What I learned about my first year in my 40's
It’s my 41st birthday and I am looking back at what my first year in my 40’s brought me. Spoiler alert: It’s good and bad.
This is me at 41. It’s been a year of ups and downs as I reached the big 4-0, but growing older hasn’t been too bad overall.
I feel comfortable in my older, maybe a little more weathered, skin, but it’s been a mixture of emotions. Primarily, I’ve noticed I’ve been having a little more fear and anxiety lately.
When I was in my 20s and 30s, I always assumed that my future was something way down the road. All of my hopes, dreams and goals had a long runway. I didn’t need to worry about rushing to accomplish things.
Find a girlfriend? It’ll happen eventually.
Travel to exotic places? You’ll have plenty of time for that.
Start a foundation to help others with disabilities? Dream big, Gabe.
Suddenly 20 years fly by and all those hopes and goals have stalled. That runway has gotten incredibly shorter. And that’s where the fear and anxiety come in.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my life and I wouldn’t change it for anything, but I planned on doing things in my life and it feels like those opportunities are quickly passing me by. If not gone already.
If nothing else, my foray into my 40s has brought me a new sense of urgency. I don’t know how much time or opportunity I have left to do the things I still want to accomplish. No longer can I procrastinate and practice patience.
I’ve seen and experienced a lot in my 40 years, but there’s still plenty I want to do.
There’s no better time to start than now.
What do you do when the future finally arrives?
My inevitable entrance into the 40 club has me taking stock of everything. Don’t get me wrong, I have lived an incredible life. But am I already running out of time to accomplish everything I wanted in life?
One day at a time. That’s been my mantra for the past 25 years.
If the past two decades have taught me anything, it’s that life can change in an instant. In 1997, I was a shy 14-year-old with dreams of becoming the next Fox Mulder, searching for extraterrestrials with the FBI. Then a devastating illness sent me on a very different path.
I now use an electric wheelchair to get around and it’s been more than 9,000 days since I last walked on my own two feet. I now try to enjoy the here and now and not put too much thought into the future.
But as I approach my 40th birthday, my future is starting to appear closer than ever.
I never really thought much about what my life would be like in 20 years. It seemed too far away to give it much importance. Besides, any story about a 60-something quadriplegic generally involves some shady group home and a questionable nurse’s aide. Something I prefer not to think about too often.
While that future was anything but rosy, its impending arrival can’t be ignored.
My inevitable entrance into the 40 club has me taking stock of everything. Don’t get me wrong, I have lived an incredible life. Yes, I am disabled, but that doesn’t mean you have to feel sorry for me. My life has been plenty fulfilling and I have accomplished great things. But as I creep towards the back nine of my life, I’m realizing I am running out of time to achieve some of the things I have always dreamed about.
Dating, marriage and fatherhood are starting to feel more like pipe dreams than actually attainable goals with each passing year. As I have grown older, I have thought about these things a lot. According to my daydreams, I’d be a pretty good boyfriend, husband and father. But as of now, that’s all it is. A dream.
Watching “The 40-Year-Old Virgin” hits a little differently nowadays. 15 years ago, it was a hilarious, raunchy rom-com. Now, it’s more of a cruel, unintentional autobiography. A cinematic reminder of what I haven’t, and may never, experience.
As you read this, don’t be sad or depressed about my situation. I don’t think my life is unfulfilled. I’ve got to happily twirl my prom date across the dance floor, chat with Bill Murray and win a power soccer national championship. Everything that I may have missed over my life would have only improved my life. The proverbial cherry on top.
That being said, this year and starting my fourth decade on this earth may finally be what I need to get out of my comfort zone and get a little more adventurous. Have a little more fun in that present I’ve been going on about.
Who knows, maybe I can do my own time heist and find that magical future I’ve been dreaming of. If Captain America can do it, why can’t I?
Why my future scares me to death
The year has come to an end and we take stock of our wins and losses over the previous year. But as I begin my look back, it’s my future that is at the front of my mind. And it’s scaring me to death.
As we make our way through December and celebrate the holidays, those in the workforce are doing another annual tradition:
Annual reviews.
The year has come to an end and we take stock of our wins and losses over the previous year. But as I begin my look back, it’s my future that is at the front of my mind.
And it’s scaring me to death.
For those who need a refresher, to get through my day-to-day living, I require the assistance of a personal care aide. They assist me with every task I need, from getting up in the morning to going to bed at night, everything I do requires some form of help.
