Happy Belated Birthday, Affordable Care Act!

I realize I’m a bit behind, but the Affordable Care Act (ACA) recently turned three years old in the U.S., and I feel the need to write a post on it.

Because of the ACA, I don’t have to wear these braces on my arms all the time, and I can type as much as I need to!

Three years! Legislation that, for some reason, seemed so tenuous even just a year ago, has been implemented for three years! That is quite an accomplishment, not only for the Obama administration, but for people all over the U.S. We still have a long way to go, of course. For instance, some of our governors are still dragging their feet about expanding Medicaid access and though the ACA significantly expands coverage and the availability of health insurance, it still does not ensure universal coverage for everyone. However, as a speaker at a conference I attended a few weeks ago said, the ACA changes our dialogue around healthcare. Instead of bickering about whether or not we should provide it in the first place, it’s going to make us consider how we’re going to get coverage to people. It may, she suggested, prompt individual states to institute universal coverage, much like Massachusetts currently has, and so we in the U.S. may get universal coverage someday. And that dream seems nearer and more achievable because of the ACA. I sincerely hope she was right.

For the time being, though, the ACA is still something of a controversial subject. Even though the Supreme Court has declared it constitutional and it doesn’t seem like it will be going away anytime soon, mention of the Act will get you derisive snorts and an eye roll from a lot of people, often people who will be helped by this legislation. And there are still lawmakers in Congress who are attempting to cut off funding for the Act, since they weren’t able to kill it in the courts.

So, I wanted to write about how the ACA has impacted me. Because if it weren’t for the ACA, I wouldn’t have healthcare coverage, and for the first time in my life, I desperately need to be able to see a doctor on a regular basis. Just this past summer, I graduated. Without the ACA, I would have been unable to remain on my parents’ health insurance plan. I would have been unable to see a doctor about my carpal tunnel. I would have been unable to see a doctor about my ulnar nerve problem. I’ve started developing other health problems that require medical attention, and without the ACA, I wouldn’t be able to have that care. Not only would I not have access to care, my conditions wouldn’t be treated. I wouldn’t be able to write or work. I wouldn’t be able to be a productive member of society. By investing in everyone’s healthcare through the ACA, we ensure that people can be healthy enough to go to work and contribute to our economy and society. When everyone is physically able to give back to the system, we all benefit.

I know a lot of people who don’t see the ACA that way. And these people aren’t figures on FOX News or talk radio. These people are my friends. They’re my family members. They’re people that have known me for years, and I care about them deeply, and I know that they care about me. So, to my friends and family who oppose the ACA–people that I know and love–every time you complain about “socialized medicine” or “government interference,” essentially, what you are saying is that you want me and people like me to live a life of pain. You are telling me that you want me to have to give up being able to do the things that I love and the things that I need to do to work. You are telling me that I don’t deserve to see a doctor. You are telling me that you want me to I have immobile hands and fingers and an arm too weak to perform even the simplest tasks.

I know you probably don’t see it that way. I know that you probably think of your arguments in abstract terms. But you know what? The ACA affects real people. I am one of those people. I am able to live a healthier life because of the ACA. Because of the ACA, I don’t have to be in pain everyday. And there are millions of people out there who are suffering worse than I am. There are people out there to whom my suffering is like a paper cut, and you know what? Because of the ACA, those people can do to the doctor or the hospital. They can get the care that they need. They can have conditions treated before they become chronic. They can go back to work and resume their normal lives. The woman in remission from cancer was able to switch her coverage when she changed jobs, because the ACA says that she can’t be denied coverage for pre-existing conditions. The man whose old sports injury has come back as osteoarthritis in middle age? He can have coverage too, even if his job doesn’t offer it. The woman who just a year ago suffered such crippling depression that she couldn’t attend her kids’ birthday party? Now she can afford her medication! The ACA is about giving real people necessary healthcare. It’s about taking care of everyone, so that we all benefit. It’s about letting people have a higher standard of living and quality of life. It’s about telling people that they are worth enough that they don’t have to live everyday sick and in pain.

