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Tara Platenkamp’s Final Exam: The Difference Between Reading Autism and Reading While Autistic

The demand within autistic communities for autistic authors is high. How could it not be? Every person wants to feel that their voice is being heard, whether it is by their own words being delivered to the public or through a trusted proxy. For most of the existence of the literary community, however, autistic expression has been disregarded and treated as less valuable by scholars and audiences alike. Julie Miele Rodas and Ralph James Savarese provide in their books Autistic Disturbances and See It Feelingly, through alternative perspectives on autistic rhetoric, a comparative analysis on the existence and importance of viewing literature through a neurodivergent lens.

            The first issue that becomes apparent when examining literature with autistic influence in mind is the oversight which happens to the expressions of actual autistic people. Both Rodas and Savarese discuss the general dismissal that occurs towards the alternative literacies that autistic people often use to communicate. For Savarese’s son, DJ, while his main forms of communication—writing and speaking—are themselves not unusual, the manner in which he is able to communicate is. Text-to-speech communicators are strange, if you’ve never been around someone who uses one, and many people become uncomfortable around synthetic voices, as well as the inevitable delay that occurs when a person has to type instead of speaking aloud. While not always intentional, it is not uncommon for neurotypical, able-bodied people to assume that because of his disability DJ lacks intelligence. The end result is that people like DJ, who struggle to communicate in the typical way, have their words and their thoughts devalued. Rodas describes the manner in which “even autism-positive literary scholars are prone to explain autistic verbal practices as literary deficits”, neatly summing up the way which even disability scholars can (whether maliciously or not) overlook or misunderstand the intent behind autistic language, applying a neurotypical film over an autistic person’s words to make them more palatable (Rodas 182). Not only this, but the existence of autistic authors is often overlooked or deliberately ignored due to a lack of clear evidence supporting the neurodivergence of accredited writers.

            One of the most problematic assumptions that can be made about literature of merit is that none of it was written or influenced by autistic people. Rodas seeks to destroy this notion of neurotypical-until-proven-neurodivergent by not only identifying patterns of autistic thought and expression throughout the literary canon, but also attempting to remove the blinders of what counts as autistic language. Autistic people, Rodas points out, “embrace an infinite variety of varieties and expressive modes”, rather than being confined by strict rules that determine an exact criterion for autistic expression (Rodas 183). In fact, Rodas encourages “reaching” for examples of autistic influence in literature for the sake of seeking out intersectional connections between autism and all other walks of life (Rodas 192). She outlines that many forms of autistic expression can seem innocuous to the uniformed eye; listing, repetition, wordplay, silence, and more all hold a place in autistic artistic rhetoric. It is only once these motifs are ascribed to autism that they begin to carry a different weight. Rodas references the lists that appear in Jorge Louis Borges’ “The Analytical Language of John Wilkins” with the purpose of pointing out how “Borges’ tongue-in-cheek inventory speaks to both the apparent worthlessness of discretionary rhetorics as well as to their potential for intelligence, invention, even humor” (Rodas 188). The reason why literature is usually assumed to be written by neurotypical people is because autistic expression is presented as less functional and meaningful. By presenting literary works that exhibit motifs which can be related to autistic rhetoric, Rodas removes the boundary between notable works of literature and works of literature written by autistic people. Not only does Rodas disregard the invisible barrier of ableism, but she also shows that elements of autistic rhetoric and expression exist outside of the vacuum of literature written about and by autistic people. It is through this acknowledgement of autistic expression holding not only value, but also normalcy, that neurodivergent rhetoric is moved from the theoretical, othered position, to one which may encourage and be engaged with by neurodivergent indivudials.

            The biggest distinction to consider when discussing the examination of literature through a neurodivergent lens is the difference between reading autism and reading while autistic. Rodas’s work focuses on reading literature while searching for autistic influences; Savarese, comparatively, illuminates the ways in which stories that are superficially unrelated to the topic of autism can affect a person who is autistic, both the good and the bad. Neither of these perspectives is problematic, but are, rather, two of the necessary viewpoints when tying autism to literature. Stories have two fundamental parts: the author, and the audience. By accounting for autistic influences both in how literature is formed and how it is received by autistic people can the full scope of neurodivergent presence literature be understood. Without both these perspectives being utilized, a foundational pillar of disability studies is lost. In Savarese’s prologue, DJ says that he “‘feel[s] characters’ feelings’” and is described as “screaming at the top of his own oxygen-depleted lungs” in response to a character from Jon Krakauer’s Into Thin Air dying. This intense empathetic response might seem unimportant in regards to the novel as a whole. However, DJ’s response speaks to a greater connection between themes of misunderstanding and abuse in literature and those that appear in the autistic community. DJ is upset by the death of Rob Hall not only due to his empathetic nature, but also the experiences he himself has gone through as an autistic person. Savarese explains the feelings of “extreme helplessness” portrayed in the novel that DJ identified with, as a disabled child in foster care left without any way to communicate (Savarese 21). The identification and understanding of autistic influence in literature, as Rodas does, are necessary for furthering an awareness of autistic rhetoric, but Savarese’s accounts of his son explains why encountering and encouraging neurodivergent voices matters. Despite the fact that reading can be a trial for DJ, Savarese describes the intense way that DJ “identified” with stories, and encountering such emotional trials and overcoming them eventually gave to way to a greater grasp over his own emotional state (Savarese 15). DJ, a writer in his own right, suggested that “real change is only possible when different thinkers free people to open their eyes to new ways of being”, a direct proponent of how vital it is for autistic rhetoric to be acknowledged not only within literature, but about literature.

            Autism, as well as any form of neurodivergence, is not a simple condition with easily defined borders that can be understood at a glance. However, it is because of the vast number of possible expressions of autism that make recognizing and celebrating autistic rhetoric so important. Rodas and Savarese’s writing encompass the two most foundational parts of understanding literature through a neurodivergent lens by enumerating and examining the ways in which autistic rhetoric affects established literature, and the experiencing of literature by autistic people. The cycle of author to reader that their books provide allows for a fuller understanding of autistic rhetoric in a way that does not merely encounter neurodivergence but embraces it and allows it to thrive.

Word count: 1211

Sources:

Rodas, Julia Miele, and Melanie Yergeau. Autistic Disturbances: Theorizing Autism Poetics from the DSM to Robinson Crusoe. University of Michigan Press, 2018.

Savarese, Ralph James. See It Feelingly: Classic Novels, Autistic Readers, and the Schooling of a No-Good English Professor. Duke University Press, 2018.

Cayla Stroud’s Final Examination

Intersection of Autism and Race

In Morenike Giwa- Onaiwu’s Autistics of Color: We exist We Matter someone asked her the question, “Autism is Autism right? Does race really matter?” Her argument was that the impression was becoming seemingly apparent that disability, in particular Autism, was overlooked and seen as a  collective experience, not interested with the intersection of race, gender, or sexuality. Furthermore that the discussion of race as it pertains to autism is silenced. It is of great importance that we are to examine the lives affected by both the impact of race and disability matters. Moreover, when one is asked to “simplify” themselves or experiences it is an attempt to invalidate one’s identity and voice. 

I’d like to start by breaking down the frequent statement that was made by Giwa-Onaiwu’s friends, colleagues, neighbors and people who care about her have asked, “Autism is Autism right? Does race really matter?” (Giwa-Onaiwu x). First Autism is not just Autism, there is a spectrum. As John Sinclair stated in “Don’t Mourn For Us”, “Autism is a way of being. It is pervasive; as it colors every experience, every sensation, perception, thought, emotion, and encounter, every aspect of existence”. Which speaks to the notion that the Autism spectrum has a broad set of experiences, that each individual experiences differently. With this being said it is best to ask someone, how he/she prefers to be addressed, as Autistic people are capable of communicating and understanding. As DJ Savarese mentions in his piece “Communicate with me” where he describes his subjective experience with Autism and how people can freely talk to him. It is also important to see Autistic people as whole, with an identity, and not disconnecting their identity from themselves. As Autism is commonly believed to be a disease in which, if it were to be reversable a person would then be a different, “normal” person. As John Sinclair writes, Autism is not a “shell” that a person is trapped inside and there is no “normal” person hidden behind Autism. To rid someone of disability is ultimately a way to dehumanize, erase, and diminish that individual.  