Over the past two decades, my dad has been my primary aide, helping me navigate the day-to-day. Without his help, I don’t know where I would be today.
But next year, he’s approaching his 70th birthday. And as much as I would love to freeze time and have him be my aide forever, it just doesn’t work that way. One day he will no longer have the ability to help me with my needs. And that day seems to be getting closer and closer.
I have only ever known my dad as my personal aide and thinking about needing someone else to take over that responsibility is absolutely frightening. I have heard horror stories from others about bad caregivers and I have been dreading the day when I would have to rely on someone else.
I’m afraid of losing the lifestyle I have grown to love. With my dad’s help and the support of the rest of my family, I have been able to live a very fruitful, enjoyable life and am very grateful for it. I have found my own sense of normalcy, a life with professional success and personal contentment.
But as I grow older, my life seems destined to evolve into something I won’t be able to recognize. I feel like I will need to make sacrifices to my lifestyle simply just to survive.
My fear of the future is a big reason why I try to focus on the here and now, and make the most out of my present. Uncertainty has clouded my future and it’s difficult to see anything familiar. But I am trying to conquer my fear.
Hope has brought me strength as I have navigated life as a quadriplegic, hopefully, it will now shed light on a bright future as well.
Yes, I'm disabled and still waiting for my COVID-19 vaccine.
In 1997, I was fighting to survive. A severe cold and asthma complications left me paralyzed with a collapsed lung. I spent eight months in the hospital and relied on a ventilator to breathe.
It was a frightening time for me and my family and a day doesn’t go by without me thinking of that ordeal.
More than 20 years later, I have adjusted to life as a person with a disability and the fear of being so close to death has subsided. But with the rise of COVID-19 and the current uncertainty of getting access to a vaccine, the possibility of me being hospitalized is a very real possibility.
In 1997, I was fighting to survive. A severe cold and asthma complications left me paralyzed with a collapsed lung. I spent eight months in the hospital and relied on a ventilator to breathe.
It was a frightening time for me and my family and a day doesn’t go by without me thinking of that ordeal.
More than 20 years later, I have adjusted to life as a person with a disability and the fear of being so close to death has subsided. But with the rise of COVID-19 and the current uncertainty of getting access to a vaccine, the possibility of me being hospitalized is a very real possibility.
Even worse, it could all be avoided.
Coronavirus vaccines are making their way into the arms of seniors and essential workers across the country. While that is a welcome sign, those with disabilities and high-risk medical conditions appear to be forgotten by officials and are still not prioritized in many states, including Arizona.
If you happen to have a medical condition or disability in Arizona but still are under the eligible age of 55, you are still waiting for your opportunity to get vaccinated. This is the current predicament I find myself in.
As I wait, I limit my trips out in public. Any exposure to COVID-19 could prove deadly. With my asthma, diminished lung capacity and compromised immune system, I could find myself back in the hospital fighting for my life. It’s an experience I never hope to never have again.
But thanks to officials at the Arizona Department of Health Services, people like me are left to fend for themselves as we wait for our opportunity.
In a recent article in the Washington Post, a startling statistic caught my eye. Americans with intellectual and developmental disabilities are two to three times as likely to die of COVID-19, according to the article. Many across the country like me are still waiting to get the shot. With a stat like that, you would think that those with disabilities and medical conditions of any age would have been moved to the front of the line.
The decisions regarding vaccine eligibility are supported by the Arizona Vaccine and Antiviral Prioritization Advisory Committee (VAPAC). This group, comprised of state, local, and tribal experts, and health care partners, provides recommendations for the state’s eligibility requirements. In a recent post on the ADHS website, VAPAC recommended expanding eligibility to those aged 55 and higher. Its reasoning was described as “to protect those who are most at risk for severe outcomes due to COVID-19, such as hospitalization and death.”
But those with disabilities and high-risk conditions under the age requirements are still not eligible. And that is simply and equivocally wrong.
We deserve better. We should not be seen as an afterthought in mainstream society. Yes, our lives require additional support and care from others. But that doesn’t make our lives any less of a priority or importance than our normally-abled counterparts. We deserve to live our lives the way we want to, without fear or confinement, held up in our homes, away from public life.
How can ADHS say their decisions are intended to protect those at the most-risk from COVID-19 when they are deprioritizing one of the most at-risk populations? How can a relatively-healthy 65-year-old man be considered higher risk than a 37-year-old quadriplegic with asthma and 1 and a half lungs? Or even a 20-year-old person with Down Syndrome?
