This post in a nutshell: Why every person with a disability should take no less than a lover who handles every spoon with tenderness and compassion. Because I’m living proof that it is possible to be a full-time patient and a 10/10 catch. Not even sorry.
This poor bloke though. He didn’t know. When he saw and was attracted to (?!?!) that highly strung, overenthusiastic debating course presenter… he didn’t know. He observed her casual, cross-legged demeanour perched atop a table. She asked, “Any questions?” and he asked, “Are you single?” But the poor sod didn’t know. He didn’t see her mobility scooter hidden behind the stage. He didn’t notice the breaks that she had to take to catch her breath. He didn’t notice the fight in her face as she climbed the stairs to meet him, where he waited just to congratulate her on the two hours of droning debating drivel that he’d just found so endearing. “You were great,” he said. Not, “that was great.” “You were great.”
He didn’t know. He didn’t sign up for this.
It wasn’t until our first date, when he observed 
out loud: “You like to sit cross-legged on things.” I could have brushed it off. But I knew that that would have been the first deceitful domino in a long line of misrepresenting myself. So I forced myself to explain that bringing my feet up to be level with my hips was the only way that I felt comfortable sitting, because my body doesn’t do life very efficiently. I explained that it was a heart condition, and didn’t go into much more detail. He didn’t bat an eyelid. Instead, he explained similar struggles faced by his sister, and then moved on as though I’d revealed any old thing about myself.
I guess one could argue that I revealed myself long in time for him to escape. There had been very little lead up to this date, and this conversation took place early in the evening. The problem with that argument is twofold: firstly, we were both so disgustingly gaga over each other at this point (look, when two nerdlingers find each other, its hard to control yourself), that he was likely to tare down any red flags that may have cropped up with very little regard. Secondly, its not as though my brief summary of one of my many conditions did justice to the full picture of what it was going to be like to date me. In fact, I couldn’t have painted such a picture, because this was the first attempt I’d had at anything resembling a relationship since my diagnosis. I hadn’t been through this myself. I necessarily couldn’t have warned him of what was to come. Still, I could have tried…
The purpose of this post is not to outline how unfair this relationship is for him. A lot of the time, it is unfair. He doesn’t deserve a girlfriend who wakes him in the night kicking and throwing the blanket on and off or getting up to be an insomniac and watch Friends at 1am. He doesn’t deserve a girlfriend who, during the busiest and most stressful work week ever, landed herself in hospital instead of being there for him. He doesn’t deserve a girlfriend who made him feel guilty about being too busy to be there. He doesn’t deserve to always be on top, omg. The struggle. No one likes starfish lover. He doesn’t deserve a girlfriend who lured him in with her seemingly bright English brain, despite not being able to read or hold an intellectual conversation.
Except that that’s not all there is to me. I might be all of those things and I’m allowed to be damn sorry about it. Especially in those moments. But the reality that I’ve only just grown confident enough to accept is that anyone horrible enough to deserve all of that and all of that only… is not someone that I deserve. I might be a total physical and mental mess of a human. I might be anxious and nagging and clingy any whiny and obnoxious and stubborn and loud. I might be out of action as a functioning human most of the time… covered in cold sores or too exhausted to stand or too nauseated to talk or too dizzy to comprehend or too in pain to be pleasant… But every second of every minute of every day in this relationship, no matter what aspect of my conditions plagues me, I love like hell. I am understanding and patient and appreciative and fun and easy-going and snuggly. I am loyal and passionate and honest and I work so hard to be the best person that I can be for this crazy human who loves me because damn. He deserves it and I deserve him. I deserve this most beautiful, caring soul who by his very nature looks past the struggles and finds joy in caring for me without defining me or our relationship in that context. Its as though any perceived negativity surrounding my condition can be cancelled out by someone’s natured ability to just absentmindedly care for it all and think nothing more of it.
I’m not saying that I’ve found the one (although he has shown mighty potential #karaokeloversunite). What I am saying is that they exist. People who don’t do so by effort or even by conscious decision, but people who just as a matter of instinct take you as you are and love you. People who don’t even consider the pitfalls of your condition in any calculation of the good and bad in you or your relationship. They just worship the good and hold and care for the bad. Such beings do exist and no one with a disability, so long as you appreciate the crap out of them, should ever settle for anything less. You don’t deserve anything less.
So to the wonderful man who has restored my faith in the human race,
I don’t know what the future holds for either of us. I don’t know whether the last twopointfive months of total euphoria have been the start of something incredible, or just another one of the universe’s cruel plots towards the eventual demise of the lonely dork species. The one truth that I do have is that, even if you turned on me tomorrow, you’ve pulled me from a spiralling darkness of unhealthy self-worth to a world where I proudly won’t take anything less that what you’ve shown me is possible. A world where I recognise that self-deprecation and denigration to match a level of human that I think I have a hope of deserving is not what I have to do to find a partner in this life. A world where I’m strong in offering the true
magnitude of the love, affection and adoration that I have for someone like you because I either the same in return, or I move on. With every bottle of Powerade that you thrust into my hands, with every bite of food that you force feed me, with every squeezing hug, with every anxiety-appeasing text message, with every medication reminder, with every gaga-eyed gaze… Every time you understand, reassure, comfort… Every time you unquestioningly accept every broken tangible and intangible element of my existence… You take a cloth to a fallen spoon and lovingly restore it. Regardless of where the world takes us from here, you’ve changed my life dramatically and for the better. I don’t know how to do anything else in return but love you.
xo
Invisible Squared 