To further break down the statement, “Autism is Autism right? Does race really matter?” Not everyone’s experiences as it pertains to race is the same. As Onaiwu’ spoke about her experience from childhood,

 “I remember helplessly trying to explain to my biracial cousin why I didn’t ‘have it easier’ than her merely because I was monoracial … Her assumption was that I was ‘luckier’  than her because I looked ‘black’… because I ‘looked apart’. I was supposed to automatically understand and be fluent in all these random aspects of life attributed to black American culture” (Giwa-Onaiwu xiv).

As Giwa-Onaiwu suggested the particular contention with how a person is viewed within a particular minority. Also,  how her white counterparts would deem her credible to know every aspect of African American culture even though she did not and was, but in the African American community she was considered “not black enough” because of her speech and mannerisms. Employing that she was supposed to inherently eat a certain way, dress a certain way, and act a certain way in order to be seen as black. When the real reality is, there is no singular way to be any race and experiences are different from individual to individual. 

In addition, she is also Autistic, as she felt there was no place of belonging, others understanding her, or accepting her. It was as she said, she was in a minority group within a minority group within a minority group. Explaining that her experience with her race and disability was just another barrier for her to find her place in society. Which is why the intersect of Autism and race have everything to do with one another.

It is an ableist view of disability to think that disability is no way intertwined with race, furthermore as Giwa-Onaiwu explained it is an obscure reality of their own intrinsic privilege with regard to race and ability (Gina-Onaiwu xi). That once an individual ignores those factors you are then not focusing on the subtitle differences that a person faces within a minority group, within a minority group, within a minority group. As Onaiwu stated, “We –those of us who exist at the intersection of disability and race aren’t treated as if we are real” (Gina-Onaiwu xii). She explains that the factors that affect those who are at the intersection of race and disability are paid little concern to. It is a grave injustice to separate the very aspects of someones lived experiences, while one can experience them simultaneously. 

As E. Ashkenazy offers ways to address these issues and bring them to the forefront she offers the most valuable source of advice to “Listen to and welcome the stories and insights that autistic people of color have to share with us” (Ashkenazy xxxviii). Because not all Autistics share the same shared experiences and nor do people of color. Because in this way, it is a way to shed light on culture, home lives, family, and the lived experiences of who people are at the intersection of disability and race and not base broad and ignorant assumptions on others. In addition, as Ashkenazy emphasizes it is our social responsibility to ask people how they identify, instead of assuming and getting to know people instead of clumping them into one category (Ashkenazy xxxix). It is being able to slow down and think about the stereotypes and misunderstanding that we are perpetuating, because it can lead to insightful and meaningful conversation embracing the mixed and intricacies of autistic people of color.

Works Cited 

Brown, Lydia X. Z., and Morénike Giwa-Onaiwu. “Autistics of Color: We Exist…We Matter.” All the Weight of Our Dreams: on Living Racialized Autism, DragonBee Press, 2017, pp. X-xxii.

Sinclair, Jim. “Don’t Mourn for Us..” Autonomy, the Critical Journal of Interdisciplinary Autism Studies [Online], 1.1 (2012): n. pag. Web. 2 May. 2019


Savarese, DJ. “Communicate with Me.” Disability Studies Quarterly, 2010, dsq-sds.org/article/view/1051/1237.

Word count: 1006

I Pledge, on my honor.

Mackenzie’s Final Paper

Mackenzie King

ENGL 384: Section 01

Dr. Foss

28 April 2020 

The Autistic Voice

Defining autism causes much debate among self-advocates and medical professionals. The Oxford English Dictionary defines autism as “a condition which has its onset in childhood and is marked by severely limited responsiveness to other persons, restricted behaviour patterns, difficulty with abstract concepts, and usually abnormal speech development” (Rodas 9). The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-5) gives an even more unclear definition of what it labels as “Autism Spectrum Disorder” as it gives medical professionals diagnostic criteria in the form of rigid categories. The problem with these diagnostic criteria is that autism presents itself differently among individuals. Some people with autism will show very little or no verbal communication while others may have perfect verbal skills. Many of the definitions or attempts to label autism come from sources who do not fully understand the autistic experience. Ari Ne’eman’s “Dueling Narratives: Neurotypical and Autistic Perspectives About the Autism Spectrum” and Julia Miele Rodas’ Autistic Disturbances: Theorizing Autism Poetics from the DSM to Robinson Crusoe demonstrate how damaging labels are continuously promoted as people with autism are placed in the background of these discussions.

   Autistic writers will typically describe autism by feelings, experiences, and practices instead of through rigid categories. Then, autism is “what it feels, does, experiences, and says” (Rodas 10). This puts the autistic person at the center of the definition, not just categories of diagnostic criteria. Rodas notes that autism scholars will usually resist strict definitions of autism because no one truly knows what autism is. While autism is likely physically located in the body, there is no blood test or specific genetic marker that signifies autism. In this respect, the autistic body cannot be separated from the autistic voice. In “Dueling Narratives: Neurotypical and Autistic Perspectives About the Autism Spectrum” Ari Ne’eman states that “in a society that values equality as a means of social justice, the idea of each individual created equal is often misinterpreted as each individual created the same” (Ne’eman). Self-advocates continue to strive for support and acceptance for people with autism in society. Disability is thought of as a social construct. According to this social model of disability, the label of disability then reflects how an individual is able to function in a specific environment and is then not related to any intrinsic characteristics related to the individual. This means thant people labeled as having a disability are being defined by their relation to the rest of society, taking the ability to form an identity away from these individuals.

  When it comes to discussions about autism, people with autism are generally not in the center of the discussion. Films like Autism Every Day (2006) furthers the idea that autism happens only to people surrounding the person with autism. This places all of the power for form identity in the hands of non-autistic hands and not in the individual. Lauren Thierry, the producer of this film, criticized President Bush for taking a photograph with a young man with autism who scored repeatedly during a high school football game and received a lot of media attention because of his talent. Theirry stated that this sent a message that people with autism will be okay as long as they can find a certain skill in which they can excel; however, she had also told the parents depicted in her film not to provide any type of therapy for their children or maintain their homes in the few days leading up to filming. This then promoted the idea that autistic children can be seen more as tradegies, further encouraging the notion that autistic children will fall into one of two categories: tragedies or prodigies. This is not an accurate representation of the reality of most people with autism, but films such as Thierry’s Autism Every Day are motivated by fundraising instead of accurate portrayals of living with autism (Ne’eman). 

Jenny McCarthy further promoted the idea of autism as pathological with her memoir Louder Than Words (2007). In her book she portrays autism as a tragedy when her son receives his autism diagnosis. Actions she previously thought were cute soon became signs of autism and represented something she now views as tragic. Because of her high profile she became popular in autism discourse, furthering the idea of autism as pathology. The describes learning about her son’s autism by saying that all of the “things I’d thought were personality traits were in fact autism characteristics, and that was all I had. Where was my son, and how the hell did I get him out?” (McCarthy 66 qtd. Rodas 16). Again, this reaction illustates the inability to look at the individual. Jenny McCarthy’s entire view of her child is altered by his diagnosis. Her son is not trapped by his diagnosis, it is a part of his identity. When the people around someone with autism try to create a label or define who that person is based on the diagnosis, it takes that person’s voice and individuality. Autistic people, just like people who do not have autism, are able to express themselves in a variety of ways and through a variety of identities (Rodas). 

  The diagnostic criteria present austism as something that is categorical and easily defined, but that is not the reality for many people with autism. Autism affects people differently. These categorizations make it easier to try and place people within the label of autism, but this then takes the voice away from those individuals. Organizations, such as Autism Speaks, or films such as Lauren Thierry’s Autism Every Day continue to set the tone that autism is a condition that needs to be treated. These are not accurate representations of life for many autistic individuals and futher promote the labels given to autistic individuals from non-autistic sources who do not truly understand the autistic experience. Self-advocates are correct in their pushing to be at the center of discussions on autism, not merely placed into the background while non-autistic people place labels and make assumptions about what it means to be autistic. 

Word count: 1004

I hereby declare upon my word of honor that I have neither given nor received unauthorized help on this work

Major Paper/Project by Kellie Bowman, “Murphy’s Law”

Murphy’s Law 

The last thing I could remember was opening the door to the room my team and I were getting ready to raid and Lake screaming at everyone behind me to fall back. After that, there was a giant explosion; everything faded to black. Five days later, I woke up in a hospital bed in Germany.

I opened my eyes. My vision was extremely blurry and was for about an hour. I had a pounding headache that was ten times as worse as the one I woke up with the morning after my 21st birthday. Even moving my eyes hurt like an absolute bitch, but I managed to look at the nurse standing next to my bed looking at my IV and writing things down on a clipboard.