There are numerous articles online asking this question with no answers from any officials. Here are just a few:
The silence from them is deafening and that ignorance could result in deaths that could be prevented with early access to the vaccine.
For now, I continue to scroll through my social media feeds and see photos of people getting their shots. Many of them are of various ages, occupations and ethnicities. Most appear relatively healthy and a few have high-risk conditions. It gives me a severe case of a “fear of missing out” as I see many who are less at-risk of COVID-19 than I get access to the coronavirus vaccine. Unfortunately, my current case of FOMO is accompanied by a very real fear and a risk of hospitalization and death.
WATCH: ADHS speaks about COVID-19 vaccinations for high-risk conditions
This is the word I will remember most from Biden’s victory speech
On Nov. 7, 2020, the world learned the news about Joe Biden becoming president-elect. Many people took to the streets across the country to celebrate after a long week of counting ballots and analyzing voter turnout.
As day turned to night Saturday, Joe Biden and Kamala Harris addressed the nation and spoke about what the next four years in office would look like.
For those who watched, there were plenty of memorable moments. From Biden proclaiming his priority to unify the country, to Harris talking about her historic moment becoming the first woman to be elected Vice President.
On Nov. 7, 2020, the world learned the news about Joe Biden becoming president-elect. Many people took to the streets across the country to celebrate after a long week of counting ballots and analyzing voter turnout.
As day turned to night Saturday, Joe Biden and Kamala Harris addressed the nation and spoke about what the next four years in office would look like.
For those who watched, there were plenty of memorable moments. From Biden proclaiming his priority to unify the country, to Harris talking about her historic moment becoming the first woman to be elected Vice President.
But for me, one word in Biden’s speech will always resonate with me.
“Disability.”
During his victory speech in Wilmington, Delaware, Biden mentioned the disabled community, and I was left speechless. And I wasn’t alone. Just do a quick Twitter search for the hashtag #CripTheVote.
““We must make the promise of the country real for everybody — no matter their race, their ethnicity, their faith, their identity or their DISABILITY,” the president-elect said Saturday night. ”
That was the first time I ever heard the President of the United States mention those with disabilities in a victory speech. At that moment, it didn’t feel like I was part of a segregated population. At that moment, I felt like an equal citizen.
It was only a small word for most people watching that night. But for me and others in the disabled community, it was so much more. It was a defining moment. After that mention, I finally felt heard, and it felt good.
A president, albeit a president-elect, openly acknowledged the disability. And he did it in his victory speech.
His acknowledgment for me was seen as a rallying cry for those in the disabled community. That our issues and needs may finally be heard and true change could be on the horizon. That opportunities for those with disabilities will increase and give us a chance to lead more meaningful, successful and enjoyable lives, just like our able-bodied counterparts.
People with disabilities make up “the nation’s largest minority,” with nearly 50 million Americans, according to the Department of Labor. So I believe our voice will only grow louder.
It may only be one word now, but hopefully, it will turn my cautious optimism into meaningful change for those living with a disability.
That photo of a kid admiring a model in a wheelchair is more important than you think
If you've been on the internet lately you've undoubtedly seen the viral photo of a young boy in a wheelchair at Target. In the photo, the boy is seen starting admirably at a photo display featuring another young boy in a wheelchair.
“He’s never seen a kid in a wheelchair before,” Demi Porter Garza-Pena, the boy’s mom said during a 12 News interview. “So for him to stop and notice that out of the blue was really heartwarming for me.”
Since its posting on Facebook, the viral photo has been received more than 49,000 likes and 34,000 shares. And the picture has brought up an important discussion online.
If you've been on the internet lately you've undoubtedly seen the viral photo of a young boy in a wheelchair at Target. In the photo, the boy is seen starting admirably at a photo display featuring another young boy in a wheelchair.
“He’s never seen a kid in a wheelchair before,” Demi Porter Garza-Pena, the boy’s mom said during a 12 News interview. “So for him to stop and notice that out of the blue was really heartwarming for me.”
Since its posting on Facebook, the viral photo has been received more than 49,000 likes and 34,000 shares. And the picture has brought up an important discussion online.
While many of us see a cute and heartwarming photo, it is so much more. It symbolizes the importance of disability representation in mainstream society.