So the next time you complain about the Affordable Care Act, you look me in the eyes and tell me to my face that you think I should live everyday in pain. Me–a person you know and love and who knows and loves you. Could you do that? Could you honestly tell me that you want me to spend my days in pain and unable to work or do the things that I love? Because I sure as hell could never do that to you. In fact, if I knew that you were in pain, I would fight with everything I had to ensure that you didn’t have to be.

The Affordable Care Act has changed my life. It’s about real people, and I am one of those people. It’s allowed real people to have a quality of life they never could have had before.  It’s saved the lives of real people.

Automail: Not as Easy as It Looks (Or, How Watching Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood Is Helping Me Cope with Having Carpal Tunnel Syndrome)

This post is a little bit more personal than usual, but it still contains references to theory and pop culture, so I thought I’d include it. Also, though I tried my hardest to avoid them, if you haven’t already seen Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood and don’t want to know what happens, this post may contain some spoilers. There are also spoilers for James Cameron’s Avatar.

So, I was recently diagnosed with the dreaded disease of writers, gamers, and programmers: carpal tunnel syndrome. In retrospect, I’d probably started coming down with it last school year, but being about to get my B.A., I’d staunchly ignored it and kept typing papers, even when my fingers felt “funny.” This school year, however, it’s gotten so bad that I can’t ignore it. I woke up one morning with my hand completely numb and unable to move my fingers. Steroids and a brace have helped, but I still get frustrated often. I used to be able to write all the time, and now I have to take frequent breaks or avoid my keyboard (and my computer) for long stretches, sometimes days, at a time. As someone who has always identified herself as a writer and taken pride in her ability to type quickly and accurately, this is hard. There have been times when I have been dying to write, anxious to put down the words that I can see so clearly in my mind…and then my fingers start getting twitchy and tingly and stiff, and I have to stop. Usually these sessions end with me sitting in front of my computer and crying tears of frustration. I know my situation could be a lot worse, but that doesn’t stop me from feeling upset sometimes.

Okay, enough self pity. On to the pop culture! I recently started watching the Japanese anime series, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood. If you want a detailed run-down of the series (and I recommend it! It’s very exciting with beautifully portrayed and fully realized characters) this would be a good place to start. For the purposes of this post, all you need to know is that the protagonist, Ed, is a teenage alchemist (for the purposes of this post, that’s more or less like a wizard). There are good guys with supernatural powers who fight bad guys with supernatural powers. Oh, and Ed is missing an arm and a leg. In our own world, this would probably be a major setback for Ed, but in his fantastical universe, a type of prosthetic known as “automail” is readily available. A limb made from automail can do pretty much everything a flesh and blood limb can, as it is connected to the body’s own nerves through a series of wires. It is also jointed in the same places as a flesh and blood limb, so it can move in the same ways. In certain situations, automail can even be used to enhance a limb, as one character with automail legs has a canon in her kneecap.

When I first started watching the series, I kept thinking back to what I’ve read of disability theory, which looks at how people with disabilities are portrayed in our culture (or in this case, Japanese culture? I feel a little weird applying a Western theory from a Western perspective to a Japanese television show. If I get something wrong or miss something, feel free to let me know in the comments). And, usually, people with disabilities aren’t shown at all. Or if they are, their disability is minimizes or made invisible in some way. (Think of Avatar and how the main character is confined to a wheelchair, but for the most of the movie, he’s in his avatar body which has no such constraints. The movie glosses over his disability and then gets rid of it all together at the end.) Ed’s disability seems to fit this depiction. Sure, he really wants his original arm and leg back, but his automail overall works pretty well. He can manipulate his metal hand as easily as his unaffected one. He can run, fight, and move in the same ways people with their original limbs can. Though the automail maker, Pinako, warns him that his rehabilitation will be long and difficult, the series glosses over whatever physical therapy-like training Ed had to undergo to use his automail. After he has it installed, the shot cuts to a new scene, some time later, in which the audience sees him sparring with his brother almost as though nothing has happened.

