be stared.
Well, at least as "normal" as you can be when you have to carry a bag of poo with you until you find an outdoor trash can.
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