As the disabled community continues to grow, there continues to be a push and need to get more accurate and frequent portrayals of people with disabilities in media. Everything from movies to television, advertisements to news stories.
In a recent report titled the “Road Map for Inclusion,” we see just how few disabled people are seen in movies and on TV. Along with the stats, the report calls for proportional representation moving forward; meaning 1 in 4 people “both in front of and behind the camera” should be a person with a disability. This proportion would match the 1 in 4 adults in the U.S. who live with a disability, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.
So when you see this boy looking at a picture of someone who looks like him, it's more than just a cute story and I can certainly relate.
As a 36-year-old who is a person with a disability, I still get excited every time I see an ad with a person in a wheelchair or a movie that features a disabled character that is more than just an extra in the background. Not seeing people who look like you makes it very easy to feel invisible and not important to those around you. Seeing ads like the one at Target help shine a light on the growing disabled community and the importance of equal representation in society.
While this story has gone viral and has been viewed across the globe, my hope is that people who see this photo remember the reason for its importance. A kid in a wheelchair was happy to see a kid who looks like him out in public. It brought him a sense of belonging. A sense of acceptance. A sense that it's okay to be different.
Here's hoping that this story will show others with disabilities that you matter and the fight for inclusion is worth fighting for.
22 years later: My strength may fade, but my hope never will
It’s that time of year. The month of September always brings around mixed feelings for me. Sept. 12, 2019 marks the 22nd anniversary of the day I became a quadriplegic.
I can’t believe it’s been over two decades since I lost my ability to move my arms and legs. It seems like yesterday when I was in the intensive care unit clinging to life. Looking back year after year, it is amazing to think about how I overcame such insurmountable odds. And while that was 22 years ago, my childhood is even farther away.
It’s that time of year. The month of September always brings around mixed feelings for me. Sept. 12, 2019 marks the 22nd anniversary of the day I became a quadriplegic.
I can’t believe it’s been over two decades since I lost my ability to move my arms and legs. It seems like yesterday when I was in the intensive care unit clinging to life. Looking back year after year, it is amazing to think about how I overcame such insurmountable odds. And while that was 22 years ago, my childhood is even farther away.
My life before I became sick seems like it was so long ago. One thing that always scares me is losing my memories from my childhood.
Not the actual memories of past moments, the sensory memories of my childhood. The feeling of the grass on the soccer field. The anxiety and thrill of attending a friends party. Or just simply walking around outside.
I know I had the ability to move around, but as the years go by, it’s harder and harder to remember what it was like to be “normal.”
As the years go by, I’ll continue to look back on my journey over the last two decades and reflect on all I have accomplished. While I may never walk again, my hope to regain my strength will never falter and I will continue to roll wherever life takes me in the meantime.
Fried fish, a wheelchair and an impromptu handshake
This is a thread about an encounter I experience all to often as a person with a disability.
Yesterday, I was eating dinner at a local fish place with my dad when a man came up to the table and asked to shake my dad’s hand.
“I just wanted to shake your hand and say it’s awesome what you do,” he said. “I have a son with a disability too.”
This is a thread about an encounter I experience all to often as a person with a disability.
Yesterday, I was eating dinner at a local fish place with my dad when a man came up to the table and asked to shake my dad’s hand.
“I just wanted to shake your hand and say it’s awesome what you do,” he said. “I have a son with a disability too.”
He then walked away. I’ve been through this before, but every time this happens, which is too many times, I am speechless and annoyed.
I get where he is coming from and he means no disrespect, but he brings forth an important lesson for me to teach my able-bodied counterparts.
I, and every other person with a disability who goes out in public, am not looking for a pat on the back or a gold sticker for doing something so trivial.
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Yes, my dad was helping me eat my delicious fried fish, but he wasn’t looking for recognition. We were simply doing something many fathers and sons do. Spend some quality time together over a good meal.
What’s worse is that he didn’t even speak or recognize me as anything other than a disadvantaged man in a wheelchair. And that is the root of the problem.
He didn’t even realize that I had just got off working an eight-hour day at the office and I wanted to treat my dad to dinner to unwind from a long day.
So the lesson? Yes, I’m disabled. Yes, people help me with most daily tasks. No, living a normal life like everyone else is not some incredible accomplishment that needs your recognition.
If you want to show your appreciation for me and those who help me navigate life, a simple “hello” will do. Above all else, I just want your respect and sense of belonging. No award is necessary.