“Excuse me, ma’hm..” my throat was extremely dry and each word that came out felt like glass in my throat. “Where am I?” 

She looked at me and smiled. “Good afternoon Mr. Murphy. You are at Rose Barracks Army base in Vilseck Germany. I’ll go and page Dr. Lamkin. I’m sure you have a lot of questions.” 

I thought to myself, You’re damn right I do, like what the hell happened to me in Iraq? I looked down at myself and both of my arms were gone. Just what was left of them wrapped in bandage and casts around both of my legs. My heart dropped to my ass. 

Just then, who I guessed was Dr. Lamkin walked into the room. “Hello Mr. Murphy. I am Dr. George Lamkin, I’m the surgeon who operated on you when you arrived here from Baghdad. How are you feeling right now?  We thought you might be out for a little while longer, but you are a fighter. We were blown away by how well you did in surgery.” 

“Well, I appreciate that Doc, but I’m not so much concerned with how I did in surgery, more so with the fact that I don’t have my damn arms anymore.”

“Right. Mr. Murphy, while on your mission in Baghdad, you encountered an improvised explosive device. It is to my understanding it happened right when the door was opened to an enemy house, seconds before the raid you were supposed to carry out. There was not much we could do about your arms besides amputate both of them. I’m so sorry Mr. Murphy, I know this is the last thing you want to hear right now, but you are a very lucky man to be sitting here talking with me. The IED you came into contact with was about 1/4th the size of the normal ones. You will have very minimal scarring on your face as well as a concussion, but you will make a full recovery from that and I expect your legs to be fully healed in about 7 weeks. As for your arms, you will receive physical therapy for about 12 months as well as being fitted for prosthetic arms in the coming weeks.” 

I stopped listening after ‘…there was nothing we could do besides amputate both of them’. “Where’s my fiance?” 

“Yes, a Melissa Chapman? She was here a few hours ago, I was talking to her about what the coming months hold. She arrived here about 15 hours after you did.” He said. 

I was more than relieved to hear that Mel was here. 

“Do you have any questions for me Mr. Murphy?” 

“No doc, I think that about does it.” 

“I’m sorry again about what happened to you, but I and so many others commend you on your service to the country. I will send a nurse up in a little while to check on you and Ms. Chapman.” He walked out of the room. 

I didn’t want to believe what happened to me. Not only because I wasn’t really interested in living a life without arms, but because I knew that everything was about to change. I was probably going to get discharged from the army, which meant no recruitment orders for me. 

Mel told me before I left for Iraq that she wasn’t going to marry me unless I got out of infantry and into paper pushing. She didn’t want to have to live through deployments every two years and I didn’t blame her. So I put in a request to get my orders changed from being on the line to go be a recruiter. The job was waiting for me whenever I got back from deployment, but being that I don’t have any damn arms, they’re probably going to give me my purple heart and tell me to get the hell out… In the nicest way possible. 

I fell asleep right after Lamkin left, and didn’t wake again until Mel came back. 

I opened my eyes, pain shooting left and right in my head. “Hey girl, I see you hopped right on that damn plane as soon as you heard something was wrong, huh?” 

Mel turned around “Benjamin Harris Murphy, you had me and half the town worried to death that they’d be bringing you back in a coffin.” She was choking up. “How are you feeling? Lots of pain? I’m glad you’re awake, I missed the hell out of you” Full blown tears at this point. 

“Now don’t you go crying on me now. I may not have my arms anymore, but I came back in one piece didn’t I?… Kind of.” I forced a laugh. I knew that if I showed that I wasn’t actually as worried I really was, she would stay calm. 

“Benny, what are we gonna do with you.” She came over to the bed, touched my face. I wished so bad I could touch back but I couldn’t. And I guess I never would be able to again.I would be getting prosthetic arms, but they will never be the same as my actual arms. I felt like hurling.

The next week was spent figuring out what the hell was going to happen to me in the next few months. I was getting all kinds of phone calls from my parents. I decided that since I wasn’t going to get that recruiting job that it would be best for me, Mel and my parents that we would go stay with them for a while. At least until I can figure out what will happen after I get discharged. They live down in Texas, a little bit outside of San Antonio and I was told that there was a Veterans Affairs hospital down there where I could get my physical therapy done and get fitted for those arms. With the way that doc was describing them, they sounded more like robotic pieces and less like arms.

“What are you gonna do about work?” I asked Mel. She works as an elementary school teacher on base. 

“Don’t worry about that, I got it all worked out. I gotta go back to Fayetteville in a couple weeks though to take care of some other things, but they were really understanding about it all.” 

“That’s really great to hear,” I said. “Listen, I know that going back to live with my parents isn’t really ideal for the both of us, but the hospital down there has some great doctors that are gonna get me feeling as good as new, also Mama and Dad want to spend some time with me being that I almost just died.” 

“Oh Benny, please you don’t have to explain anything to me. I completely understand the decision you made, and I stand by it one hundred percent. I love you and I’m coming with you no matter what.” 

I smiled and kissed her. It felt good to have someone like her supporting me through this. 

I don’t tell Mel because I don’t want to freak her out, but I keep having nightmares about the day I lost my arms. I always wake up in a cold sweat right after the explosion happens. I don’t really enjoy reliving that every night, so I’ve been fighting going to sleep lately. It gets difficult with the pain medication that I’m constantly on, and it leaves me exhausted all day, and that just tacks on more to the list of things that are fucked up with my body. 

It took two weeks for me to be able to travel. It was a real pain in the ass to have to just sit in the hospital and not do anything except feel sorry for myself. But we finally left and I saw outside for the first time in what felt like years. 

We were boarding the flight and I could not help but feel like everyone in the airport was staring at me. The armless dude in the wheelchair being pushed by his girlfriend was what I felt like, and was what I was. I felt like everyone was pitying me, but that is the last thing I wanted from anyone, was pity. I didn’t deserve it. I was the one who decided to join the army, to become an infantryman, to ask to become a team leader for the deployment… and in becoming team leader, I was the one who decided to go first through that damn door loaded with an explosive.  I didn’t deserve pity. I deserved to lose my arms. 

We arrived in San Antonio. Mama and dad picked us up from the airport and Mama left her arms around me for what felt like 2 hours before loading the car up to go back home. “Oh my Benny, my poor Benny…” She said with tears streaming down her face. “We’re so glad to have you back here, son.” Dad was choked up. I had never even seen him cry before, so I knew he was feeling something awfully thankful that I made it back alive. 

Stephen and Kathy Murphy are some of the best parents a kid could ask for. They supported me in all that I ever did; sports, school, my relationship with Mel, and even enlisting. I was scared to death to tell them I had actually done it, but when I did, dad shook my hand and mom hugged me so tight, while telling me “You better come back to me Benny. Don’t make me regret being okay with this.” I think now she regrets being okay with it. And in a way, so do I. 

I started physical therapy about a month after we got to San Antonio. There was a whole healing process with the nubs- or residual limb I guess is the technical term for them-that were once my arms with cream and pre physical therapy-therapy. Pretty gnarly stuff if you ask me. 

I walked into the VA hospital feeling like shit. I didn’t wanna be there, but I knew that I had to if I ever wanted to lead a somewhat normal life. 

I walked up to the receptionist to check in. Mel was with me for what she called “emotional support”. 

“Hi, uh I’m here to check in for an appointment I have with Dr. Lori Geist.” 

The receptionist looked up at me. “Alrighty sir, what’s your name?”

“Benjamin Murphy.” 

She typed something on the computer. “Okay Mr. Murphy, if you could just take a seat in the waiting area, a nurse will come get you in a few minutes.” 

Mel and I went to sit down. 

“How are you feeling? Nervous?” She asked. 

“I don’t know, I just want this to be over with.” I said. 

She scoffed a bit. “Babe, it’s only your first day. This is going to help you, aren’t you excited about that?” 

I would hardly use that word, ‘excited’ in this situation. I don’t think Mel really understood how I was feeling about everything that has happened. Explaining it was exhausting, thinking about it was exhausting, talking about it was exhausting. I was frustrated with myself. Why couldn’t I just have done something normal, like go to college, or vocational school or something? But that wasn’t going to be enough for me, I just had to be the most badass person that came out of Texas. 

“Murphy?” 

“That’s me. You’ll be back at three?”

Mel kissed and hugged me. “Of course.” She paused. “You’re gonna be okay Benny, we’ll get through this together” 

I smiled. A forced smile, but I knew that if I didn’t force-smile my way through this, it would just be harder for everybody.

