Grief, Arthritis, and Applying for Disability
I grieve for myself, but I should say my former self. I no longer grieve the event that caused the grief (that ship has sailed). Instead, I grieve my suffering.
What I grieved for 12 years was losing myself when I was working, pushing, and maybe living. That was before a forced retirement due to the ill effects of rheumatoid arthritis (RA) and ankylosing spondylitis (AS) when I had to fill out paperwork to apply for disability, fight the local Social Security office for disability, and face my self-doubts.
I grieve for the person who wondered if he could still have self-respect as a man over 50 in the prime of his life, watching the world go by without him. I grieve for that man because I know the pain he felt.
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View all responsesTypical story
The story is generic. I was accomplishing more and pushing harder than ever in my life when I noticed that pain was grinding away. A little at first, but it built to almost be intolerable.
There were two instances with my sons when I was unable to perform activities that I should have been able to. So I asked my endocrinologist about them. He “ran a few tests” and referred me to a rheumatologist who, on the spot, said I had arthritis.
He questioned how I was still moving. Later, he said I had RA and AS, terms I knew little about in the beginning. However, I would learn much about conditions in the next 21 years.
On that day, after I saw the rheumatologist, my wife, Sheryl, and I had a good cry in the car, and then I went back to work, determined that my life would not change. That very day, I oversaw the award of 17 million dollars in contracts to build a new school. I was moving, and the world was big. I saw no reason RA would impact my work life.
Losing my job
Over time, the biologics worked and then failed. My pain came back and mostly stayed. My weight increased markedly, and I slowed down.
Eight years post-ankylosing spondylitis diagnosis, I was told I was no longer up for the job. It broke my heart, but I knew it. I knew that I had to apply for disability. I was not OK with disability, so I cried a thousand tears a thousand times.
Sheryl and I adjusted our living situation, reduced debt, and stopped buying things. I lapsed into a depression so great that I thought I would never escape. I joined and participated in a talk therapy group for one year.
My identity was my job. Ask me who I was, and I would say my job title. Then I lost it. So who was I now? Nothing. I grieve for that man because he suffered through such pain. He would wake up at night angry at those who said he could no longer do the job. He would cry for the life he lost.
Lifelines
I did have two lifelines. First, Sheryl still believed in me, and she never saw me as a slacker. She always keeps me focused on health and being the best I can be. It is a tough job. She must reaffirm me often, sometimes several times a day. But in those early days, her affirmation was required hourly. I was lost and starving for a lifeline.
The second was a scholarship offer to pursue a doctorate, which I took. I had no reason to believe I would ever use this education. It has never earned us a dime, but for five years, it sustained me, fulfilling that need for positive affirmation.
I was an A student in this final degree. I never missed a class, completed all the assignments, and worked hard because I had nothing else. It gave me the affirmation I so desperately wanted and needed.
Unstuck
No matter how much affirmation I got, I was still suffering and grieving. It took perhaps ten years before I stopped thinking about it every day, and another two before I stopped thinking of it at all.
Now, twelve years later, I no longer grieve over my job loss. I grieve for the man who endured that, for what it took to let it go, and for all the time I was unable to move on. I grieve for the man who felt he suffered and lost so much.
What did all of that grieving for losing a job matter?
Nothing. People say grief is a process, and I believe that is true. I needed help and to become unstuck in my grief process.
If you're stuck, perhaps you can look at my experience and consider how you can move beyond it. It is possible, and our community is here to help. Reach out for therapy, to our community, and for family support. You will not be sorry. I know that I am not.
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