Ignorance Is Bliss

I can see it in their faces. It’s the same look every time on every person. They read like books with the same three expressions: surprise, sympathy, and confusion. Surprise because I have an autoimmune disease that they have neither heard of nor knew that I had. Sympathy because they learn that I have a disease that causes mass pain. And confusion because they can’t tell that I have a disease just by looking at me. Their eyes all have the same confused statement behind them: but you don’t look sick.

They’re right of course—I really don’t look sick. I suppose this is a good thing. If I looked like I was sick I would just get a lot of pitying stares, which I very strongly dislike. I feel like a small, wet puppy that is tied to a pole left out in the cold rain when people look at me like that it’s awful. Again, my wrist braces are the only outward sign of something. Not a disease, just something. People always ask me how I managed to injure both wrists at the same time, and I dread having to explain the real reason for the braces. It would be easier if they were sprained, but they’re not. And when I explain I always get the same reaction and see the same three expressions without fail, because I don’t look sick.

Most of the world is naïve to a disease like mine. They understand the big-name issues such as heart disease, all types of cancer, Alzheimer’s, and diabetes, but not so much autoimmune ones like mine. Oftentimes they just don’t know it exists, and since it is not nearly as common or publicized as others they would have now way of knowing about it. I myself never knew what it was until I was diagnosed with it, and forced to learn about it. To a certain extent, I can’t blame people for not knowing about my disease—and I usually don’t. But when I don’t receive a certain amount of respect for my limitations I have a problem. There is a massive difference between being naïve, and being ignorant. When you don’t know I have problems, I certainly don’t expect anything form you other than common courtesy. But when you are downright rude (regardless of whether or not I have a disease) that’s not okay. Or when you know of my disease, and provide me no allowance or even common courtesy it is really not okay. I have dealt with this on more than one occasion. Ignorance. Plain ignorance. People who think I am exaggerating or faking it just so I can get attention or gain sympathy are extremely infuriating. How can people be so rude? I don’t understand how they can know a genuine problem exists, yet play it off like it is nothing and even have the audacity to accuse me of stretching the truth for selfish purposes. Especially when it’s people I know on a personal level—it stings.

It’s always hard to get people to understand how limiting a disease like mine can be. I’m 18 years old, and people expect me to be able to conquer the world. I have pain radiating my hands, and wrists and I’m still expected to hold open the door for everyone else. I have had four-foot surgeries in the past six months and still experience a lot of pain when pressure from standing is applied to them, but I’m still expected to give up my seat for an adult. When all the children are sitting on the floor, I am supposed to sit with them. Except for the part where it is really painful on my right knee, and it is almost impossible to pick myself up off the floor without help. I think people know that yes, I have pain problems, but either fail to realize or choose to ignore that fact that it prevents me from being able to do a lot of physical activities—even trivial ones. People don’t understand the kind of pain I live with, and don’t know the kind of affect it has on me. I think a lot of it is because they don’t want to know about what is happening to my body. And sometimes they don’t want to be bothered by it. If they acknowledge that I have certain, special needs they usually feel duty-bound to make it happen. It may mean a little extra patience on their part, or a little extra effort. I guess it depends on how generous or selfish the person is. I know this can make me sound a little selfish by expecting people to come to my aid, but I have come to accept the fact that I need help and am open to asking for it. This doesn’t mean I like having to ask for help, it just means that when I know I will need it I make sure it is there. But it’s always aggravating to come across people who don’t seem to care.

Ignorance is a wonderful thing for those who have it. They have no problems, no cares, and no worries because they chose to stick their heads in the sand. Turn a blind eye. Fake naivety. Ignorance—and not just to disease—will be the downfall of humanity. How can anyone expect to improve our society when they are so busy ignoring some of the problems? I wish everyone could be on the same page, especially when it comes to disease like mine. Not just so they will act more kindly toward me, but also so that they will be a kinder person in general. Autoimmune disease is a nasty thing, and if everyone understood the gravity of our situations life would be much easier. We already deal with constant doctors appointments, medications, and never ending symptoms. We aren’t asking much from society. A little bit here, and little help there. We don’t want your ignorance. We don’t need your ignorance. We need your respect.