Knowing (who you are) is half the battle
We are all fighting battles. Some fight on a battlefield. Others fight within themselves. But we are all searching for victories in our own wars.
But no matter where or what you’re fighting for, it’s important to remember just how strong we can be.
More than 20 years ago, most of my physical strength left me. My arms and legs weakened by an illness I couldn’t see and condition that seemed insurmountable. As I laid motionless in that hospital bed, surrounded by tubes and cables, I learned the true meaning of "strong."
We are all fighting battles. Some fight on a battlefield. Others fight within themselves. But we are all searching for victories in our own wars.
But no matter where or what you’re fighting for, it’s important to remember just how strong we can be.
More than 20 years ago, most of my physical strength left me. My arms and legs weakened by an illness I couldn’t see and condition that seemed insurmountable. As I laid motionless in that hospital bed, surrounded by tubes and cables, I learned the true meaning of "strong."
From that moment on, the definition of strength was no longer limited to the size of your muscles. Instead, I realized true strength is measured by will and courage. Even though my body was more frail than before, my will to fight never wavered and only grew stronger.
So every day that I’m able to greet the sun and take a breath, I fight to live life to the fullest and remember to enjoy everything it has to offer. Sadness and despair will always be present in today’s society, but if we choose to focus on good and the power of the human spirit, our lives will be better for it.
“Strength doesn’t come from physical capacity, it comes from an indomitable will.”
This quote from Ghandi has become my favorite since I became a person with a disability. It embodies my personal philosophy on life and provides validity to my belief on the importance of courage and perseverance.
Now those who read this my not have intimate knowledge about the struggles of living life with a disability, but we all can relate to struggle and hardships, no matter what they may be.
As we all continue to fight our own wars, we look for hope of winning our own personal battles. If my experiences have taught me anything, it is that we all have the power to overcome whatever we encounter.
Whether it’s enemies on the field of battle or the inner-demons of our own devices, we must never forget the strength we have within ourselves. Knowing that you have what it takes to succeed and persevere is a victory in and of itself.
And knowing is half the battle.
The 10 best things about being a quadriplegic
This year marked the 20th anniversary of me becoming a quadriplegic.
And among the past two decades, I’ve learned plenty of important lessons. But none more important than the need to have a quality sense of humor.
Sure, there aren’t many things to laugh about when you’ve spent eight months in the hospital and haven’t taken a step in over 8,000 days, but if you look hard enough, you might be able to crack a smile every now and then.
This year marked the 20th anniversary of me becoming a quadriplegic.
And among the past two decades, I’ve learned plenty of important lessons. But none more important than the need to have a quality sense of humor.
Sure, there aren’t many things to laugh about when you’ve spent eight months in the hospital and haven’t taken a step in over 8,000 days, but if you look hard enough, you might be able to crack a smile every now and then.
In that spirit, I thought I would share the 10 best things about being a quadriplegic.
I get the best parking spots.
With a handicap license plate, I get a prime spot to park my van everywhere I go.
No need to take a seat.
Whenever I have a meeting, I never have to scramble for a chair. For me it’s always “BYOC,” bring your own chair.
Wear and tear free.
Since I don’t walk, my shoes stay in pristine condition. Which is great (or horrible) for my burgeoning sneaker fetish.
Look ma, no hands.
Dieting has never been easier. If I want to go on a diet, all I need to do is just tell everyone not to feed me junk food. I can’t cheat if I can’t put it in my mouth.
Early access.
At many events, there’s often accessible entries or early access. Which means no need to wait in those long lines. If you got it, might as well take advantage of it.
I don’t have to speak to anyone I don’t want to.
Most of the time, people assume I can’t speak or just ignore me all together.
No need to worry about street vendors.
Since they think I am not cognitive, they just ignore me. That’s fine, I didn’t want a two year subscription to “People Magazine” anyway.
There’s no pressure to hit the gym.
Any muscles I had waved bye-bye long ago. Besides, the only six pack I’m interested in is full of caffeine and corn syrup.
Who needs a coat hanger?
I’m always a hit for those who need to take a quick trip to the mall. Don’t worry about lugging around your bags, just stick them on my armrests and viola! Hands-free shopping.
It’s okay, he’s disabled.
If I run into anybody, they generally just shrug it off. Of course it was because they weren’t watching where they were going, not because I’m a horrible driver.
So you see, disability isn’t always doom and gloom.
If life gives you lemons, just run them over, because you can’t pick them up anyways.