“Right this way Mr. Murphy.” A nurse walked me to the back offices and we passed small gyms with a few people doing their own physical therapy. I bet none of them have to deal with a double arm amputation. 

We walked into a room with medicine balls, weights, the whole physical therapy nine yards. “Dr. Geist will be a few minutes. Go ahead and take a seat.” She said and walked out of the room. I felt a buzz in my pocket. It was my phone, but being armless, I couldn’t exactly check to see who was calling me. I heaved a huge sigh and waited, looking at the hands on the clock tick. 

A few minutes later, an older woman came into the room. She had purple rimmed glasses. She looked as if she would tell you that Austin was the best city to live in Texas because it’s the only blue votin’ city within a 50 mile radius. 

“Benjamin Murphy, my newest patient.” she looked at me and smiled. “How are you doing today Benjamin? Is it okay if I call you that? I’m more of a first name basis kinda gal myself.” 

“My friends call me Benny, but whatever suits you, suits me right back.” 

She giggled. “Benny it is. How are you doing? Any thoughts coming into your first PT session?” 

“Do you want the honest answer, or the one I should probably say instead?”

“Well Benny, if I didn’t care to know the honest answer, I wouldn’t have asked you now would I have? 

I looked at her. I didn’t want to offend her but if she wanted the honest answer then I was gonna give it to her. “Well Dr. Geist, I don’t really care to be here right now. I was told that this would take upwards of a year, and I don’t want to spend the next year of my life trying to work towards something that is supposed to feel normal, but will never actually be normal.” 

She was sitting on her chair, listening to me talk. I could tell that she was actually interested in what I was saying because she only looked at me while I talked the entire time. 

“Benny, if the process of getting your arms amputated and the rehabilitation process were an easy thing, everyone would go do dangerous things such as setting off fireworks without a professional present or something of that nature. Now, I’m not going to lie to you because you deserve the truth; this is going to be a very difficult process for you. It will be frustrating, stress inducing, and you will want to quit more than one time, I can almost guarantee that. And you’re right, even in the end when all of this is over, it will never be like how your life was before your amputations. But this isn’t a matter of trying to get back to that old life, it’s a matter of trying to adjust to your new life.” 

“I appreciate that Dr. Geist, but I don’t want your pity. I’ve gotten enough of that over the last month.” 

“Please Benny, call me Lori. And I’m not pitying you. The exact opposite in fact, I’m trying to prepare you for what might be the hardest year of your life. But worry not, you have an excellent team of nurses and not to brag but with myself as your doctor, your new life will be one worth living.” 

My first physical therapy session included exercising both of the residual limbs, making them stronger, enough to support the weight of prosthesis. It may not sound tiring, but it was. I was extremely sore that night. 

Mel picked me up after my appointment was over. After we got home, I went to sleep until dinner.

“Dinner’s ready kids!” mama yelled from the kitchen. She made my favorite dinner for the second time this week. 

“Meatloaf again Kathy?” Dad asked her. 

“Why yes, meatloaf again Stephen. It’s your son’s favorite.” 

“Mama you know I love your meatloaf, but dad is right. Meatloaf again?” 

“Sweetheart, just let me spoil you. Please?” 

“Alright, alright. Whatever you want to do for me, please. I shouldn’t be complaining.” 

“Thank you very much.” She kissed my head before she sat down to eat. 

“How was physical therapy, son?” Dad asked. 

“Oh, you know. It was fine. Nothing special. We just worked on strengthening my residual limbs for my prosthesis fitting.” 

“Are you excited to get your arms back?” Mama asked. 

Everyone kept using that word. ‘Excited’. I wasn’t excited about anything. Why would I? Why would I be excited about getting fake arms? They aren’t gonna be the same as normal arms, even after the year of rehab. But I sucked it up and told Mama that I was excited anyway. 

After dinner and dishes were done, Mel and I went back to our room that we were staying in, which was my old room when I was a kid. 

“Are you happy to be getting back to work for a few days?” I asked her. She flies back to Fayetteville tomorrow. 

“Oh yeah, I’m happy to be getting back and seeing everyone but I really don’t want to leave you.” 

“Oh don’t you worry about me. Mama’s gonna be taking good care of me while you’re gone.” 

“I know, but still. I hate leaving you, you know that.”

“Well you’ll be back right?” 

She was doing something on her laptop, so without looking at me she said “Of course I will Benny. I’ll be back next week.” 

“Good to hear.” I kissed her on the cheek and turned over in bed. I was still pretty tired and sore from PT earlier. I fell asleep thinking about mine and Mel’s wedding. It was gonna have to be rescheduled because of everything that’s happened. I was still excited though, and I wanted more than ever for her to be by my side for the rest of our lives. 

Mama was helping me out while Mel was gone, taking me to therapy, helping me out with my showers, cooking for me; all the things that she did when I was a child. That’s what I felt like. A child, depending on everyone else to do things that I could easily do for myself, but can’t. 

Mama dropped me off at therapy the day before Mel got back from North Carolina. I missed the hell out of her and couldn’t wait to see her. I was feeling genuinely happy for the first time in a couple weeks. 

I walked into the VA hospital feeling better than I did during my previous appointments. “Well good afternoon Lori, how are you doing today? And you better give me the honest answer.” 

Lori laughed. “Why good afternoon to you too Benny. I am doing well, I went on a hike this morning, and my what a sight. Just beautiful. I’m glad to be here doing what I do best, which is healing people like yourself. Are you ready for today’s session? It’s a big one.” 

“I am ready for today’s session.” I said.”Oh I know it, I got my prosthesis fitting next week.” 

“Indeed you do. I am proud of you. It’s been a short time that you’ve been working on this, but you’ve made progress. You should be proud of yourself.” 

I knew she was right, but I didn’t really feel proud of myself. I still had months of therapy, and bringing in the prosthetic arms is gonna be a whole new can of worms. 

At the end of the session, Lori handed me a card. 

“I keep forgetting to give this to you, but today I finally remembered. This has been proven by many of my patients to be extremely helpful and comforting.” 

I looked at the card. ‘Wounded Warriors Project- Changing The Lives Of Veterans’ 

“What’s this for?” I asked. I knew WWP, but only the fundraising part of it. They had them on base all the time. 

“If you call that number, they will put you in contact with a support group, people who have had experiences similar to yours.” 

“I appreciate this, but I have all the help and comfort I need right at home.” 

“I understand,” she smiled. “But if you decide to change your mind, that number isn’t going anywhere. 

“Thanks Lori. Hey, I’ll see you next appointment?” 

“Of course Benny. Have a great weekend, and tell Mel I said hi.” 

“Will do.” 

I had gotten more and more comfortable with Lori with each appointment. It was kind of hard not to. She would hound me about a lot of different things, kind of like the aunt who would ask all sorts of questions about your life at the Thanksgiving family gathering each year.

I walked out of the hospital and saw Mama waiting for me in her car. She looked at me and waved. I smiled at her. I wish she wouldn’t wave at me because every time she does, I want to wave back but I can’t. 

“Hey sweetheart, how was it?” 

“Oh it was fine Mama. Same song, different tune.” My phone started ringing. “Hey can you grab that for me? My phone is in my front pocket.” 

She got it out. I expected to see Mel calling but it was my good buddy Kyle Lake from back at base. “Oh yeah, answer that. I haven’t talked to this guy in a couple weeks!” 

“Hey Benny man, how ya doin bud? We miss you here!” 

“Oh you know, I can’t complain too much. Being armless is an absolute pain in my ass, but hey what are you gonna do. How’s the sandbox treating everyone?” 

“Hey man, it’s going alright. Blevins took over as team leader after you left and it’s not nearly the same as having you around, but we’re adjusting. He’s just an asshole sometimes, you know?” 

“Oh I know.” I laughed. Todd Blevins was always kissing ass to get to be team leader, but never kissed enough because right before deployment, Andrew Hill, the platoon sergeant called me in personally to tell me that he wanted me to be the bravo team leader in 1st squad for deployment. 

“Hey man, I know we haven’t talked in a hot second, but I just thought you should know something.” 

“Yeah? What’s up? You lose your arms too?” 

He paused. It was a long pause. 

“Lake? You there man? I was just making a joke” 

“Yeah, yeah I am.” He paused again. “Hey, is Melissa on base right now? 

“Yeah she is, she’s gotta finish up some work before she comes back here, why?” I asked. 

