Just another victim of Regulation

Don’t get me wrong; regulation, particularly in the banking field, is a good thing. Regulation is why Canada fared so well in the massive financial crisis that essentially decimated the American economy. Regulation is why we don’t see people defaulting on the kinds of mortgages that were being handed to people who simply did not have the means of sustaining themselves financially–and it’s that regulation that is the reason; no Canadian bank would ever approve someone with such a high risk factor. This, much to my chagrin, is the result of proper enforcement and having the right checks and balances in place. Canada has a history of not being the most financially adventurous nation, and relies instead on pragmatism and the aforementioned regulatory framework to keep our books in the black. I’m proud to be Canadian–everyday. I’m proud because of that intrinsic regulatory framework. I’m proud that instead of being a nation more or less defined by the glaring inequality between the rich and poor, we take a more Socialistic stance; universal healthcare is number one for me on that list.

Granted, no system is perfect. I get that—something that should have been a very normal life- event for a young person, despite the fact that I’m living a life less ordinary, was rapidly moving out of my reach…

I struggle everyday with everything; I wake up only to discover that I continue to be paralyzed from the waist down. I’m lucky if I awoke dry, either way, next are my morning calisthenics. This starts as I make my first transfer of the day, reaching for my legs as I lift them out of bed. It continues as I finagle into  my chair, doing my best not to fall mid-transfer. I make my way to the shower (the eternally frustrating thing is that the shower is too small (they’re all mostly stand-up showers nowadays, not really the best for me.)

And that’s the crux of this post; I need to find a property that I can both rent and adapt. Rent  because that wonderfully Canadian regulatory framework has me setting off more bells and whistles than you could even begin to fathom. I would most certainly be approved for a mortgage, but only if I made a 20% downpament, and then +++, taxes, insurance, all those mortgage-related expenses. So option 1 is a bust. Owning is out, I wouldn’t really want to assume liability either; I don’t want to have worries about whether the building needs a new roof, or whatever. I don’t want the burdensome financial weight of being tied into a mortgag. Don’t forget; I’m on a disability benefit whose maximum payable ranges from $888.48 to $1,212.90. I think this wage is paid as a percentage of your last recorded salary. Needless to say–I’m no longer in that safe-zone that I previously enjoyed. No, I’m surely better off renting. As far as my options go.

Never would I have imagined this very real and frequently recurring life change–moving–would become so inexorably difficult. Difficult because I no longer occupy the same spatial relations which I spent years learning; nobody really has to THINK about the space and time occupied by your body. You just know…but what if you could no longer tell?

Enter proprioception; instead of doing something through touch , my eyesight must constantly be engaged. Take, for example, a late-night bathroom trip; historically, i would roll out of bed, go to the washroom, and be done with it. Now, all the lights come on–after having suffered from optic neuritis in both eyes, my low light level visual acuity, like everything else, has fallen victim to my illness and has been replaced by literal holes in my vision.. My LIFE  IS HARD. Not only had my life transformed over such a brief period of time, but I now had to learn everything anew.

I guess regulation is really intended to work FOR YOU. The reality is that this life is unenviable. As it is with many things in the grip of a lifelong illness such as MS, I can’t help but feeling nothing more than that infernal claw clutched around my throat; it’s no way to live at all. It’s really…exhausting. My energy level has already taken is  a  serious blow. And it continues to be pummeled in what, at this point in time, is only going to end in one of two ways. Think about it’s LOGICAL end– I’m not morbid enough to contemplate that story. And so, I FIGHT. Everyday. Because I have to. From the early morning to the very end of the day. Everyday. Forever.

And compounded by everything which you’ve just read is one additional inconvenience for me–the fact that I am just another victim of Regulation in Canada.

My 30th birthday is next week. My first trimester of life and it’s certainly been eventful, despite being unenviable. Soldiering on must be my way forward. Life’s not so terrible. I’m an Uncle twice over. I want those children to learn tolerance, acceptance, and (most difficultly) how important a good academic background is. It took me 30 years—hopefully they take my advice!

-A.D.

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