Wednesday, 2 February 2011


In the last week or so, I've had to face up to the reality of being told that I, a medical student, an intelligent, stubborn, arsey young woman, am disabled. I'm not disabled in a stereotypical way. I'm not in a wheelchair, or deaf or blind. I don't have a walking stick or a guide dog. I have a complex medical condition. It affects my mobility in a way that most people can't see. It affects my vision in an undetectable (to most people) way. I can't walk far, or do things that are seen as normal. I can't easily cook myself a meal from scratch any more. I can't often read my textbooks with much ease. I can't write my own name or get out of bed some days. But I look almost completely normal. I have an invisible disabilty. I'm treated the same as everyone else because they can't see what's wrong. Some days, I love this. On days like today when I'm in excruciating pain and quite frankly want to hide under my duvet and cry, all I want is a shoulder to cry on and an offer of small help, but because it's invisible, so am I.


  1. Does your medical condition have a name? Sharing it might help other people with the same condition.


  2. It does have a name, however I'm still in the process of being diagnosed so I'm not sure which name as yet.

  3. Venthan, I'm not willing to post my diagnosis or the differential on my blog, nor am I going to publish further comments of yours as a) they contain adverts, and b) they are completely irrelevant. My blog is not for discussing the meaning of life.


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