He sighed, “Listen, Swope said he saw Melissa leaving their barracks yesterday morning.” 

I was confused. “What do you mean? Is he sure it was her?” 

“He said he was positive it was her. She left at like 6 in the morning with her purse. He was at the front desk pulling CQ duty.” 

“What does that mean Benny?” Mama asked. 

“Hey are you busy right now? I can call back later,” said Lake. 

I didn’t know exactly what to say. I had just found out my fiance and girlfriend of 4 years was more likely than not cheating on me. 

“Yeah man, call me back later. Hey stay safe out there.” I managed to say finally. 

“For sure dude. I’ll call later. And hey, don’t worry about it man, it’s probably just a misunderstanding. I just wanted to let you know so you weren’t blindsided with anything.” 

“I appreciate that Lake. Call me tomorrow. Mel gets back tomorrow, I’ll let you know what she says. It’s probably just a misunderstanding.”

“Alright brother, talk tomorrow.” 

“Yeah.”

I hung up the phone. “What’s going on Benny? Is Melissa in trouble? What was she doing at the barracks?” 

“I don’t know, no one really goes into the barracks except the single dudes who live there and the occasional lady suitor. I don’t know what business she had going in there.” 

“Oh Benny, don’t worry honey. She’ll be back tomorrow and you’ll be able to work all this out.”

“I know Mama.” 

I didn’t want to believe it, but I knew deep down that Mel had slept with someone else while she was in Fayetteville. I didn’t know who, but I had a couple ideas. There was that piece of shit Seal who was always flirting with her for no damn reason at the parties we went to together. Right in front of me, he would do shit like that. I wanted to say something to him about it but Mel never let me, always saying how it was just a little bit of harmless flirting and that there was no reason why I should be getting so upset about it. 

Me and Mama got back to the house. 

“What do you want for dinner darlin’?” she asked. 

“Oh, I’m not hungry right now. Thanks though, I just might nap for a little while.” 

“If you don’t tell me something I’m making meatloaf again!” she said as I was heading upstairs to the bedroom. I sat on the bed. A minute after Mama came in and put my phone on the bedside table.

“Here sweetheart, I forgot to give this back to you.” 

“I appreciate it… Hey will you get Mel on the phone? I want to talk to her.” 

“Of course.” She dialed and then put the phone back on the table. “I’m going to make dinner, I’ll let you know when it’s ready.” 

“Alright, sounds good Mama.” 

It was ringing. Mel always answers my phone calls, especially nowadays. 

“Hello?” 

I didn’t know what to say. I was angry, sad, disturbed and I felt betrayed. 

“I don’t think you should come back tomorrow,” I said. 

“Benny, what the hell are you talking about?” she said. 

“Melissa, you know what I’m talking about.” 

She didn’t say anything for a long time after that. 

“How’d you find out?” she said with staleness in her voice.

“I got a call from someone who was told from the CQ desk that he saw you leaving the barracks at the crack of dawn yesterday.” 

She didn’t say anything. “Look, I don’t know why you did it, and I could give a shit. Keep my stuff at your apartment, pawn the ring, I don’t care. I’ll come get it when I can actually use my arms again.” 

I didn’t let her respond to that, I just hung up the phone with my nose. 

I didn’t know what to think. Was it because of me? Did I do something wrong? I mean, besides losing my arms I guess, I had been nothing but a good man to her for the past 4 years. Did she not love me anymore because of my arms? Or lack thereof. Whatever it was, she had no right to do that to me. After everything I’ve been through and done for her. I was going to stop doing the job I loved simply because she asked me to; and she has so little regard for how I felt that she would just go fuck someone behind my back? Was I really that bad? I guess so. I was so pissed at everything that was going wrong, I wanted to punch something so I kicked the wall instead, which wasn’t a great idea because my damn leg is still healing from when they were both busted. Pain was shooting up and down my legs for hours after. 

The next few weeks were hell. I couldn’t bring myself to go to PT, I just didn’t have the energy. I was supposed to have been fitted for both of my prosthesis about a week ago but I missed my appointment and was supposed to call and reschedule but hadn’t.     

There was a knock at my door. I knew it was Mama wondering how I was doing or if I wanted something to eat. “Hey sweetheart do you need anything? I’m making your dad some mac and cheese for lunch,” she said. 

I rolled over and looked at her. “No Mama, I’m okay. I’m not hungry.” 

“Benny, honey you haven’t eaten at all day today.” 

“I know, I’ll eat dinner. I promise” 

“Alright honey… Your cell phone is downstairs, you have a couple of missed calls. You want me to bring it to you?” 

I could only guess that it was Melissa calling me. I haven’t talked to her since our last phone call. I didn’t want to, there was no point in talking about anything. She did what she did for a reason. People don’t sleep with other people if they love you. They just don’t. 

In case it wasn’t her, I wanted to see who else was calling me so I told her that it would be really helpful if she brought me the phone. 

“Alright yeah sweetheart, I’ll be right back.”

She came back into the room, “It looks like you have a couple missed calls from Kyle Lake and Lori Geist.” 

I wasn’t surprised to hear that Lori called me. I hadn’t been to PT in like a week and a half. 

“Will you dial Lori?” she did and then set down the phone next to me.

“I’ll let you know when dinner is done honey,” Mama said. 

“Thanks, I appreciate it.” 

The phone was ringing. 

“Well, well, well if it isn’t Mr. Benny Murphy.” 

I laughed. “Hey Lori. How ya been?”

“Well I’d be better if I could see your smiling face right here at the hospital. You haven’t been showing up for your appointments for the last week. The nurses and myself have been worried about you. You were supposed to get those prostheses last week.” 

I didn’t want to lie to her but I didn’t want to have to explain to her that the woman I was supposed to marry slept with someone else. 

“I know Lori, I’m sorry, I’ve been meaning to call and reschedule but it’s been slipping my mind” 

“You must have a slippery mind then there. Benny, I don’t want you to explain to me why you haven’t been coming. You don’t owe that to me, so I’m not going to ask. But what I am going to do is urge you to think about maybe giving a call to the number I shared with you a few weeks back. Things are difficult for you right now, but sharing your experiences with others that have similar ones to yours will be beneficial. I know you know that.” 

I didn’t want to tell Lori that I knew that she was right, so instead, I told her that I would think about calling them. 

“Oh that’s great Benny. I’m glad to hear that you’re going to do that. Just make an appearance, you never know, maybe you actually enjoy it and make some new friends.” 

She sounded like Mama did on my first day of lacrosse. Funny thing about my time playing lacrosse; I hated it. 

“Thanks Lori. I appreciate you reaching out. I’ll call sometime tomorrow and reschedule my appointment.”

“Of course. I hope to see you soon Benny” 

“You will Lori, don’t worry.” 

She hung up the phone. Lori was a smart woman, so she knew there was definitely something going on with me. Something other than the obvious at least. 

Mama called me down for dinner. She had made a pot roast, but I wasn’t the least bit hungry. I forced myself to finish what was on my plate though so my parents wouldn’t worry about me. 

After dinner, Mama helped me with a shower. I took a look at myself in the mirror. I had lost a lot of muscle mass that I once had. It made me feel like shit. I just wanted to get into bed and pass out for a month.

That night I had one of the worst dreams I had yet. I dreamt that I was with Melissa and that I still had my arms. Everything was perfect and I was happy. Her and I were walking hand in hand down the street and she was looking at me and laughing and we were cuttin up a rug. Nothing like how my real life was. 

I woke up in a cold sweat. I couldn’t hold it in anymore and I let the tears just go. I cried for what felt like an hour. I didn’t want to live like this anymore. I didn’t want to wake up every morning and immediately want to go back to sleep. I wanted to get better. I wanted to stop hating life and everything about it. No more ‘I’m too tired to go to PT’ or ‘It’s not worth it, I can just do it next week’. This was bullshit. Tomorrow, things were going to change. I was going to actually call the hospital and reschedule all the appointments. I was also going to call the phone number that Lori gave me. 

I woke up before the sun rose, which was something that I hadn’t done since I was back at Fort Bragg for physical training in the morning. I was still dependent on Mama for getting me dressed and all that so I went to their bedroom door and kicked it a little bit. 

She came out rubbing her eyes. “Are you alright Benny, what’s going on?” 

“I know it’s earlier than you’re used to me waking up, but I just want to get some stuff done today and you know I always function better throughout the day if I get up early in the morning.” 

She smiled. “Ok, yeah honey, give me a second. I just need to get my slippers.” 

“Thanks Mama.” 

