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Sandra Jean-Pierre | Digital Artist & Writer of Words.

Author: SandraJP

Disabled Chronicles, No.7

The Set Up I’ve been putting off getting a new electric power wheelchair for well over a year. Okay, so it’s closer to 2/3-ish years.   I know, you’re thinking, ‘But isn’t your chair like, important?’ Extremely. My wheelchair operates like my legs. If I need to get something from the store, I use my wheelchair. When I need to go to the doctors office, I use my wheelchair. Gotta roll to the bathroom and brush my teeth? You got

Silent Detonation

Her hands were warm and firm as they held onto mine the first time we were meeting.  She knew to reach into my space to complete the connection.  Knew from the hours of calls logged, from the technical and medical explanations, knew from my recountings and stories of changing plateaus, that she would have to meet M(m)e more than half way.  And so, there she stood, exhausted from travel and maybe some self-conscious worry, holding both of my sun-browned SMA

Carry Her With Me

  I was cleaning out my purse and forgot that I carry Her with me. Her last rosary and two coins from our trip to France when I was a teenager. It surprised me to find these, even though I was the one who put them where they were. Opening the thinning Asian-style purse, the rosary came out in pieces. I don’t remember if it had always been like this or if the links gave way from prayers lost and

#CeliacWhileBlack

New-to-Me doctors are an interesting bunch: They either discount everything I say and treat me like any other typical patient (never a good idea) or they are so determined to peg me into some kind of category that they miss things. That is never good either. So it was with a leery mind that I followed my PCPs recommendation to follow up with an allergist after things took a left turn for me earlier this year. That horrible blood draw

Hard Stick

Those who’ve been following me for any extended length of time know that my body does not like giving up my veins for sacrifice (this is called: being a hard stick). Not for routine blood work or to save my life. You’d also know my ordeal with Quest labs, where they can *never* find my veins, which usually ends with me having to admit myself to the nearest hospital as outpatient to have their phlebotomist who is well versed in

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