LJ Idol week 8, First World Problem
My entire life is a first world problem. I often think of that in the morning when I am stretching myself awake. The fact that my guide dog is taking up too much of the bed is a first world problem, because in another land I wouldn’t own a guide dog to help me with mobility. I might not own a bed either.
When I say my entire life is a first world problem, I don’t mean only that my life is full of little problems that are nothing compared to those in the third world face. I also mean that literally, my life, is a first world problem, a continuing one. In another place I might not exist. Numerous asthma attacks would have killed me off by now, but I have medication and I carry a nebulizer with me everywhere I go. It fits in my purse and weighs only a few ounces. They probably haven’t even seen one of them in some countries of the world because it’s so high tech.
If I hadn’t died of an asthma attack a bee sting would have gotten me. I’m allergic to bees and wasps, highly allergic. I carry a shot everywhere I go. It comes all packaged and ready to inject. I’m sure in other places people die of bee stings and I can imagine it’s not a nice death feeling your throat constrict to cut off your air supply.
If I didn’t die in another country I’d be a beggar on the street. My blindness would keep me from getting hired for meaningful work and wearing what rags I could find I’d sit on a street corner, dirty and hungry, begging for enough money to live by. Perhaps I wouldn’t live in a city at all and I’d live in a small town and be kept at home as the shame of my family. I surely wouldn’t work a full time job and be well respected as I am now, reporting to an office every day.
I might be shunned in another land for my trigeminal neuralgia. The pain comes on, sometimes in fits, and people who have any kind of fits aren’t looked upon kindly in many places. There wouldn’t be medication to treat my pain so maybe I would have withered away by now, the pain wearing me down day by day. Perhaps I would be a shell of a person kept away from society as I wasted away in pure agony.
I don’t know what would become of my mental health issues in a third world country. I know there aren’t treatments for anxiety, depression, autism spectrum disorder, and OCD. I have no idea what my mental state would be like in another place. In this first world I have a therapist, a psychiatrist, medications, and a nearby hospital if I need it.
I say all of these things not to list my disabilities and ailments, but to point out that my entire life is a first world problem. I am proud to live in America where every day we meet new goals when it comes to equality for people with disabilities. Where although there are still many problems with our system I can go out in public, hold a job, live independently, access medical care, and live a productive life. In America there is opportunity if we could just grasp it. Every day in my job I work with people with disabilities. They may be homeless, poverty stricken, in pain, and in need of help, but this is America and in America there is hope for people with disabilities. In America we have chances to succeed, we can vote, and we are less likely to be shunned than we would be in some other countries.
So many days I’m glad for my first world problems. They mean I am alive. Every day I thank Creator for my life. Even when the pain from the trigeminal neuralgia is so bad that I want to die, I am grateful to breathe another breath and to have another chance. I just tell myself that I must be alive for a reason. There also must be a reason I was born in America too, where I can make choices about my life.
So not all first world problems are bad ones. I’m a first world problem and I wouldn’t describe myself as bad. Others think I’m a drain on the system because I’m expensive to keep alive and high maintenance, but if you ask me, I’m worth it, first world problem or not.
When I say my entire life is a first world problem, I don’t mean only that my life is full of little problems that are nothing compared to those in the third world face. I also mean that literally, my life, is a first world problem, a continuing one. In another place I might not exist. Numerous asthma attacks would have killed me off by now, but I have medication and I carry a nebulizer with me everywhere I go. It fits in my purse and weighs only a few ounces. They probably haven’t even seen one of them in some countries of the world because it’s so high tech.
If I hadn’t died of an asthma attack a bee sting would have gotten me. I’m allergic to bees and wasps, highly allergic. I carry a shot everywhere I go. It comes all packaged and ready to inject. I’m sure in other places people die of bee stings and I can imagine it’s not a nice death feeling your throat constrict to cut off your air supply.
If I didn’t die in another country I’d be a beggar on the street. My blindness would keep me from getting hired for meaningful work and wearing what rags I could find I’d sit on a street corner, dirty and hungry, begging for enough money to live by. Perhaps I wouldn’t live in a city at all and I’d live in a small town and be kept at home as the shame of my family. I surely wouldn’t work a full time job and be well respected as I am now, reporting to an office every day.
I might be shunned in another land for my trigeminal neuralgia. The pain comes on, sometimes in fits, and people who have any kind of fits aren’t looked upon kindly in many places. There wouldn’t be medication to treat my pain so maybe I would have withered away by now, the pain wearing me down day by day. Perhaps I would be a shell of a person kept away from society as I wasted away in pure agony.
I don’t know what would become of my mental health issues in a third world country. I know there aren’t treatments for anxiety, depression, autism spectrum disorder, and OCD. I have no idea what my mental state would be like in another place. In this first world I have a therapist, a psychiatrist, medications, and a nearby hospital if I need it.
I say all of these things not to list my disabilities and ailments, but to point out that my entire life is a first world problem. I am proud to live in America where every day we meet new goals when it comes to equality for people with disabilities. Where although there are still many problems with our system I can go out in public, hold a job, live independently, access medical care, and live a productive life. In America there is opportunity if we could just grasp it. Every day in my job I work with people with disabilities. They may be homeless, poverty stricken, in pain, and in need of help, but this is America and in America there is hope for people with disabilities. In America we have chances to succeed, we can vote, and we are less likely to be shunned than we would be in some other countries.
So many days I’m glad for my first world problems. They mean I am alive. Every day I thank Creator for my life. Even when the pain from the trigeminal neuralgia is so bad that I want to die, I am grateful to breathe another breath and to have another chance. I just tell myself that I must be alive for a reason. There also must be a reason I was born in America too, where I can make choices about my life.
So not all first world problems are bad ones. I’m a first world problem and I wouldn’t describe myself as bad. Others think I’m a drain on the system because I’m expensive to keep alive and high maintenance, but if you ask me, I’m worth it, first world problem or not.