She got me dressed for the day and then we went downstairs for breakfast. 

“It’s nice to see you up and moving around Benny,” she said. 

I smiled at her. “Thank you. It feels good. Hey, I’m gonna take a walk around the neighborhood. I think it’ll do me some good. But when I get back I’m gonna need to make some phone calls. You’ll be around?” 

“Of course honey.” 

“Thanks Mama.” 

She made up some of her grits and toast for me. We finished up breakfast and I made my way outside. 

I knew being outside was going to be good. Fresh air in my lungs was something that I missed after being inside for about a week straight. That warm sun was giving me a feeling that I hadn’t felt in a while: contentedness. Man, I should’ve done this in the first place. I guess I needed to go through the shitter to see that light at the end of the tunnel. Or however that damn saying goes. I don’t know. It’s been a hell of a couple of months for me, and today was the first time that I knew that getting up before the sun came up was going to be worth it. 

I got back to the house after my walk. The first thing I had Mama do was call up the hospital. I rescheduled my prostheses fittings for next week. That was something that needed to happen as soon as possible. I wanted to feel independent again, or at least get on the right track to be able to. I wanted to stop relying on my parents so much. 

The next thing was to call the WWP number. 

“Hi thank you for calling the Wounded Warriors Project where we help change the lives of veterans every day…” It went on to list what numbers you should press to be connected with what part of the organization you would like to speak with. “. . .Health and wellbeing please press 4…”  

“That’s the one,” I told Mama. 

I spoke with a helpful woman who gave me an address of where a support group would be getting together tomorrow. 

“Thanks so much for your help ma’hm, have a great day.” 

“Of course, give us a call anytime.” 

I think both Mama and Dad were relieved to see me out and about of bed because they both kept smiling at me throughout the day. 

“Alright Mr. and Mrs. Smiley, what are yall so happy about?” 

Dad took me by the shoulder, “Son this is the first time in about 2 weeks that you’ve been out of bed for longer than an hour. We’ve been worried about you, that’s all.” 

“I know you guys have been worried, and I hate to do that to y’all. Lately life’s been kicking my ass… excuse my language.” 

“No excuse needed Benny. You’ve been through a lot lately, what with everything that’s going on with Melissa…” 

Mama scolded Dad, telling him he shouldn’t be bringing her up in front of me.
“No Mama, it’s okay. I guess I haven’t talked about it much with you guys. Her and I are obviously broken up. She decided that I wasn’t the person for her, and you know what. That’s fine. That’s her choice and there’s not really anything that I can do about that. She’ll just have to spend the rest of her life knowing that she’s the one who cheated.” 

“That right there is the best form of revenge,” Dad said. 

“Your dad is right, sweetheart anyone would be lucky to be with you. You remember that now, you hear me?” 

“Yes ma’am, I will.” 

We sat around, ate lunch and talked for hours. It felt great to talk with them like that. These are the people who I know for a fact care about me and always will. We talked about what I might do after physical therapy and what would happen when I got prostheses if I would stay with them or maybe get my own place. I wasn’t sure what the timeline looked like for that, but I knew that as soon as I could I was going to want my own place. 

“Are you ready for your support group tomorrow? I think it’ll be good for you.” 

“I am ready. Lori was telling me that some of her other patients enjoyed it.” 

“That’s good. We’re happy for you,” Dad said to me. 

“Thanks Dad” I smiled at him. 

That next day Mama got me ready for the support group. We made our way over to the church it was being held at. 

“I’ll be waiting right here for you in an hour,” she said as she got out of the car to open the door for me. 

“I appreciate it, thanks Mama. I’ll see you then,” I said, giving her a kiss on the head while she was hugging me. That was my way of reciprocating a hug until I could get my prostheses. 

I walked into the church and followed the signs that said “WWP SUPPORT GROUP THIS WAY”. I came to a room with chairs arranged in a circle. There were a myriad of different injuries there. Double amputated legs, amputated arms, there was even a guy who didn’t have any ears with a sign language interpreter with him. All of these people knew what I was going through. At least the loss-of-limb part of it. 

I took a seat next to a guy with a prosthetic arm. He looked over at me as soon as I sat down. “Hey man, I’ve never seen you here before. You new?” 

“Yeah I am. First time.” 

“Well I would shake your arm, but looks like they haven’t given you your damn arms yet, now have they?”

I laughed. “I actually got them taken away on the basis of bad behavior.” 

He laughed. “Good shit man, the name’s Brandon. Been stuck with old Donna here for about a year now,” he said, motioning toward his prosthesis. 

“Wow, it’s got a name and everything.” 

“Oh yeah dude. I mean everyone here has a name for their bionic limb.” 

It was really a relief to hear them being comical about their situation. It gave me the confidence to joke about mine too; in a way where we could all laugh. 

“Brandon, it’s a pleasure to meet ya. I’m Benjamin, but my friends call me Benny.” 

“Like the Elton John song? You know, ‘Benny and The Jets’?” 

I let out a big hearty laugh, the kind that came from your stomach. “Man, I haven’t heard that shit since I first got to my unit. It’s just a nickname I picked up when I was younger. But yeah I guess like the Elton John song.” 

The person who led the group came into the room, “Alright guys, ready to get started today? Let’s start with the newbies. Introduce yourself, when you served, and how you feel right now.” He looked right at me. 

“Okay, I guess I’ll start. My name is Benjamin Murphy. I served from ‘02 to about 3 months ago when I got honorably discharged due to uh…” I said looking down at my residual limbs. Some of the guys laughed. “And how I feel huh? Well, I guess I’ve been feeling really sorry for myself lately. I lost my arms and thought to myself: wow this is it, isn’t it? I had a fiance who I had been with for a while, but I came to realize that she really wasn’t about the whole ‘in sickness and in health thing’. After that I just felt like shit, I didn’t get out of bed for a good two weeks.” 

“Wow, Benny I’m really sorry to hear that man. We’re all really glad to see you here today. What made you wanna come out and talk with us?” 

“Well, my physical therapist got me in contact with the Wounded Warrior Project people who take care of things like this. At first, I didn’t really wanna come here if I’m being honest. But I knew she would’ve kicked my ass if I didn’t at least show face, so I guess she’s the one that made me want to come here.”

“Well your physical therapist sounds like a real hard ass,” he laughed. “Benny, I’m glad to meet you man, I’m Cedric and I’ve been working with some of these guys for quite some time now. If you decide to come back you’ll see that we’re just like your normal ‘hooah’ kind of guys… we just weigh a lot less.” We all laughed.  

The session ended and I walked out of that room feeling like I had known half of those guys for years. 

“Hey Benny, wait up man!” Brandon said jogging after me. 

I turned around. “Lemme give you this, it’s my phone number. Forgive me if I’m wrong but you looked like you had some fun in there?” 

“Yeah man, that was really great. All those guys are my kinda guys.” 

“You fit in perfectly. I don’t know if you got anything going on right now, but some of the other guys and myself go grab beers after every session. You wanna tag along?” 

“Oh man, that sounds great. But I got my mother waiting for me outside. But I think I’m gonna be coming back. How about then?” 

“For sure man, hey we’ll see you next week then.” 

“Yeah dude, see you then” 

I walked out of the church feeling like I had been reborn. I had felt so isolated for so long and being with those guys was really something else. 

Mama was waiting for me in the car, just like she said she would be. “Hey darlin’, how was it? Did you have fun? Make any new friends?” 

I kissed her on the forehead, “Yeah Mama, I had fun.” 

She smiled, “That’s so great to hear Benny.” We got into the car. “What are you feelin’ for dinner?” 

 “Well now that you mention dinner, I think I’m craving some of your meatloaf.”

“Of course dear! Oh I’m glad to hear you say that you’re craving food. You know I love cooking for you” 

I knew it and I appreciated the hell out of her for that. Her and Dad have been so damn helpful to me the last couple months, I didn’t even know how to articulate how thankful I was for them. I decided that once I could at least use my phone by myself I would arrange to do something for them; dinner, flowers. At least something to let them know that I love them and what they’ve done for me. 

The next month or so was full of physical therapy. My first appointment back after I found out Melissa cheated on me was the prosthetics fitting. I was thrilled about getting those, because once they were on, it was just a matter of actually being strong enough to use them. Lori told me that if I kept busting my ass, I could get PT done in less than eight months. Eight became my lucky number after that. 

My first WWP session back after getting my prostheses, or bionic limbs- as Brandon likes to call them- there were a couple new faces, so after they introduced themselves Cedric looked and said “Benny, would you like to introduce us to your new friends?” I laughed. “Oh yeah, uh everyone, I would like y’all to meet the jets.” The whole room busted out in a roar. There was even applause. 

“The jets, it’s a pleasure to have you here with us today,” Cedric said mid laugh. 

If there was one thing I learned about losing my arms it was that I needed to actually want to get back to what Lori called my ‘new normal’. There was no use in going back to the old one, because that Benny doesn’t exist anymore. Feeling sorry for myself was the last thing I needed to do because it was just going to create the same daily routine of waking up and saying “What’s the use?”After I discovered the use and what it could do for me,  I really owed it to Lori for showing me that there was nowhere that I could get in this process if I didn’t try. 

It’s funny, my recruiter made a joke about my last name when I first showed up to the recruiting office. 

“Oh man, you sure you wanna join the military with the last name Murphy?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“You know, Murphy’s Law?” 

He could tell I wasn’t following. “Murphy’s law states that everything that can go wrong, will go wrong.” 

“Oh,” I forced a laugh, because I’m not going to lie, that scared the shit out of me. I wanted to serve but I never really thought about what the consequences would be. I knew that I was more than likely going to be deployed in the first year I was in the army, what with everything going on with the Middle East. But I thought I was invincible. In a way, that recruiter was right. Everything that could’ve gone wrong in my life, did. I lost my arms due to a bomb, my girlfriend that I was due to marry cheated on me with some shit bag, and I hit rock bottom. But even when everything that could’ve gone wrong, did go wrong; the people around me didn’t allow me to stay in that rock bottom. Even as comfortable as it was, I knew I didn’t belong there. 

I eventually finished physical therapy and everything sort of fell into place after that. After both of my prostheses were fully functioning, I moved out of my parents into my own place with some of the guys from the WWP group, I even started volunteering for them. I knew I was going to do a good thing for guys who were in a position that I was in not too long ago. And I finally made that dinner for my parents. I even got flowers for Mama. 

The Power of Language Surrounding Disability as Presented in Stuart Murray’s Autism

Lizzie Wordham

            Stuart Murray’s Autism covers a broad spectrum of topics from history of the condition to controversies surrounding it to gender statistics. In a couple different chapters, Murray touches on the dangers of certain language that is used with autism and the dangerous affects it can have. Referring to autism as an “illness” or a “disease” as opposed to a condition causes autism to be seen as something that must be healed or cured. This type of language is harmful to the autistic community, as it directs autism studies away from focuses of understanding or learning and instead towards potentially invasive procedures and a lack of acceptance by nondisabled people. This language also can make it more difficult for families to connect to their autistic family member. It is important to the wellbeing of autistic people that we think of autism instead as a unique part of humanity, instead of referring to it as something that needs to be removed.

            Referring to autism as an illness puts the condition in an enveloping category that skews the true definition of autism. As Murray writes, “the baggy nature of this word allows for the easy crossover between illness and a neurobehavioral condition such as autism” (37). Thinking of autism under the terms of an illness rather than a condition influences the way it is dealt with. Instead of being thought of as something unique that can provide new information about humans and influence what we know about the qualities of humanity, this language redirects study of autism to focus on trying to fix it. This type of approach to autism, finding a cure, influences the type of care and autistic person may get. The families of an autistic person may view the condition as problematic, which in turn would affect their treatment of and attitude towards their autistic family member when that family member would have benefitted simply from being engaged in and loved by their family.

            The idea of searching for a “cure” for autism has resulted in numerous organizations that seek to lessen the symptoms or actually remove the autism from a person’s body. Murray writes about one in particular called Generation Rescue (91). This organization uses language such as “heal” or “rescue” your son from autism. This type of language puts distance between the families and their autistic child. It seeks to separate the child from the condition and makes it seem as though quality of the child’s life is hindered because of it. Language like this distances a family from connecting with their autistic child, as it paints autism as some kind of barrier between them and their child’s true self. Another organization that Murray writes about, called Son-Rise, revolves around language that pertains to resurrection or exorcism. He observes that the idea of “purging the body to remove the condition… creates an idea of autism as either a toxin or some form of malevolent presence” (Murray 93). This lexicon used by organizations like this makes autism sound very negative and can result in treatment of autistic children that is uncomfortable and unnecessary.

            Not only can language like “cure” or “illness” create distance between an autistic person and their family, but it can subject the autistic patient to procedures that are painful and jarring. There are rituals, injections, and creams that are meant to either lessen symptoms or remove the autism from the body, but none have been proven to work. It is the hopefulness of the family that it will work that causes them to participate in procedures and products that are not proven to be effective by scientists (Murray 94). Murray reminds his readers that “those who are autistic themselves often view the curing or healing debates with a mixture of hostility and resigned weariness” (94). This in itself implies that attempting to rid an autistic person of their autism is more the desire of the family than the autistic person. This desire of families of autistic children is influenced greatly by the types of language they have been exposed to surrounding autism, displaying yet again why it is so problematic.

            Negative and incorrect language in reference to autism results in a lack of understanding by the nondisabled community. Murray points out that the autism condition is “one of developmental delay” (94). Family members of autistic children will convince themselves that certain procedures are working because they’ll see differences in their child’s abilities. What they haven’t been taught to understand is that, “like all children, children with autism will grow up” (Murray 94). If the families of autistic children instead took the time to learn about the condition instead of attempt to suppress it, they could understand that their autistic loved one will grow and develop like any other child, just on their own timeline and in their own unique way. This is why negative language is so harmful to the autistic community—its affects the way their family members view their condition and results in a lack of understanding. Autism is a human condition, as Murray reminds his readers several times throughout his book, and should be viewed as something uniquely human.

            In closing, autism is a developmental condition, not an illness. Words such as “illness” or “disease” cause it to often fall under a category of illnesses that it does not belong to. Words like “cure,” “rescue,” “fix,” and even “heal” depict the condition as something that is wrong and needs to be gotten rid of. This language is harmful to the autistic community for many reasons. It results in potentially uncomfortable procedures, it prevents true understanding of autism by the nondisabled communities, and it can result in a distancing of family members from their autistic loved one. It is important that this type of language surrounding autism is changed and replaced with something that benefits the autistic community, focusing instead on understanding and acceptance. This implementation of more positive and thought-provoking language should improve relationships between autistic people and their families, direct autism studies in a more productive and progressive direction, and give autistic people the rights and treatment they need and deserve.

Word Count: 1019

Works Cited

Murray, Stuart. Autism. The Routledge Series Integrating Science and Culture, 2011.

Meg’s Final Analysis on the Birth of Frankenstein’s ‘Creation’, and Ableist Parent’s Autism Diagnosis Experience

Earlier in the semester, we focused quite a bit on the character of Victor Frankenstein, the titular character in Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley’s Frankenstein. We discussed how Victor could represent a character with depression, schizophrenia, or a number of other possible invisible disabilities. We touched on his ‘creation’ from time to time as well, in associate with Rosemary Garland Thompson’s Introduction: From Wonder to Error—A Genealogy of Discourse in Modernity” from Freakery: Cultural Spectacles of the Extraordinary Body, among other theories. But I think that we should circle back and revisit Dr. Frankenstein and his creation now that we have learned more about autism. By analyzing the passage in which Victor Frankenstein experiences the ‘birth’ of his ‘creation’ it is impossible to ignore the way in which his experience coincides with the depiction of   the experience of an ableist parent, such as Jenny McCarthy, discovering their child’s autism diagnosis, outlined in Julia Miele Rodas, “Introduction” rather succinctly, which shows us just how far we have left to go in deconstructing the rampant ableism in our own society.

            Shelley begins Dr. Frankenstein’s experience, at the moment the creature opens his eyes, “How can I describe my emotions at this catastrophe, or how delineate the wretch whom with such infinite pains and care I had endeavoured to form? His limbs were in proportion, and I had selected his features as beautiful. Beautiful!” (Shelley 37). It is clear that up until this moment, throughout the two years he had been working on his ‘creation’, he never once thought of him as anything less than his own beautiful summation of his blood sweat and tears. His ‘creation’ was exactly as he was intended to be, with, “limbs […] in proportion” and “beautiful” features (37). This mirrors what a parent typically sees in their child(ren): the most beautiful thing(s) they have ever created. We see similarities in Jenny McCarthy’s depiction of her son in the doctor’s office just before his diagnosis, as written in her book Louder Than Words, “Evan ‘had taken those ear cones the doctors use to look inside your ears and had made the most perfect row lined up across the room’”. McCarthy goes on to detail that she found this behavior ‘”cute”’ (Rodas 15). McCarthy’s choice of the words “perfect” and “cute” illustrate that prior to her son’s diagnosis, she, like Dr. Frankenstein and his ‘creation’, saw no problem with her child. The similarities do not stop here.

            Within the first line of this passage, the reader is aware of Dr. Frankenstein’s flurry of emotions upon witnessing the birth of his ‘creation’. His use of the words “catastrophe” and “wretch” illustrate the change in the doctor’s perception of his ‘creation’ from “beautiful” to seemingly grotesque. Frankenstein continues, “The different accidents of life are not so changeable as the feelings of human nature. I had worked hard for nearly two years, for the sole purpose of infusing lie into an inanimate body. For this I had deprived myself of rest and health. I had desired it with an ardour that far exceeded moderation; but now that I had finished, the beauty of the dream vanished, and breathless horror and disgust filled my heart.” (Shelley 37). In this passage Dr. Frankenstein acknowledges his change in feelings toward his ‘creation’. He, not unlike a parent, has put his all into his ‘creation’ for years until this point. But, the moment his ‘creation’ opens his eyes he no longer recognizes him as the “beautiful” being he was moments before.

            This, again, mirrors Jenny McCarthy’s own ableist reaction to the diagnosis of her son, “’Everything I had thought was cute was a sign of autism’” (Rodas 15). As we’ve just read, moments earlier McCarthy had seen her son’s behavior as “cute”, and she has now dehumanized them into strictly symptomatic behaviors, or as Rodas puts it, as “autism’s antihuman identity” (Rodas 16). McCarthy goes on, “The things I’d thought were character traits were in fact autism characteristics, and that was all I had. Where was my son, and how the hell did I get him out?” (16). McCarthy’s inability to see her son, and insistence upon seeing his once “cute” “character traits” as non-communicative autonomic compulsions that he needed saving from, illustrate the dehumanization of her own son due to her ableist blinders. This is further exemplified by McCarthy’s interaction with her own doctor, who states that her son “is still the same boy you came in here with”, and her response “No, in my eyes he wasn’t,” (16). Much like Doctor Frankenstein no longer sees his ‘creation’ as the same “beautiful” being that he had known for years, neither does McCarthy see her own son as the “cute” boy that she had raised until this point.

            Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley’s Frankenstein is chock-full of material to analyze through the lens of Disability Studies, from the Doctor’s many possible invisible disabilities, to the various possible physical and invisible disabilities that his ‘creation’ could be seen to represent. But perhaps more interesting, at least to me, is the way in which the interactions between the Doctor and his ‘creation’ or either character and the outside world, can be seen to represent interactions between the disabled community and the non-disabled community. How do we see things differently today, or do we? One example can be found in the problematic way that many ableist parents fear the diagnosis of autism for their children as most parents would fear a deadly illness. Which is ironic, given that this same fear pushes many to avoid modern medical treatments such as vaccines, under the misguided notion that they may cause autism; literally risking their children’s lives to avoid an autism diagnosis. This best illustration of this dehumanizing fear is Jenny McCarthy’s experience of the diagnosis of her son with Autism, and the succinct reflection of that experience within Dr. Frankenstein’s experience of witnessing the birth of his ‘creation’, which shows us that although we’ve come a long way in terms of we still have a very long way to go in dismantling the ableism in our society.

Word Count = 1014

Works Cited:

Rodas, Julia Miele, and Melanie Yergeau. Autistic Disturbances: Theorizing Autism Poetics from the DSM to Robinson Crusoe. University of Michigan Press, 2018. < https://www.dislit2020.chris-foss.net/blog/readings/>

Shelley, Mary Wollstonecraft, and Susan J. Wolfson. Mary Wollstonecraft Shelleys Frankenstein, or, The Modern Prometheus. Pearson Longman, 2007.

Thomson, Rosemarie Garland. Freakery: Cultural Spectacles of the Extraordinary Body. New York University Press, 1996. <https://www.dislit2020.chris-foss.net/blog/readings/>

I hereby declare upon my word of honor that I have neither given nor received unauthorized help on this work.

Erin’s Major Project: The Secret Garden Storyboard

Word count: 530

Chapter 17 of The Secret Garden is what I consider the defining chapter of the novel’s theme of disability and its treatment of it. In the beginning scene, Mary wakes up to hear Colin crying again at night. He’s throwing a tantrum because he thinks he’s found the lump on his spine that will turn him into a hunchback like his father and he will die. Mary’s approach to calming him down is to scream right back at him, and when she looks on his back, she finds that the only lumps there are his bones sticking out. Everything is just dandy, and the nurse tells him that he’ll be able to grow up as long as he goes out and gets fresh air. He decides he’s going to go out with Mary and Dickon in the Garden, and later on the novel ends with both children, once spoiled and angry, living happily at Misselthwaite! Yay, right?

This scene’s approach to potential disability is abhorrent (in my opinion at least), but it is very telling of the author’s opinion on disability in children: kids who are supposedly disabled are only overreacting. There’s actually nothing wrong with them at all! All they need is some fresh air and good meals, and they’ll function like any other child. Maybe some love from adults in their life too, as both Mary and Colin were neglected by their parents. Mary was the first to transform and be “cured” this way. She even says so herself in the scene. She used to be like Colin until she came to Misselthwaite Manor and “got fatter.” Once she’d started going outside, eating more, and making friends with people like Dickon and Martha, she was a perfectly normal child. Now it’s Colin’s turn to be “cured” of his illness, so that he can be normal like her and not throw as many tantrums.

The movies often don’t hold true to the scene in the book. Out of the multiple I watched, the closest to the dialogue of the scene was in the 1993 adaptation, but much of it was still changed. Judging from the trailer, I doubt the 2020 adaptation will be any better. Therefore, my goal for this project was to create a more accurate portrayal of the scene (though I realized I missed a bit of dialogue after I had finished editing the video, sorry about that). I drew all the panels myself, and edited in voice acting (none of us are pros so be easy on us there), sound effects, and music for ambiance. 

The Secret Garden was one of my favorite books when I was little, and I still enjoy it despite the new view I have on the novel. I wanted to keep the seemingly uplifting atmosphere the scene has when Colin discovers he’s not sick at all, despite my disagreement with what is being implied. Because despite how bad it sounds — Children aren’t disabled; they just need fresh air and food — the author still portrays it in a positive light. I wanted to keep it as accurate to the book as possible whether or not I agreed with what was being said. 

Project Write-up

Richard Yeomans

Dr. Foss

English 384-Section 01

April 24, 2020

Word Count: 453

Project Write-up

For my Major Project assignment, I actually partially referenced my own past in the story with regards to it having been the seventh grade that I was diagnosed with Attention Deficit Disorder after years of testing at the bequest of schools who would then be notified that I was too bright for the Special Education classes which they’d been trying to push me into. I also took reference from both John Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men with how Lennie and George interacted, as Kevin has times where his internal mentality struggles between the two sides of a coin. The Lennie side of his mind (which drew on impulse), would try to do things such as hiding his homework to avoid doing it instead of playing video games or watching television, and George’s more logical side of the mind having to rein in such impulsivity to remind him of what happened the previous time he’d tried that. It also refers to Collin Craven from Frances Hodgson Burnett’s The Secret Garden for the character of Sean who is trapped in a wheelchair (although in Sean’s case it was the result of spinal bifuda). Both Kevin and Sean are ostracized by their classmates for their perceived weaknesses.

I began with a rough layout after setting a character spreadsheet of who would be included, and then a general idea of the plot. Once that was completed, I then started on the rough draft of the story, typing it out before proofreading (I used the “Read Aloud” script reader on Microsoft Word to do this so as to remain impartial) and editing to see what worked and what needed to be tweaked/dropped. After that, I then retyped the final version for everyone’s enjoyment.

I enjoyed working on Kevin, because it gave me a chance to look at things from my past through not just the eyes of my own self, but from the eyes of others who had experienced it at the time, with even seeing the old reports from the school board in regards to my testing as a young child when the teachers would be pushing for me to be put in Special Education because they felt that they couldn’t handle me due to issues like frequent daydreaming and not wanting to do assignments (and the Special Education teacher at my most notable Elementary school hated her job and would sadly talk down about her students in front of the regular students all the time (frequently saying that her students were the “stupid kids of the school”)). And as there is always more than one lens to look at an issue through, it was certainly beneficial for me healing some of the wounds of the past.

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