Those were my first thoughts about Ed and his disability. But then I kept watching the series, and while I still think automail is, to some extent, a way to push aside the main character’s disability so that he can still run after the bad guys and land a punch, Ed still struggles with not having his original limbs. Most of his struggle is psychological. He lost his limbs in a traumatic incident that also severely damaged his brother, and he feels guilty for his role in the events that led to such a devastating situation. His metal arm and leg serve as constant reminders of the guilt he feels and the burden that it places upon him. And certainly, not all of the suffering of coping with a disability is physical. Amputations, chronic diseases, mental illnesses, and genetic disorders all carry psychological as well as physical costs.

Ed also suffers from not being “normal.” Though he hides his automail appendages with gloves and boots, whenever people see his missing limbs, they tend to be shocked. They stare. They want to know what happened. Some characters are also able to guess, just from seeing Ed’s injuries, what sort of incident led to his missing limbs, which increases his guilt. Though his automail functions practically the same way organic limbs would, it still marks him as different from other people.

But, of course, Ed’s automail is not the same as his former arm and leg. The series (at least as far as I’ve gotten) doesn’t discuss the drawbacks to automail in detail, but they are there. Unlike skin, muscles, and nerves, automail can’t heal itself, so anytime Ed’s automail is damaged, he has to find an automail maker, usually his friend Winry, to fix it. Also unlike muscle, automail can’t become stronger. Though Ed practices his fighting techniques at every chance he has, the strength of his automail is completely subject to how well it has been made and repaired. This has dangerous consequences for him, as at one point during a fight, his automail arm breaks because the last time Winry repaired it, she forgot to include a necessary screw. Being made of metal, it also rusts.

The series doesn’t dwell on these difficulties. More often than not, Ed’s automail works just fine until it is convenient for the plot that it break. But still, the series, however subtly, shows Ed living with a body that is not completely under his control. Instead of being able to do whatever he likes whenever he likes, sometimes Ed has to deal with the fact that his prosthetic arm or leg just isn’t going to work that day. So he complains and sulks for a bit, gets over it, and then gets back into the fight the next day. And that’s kind of how I feel having carpal tunnel.

Now, I’m not going to go so far as to put myself in the category of people with disabilities. Like I said before, I could have it a lot worse. I can still type—I’m just slower than I used to be. I haven’t lost my entire arm. And if my carpal tunnel gets bad enough, well, I can have surgery to have the problem taken care of once and for all. This isn’t something drastic that is going to permanently change everything about my life, unlike someone who, for instance, is diagnosed with Huntington’s disease or becomes a paraplegic. To put myself in the same category as people who are struggling with radical, life-changing ailments and valiantly learning to live with them would seem melodramatic and selfish on my part. So I’m not going to do that. However, there was a brief period, when my hand went completely numb, where I got a small taste of what it was like to not be able to use one of my hands. It was tough. I had to actually think about everything that I was doing, even basic things like buckling a belt, that I usually did unconsciously. Now I can pretty much do everything that I used to without thinking about it, unlike people who have to learn how to do everything one-handed. It was hard enough for me to go without my hand for a few days, and I have much more respect now for people who learn to live with that sort of situation permanently.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that now I have a lot more sympathy for people with disabilities than I did before. And because of that, I can relate to Ed in ways that I probably couldn’t before. Before, while watching the series, I probably would have wondered why getting his arm and leg back were such a big deal to him, when his automail limbs seem to work just fine. Now I realize that, while they might be a good substitute (certainly better than the prosthetics technology we have in the real world), they aren’t perfect. (Why do I want my former, non-tingly fingers back when the ones I’ve still got almost work the way they used to?) I’d also probably miss a lot of the more subtle ways in which Ed has to listen to his body and let it dictate what he can or can’t do, even if he wishes otherwise.

And despite all that, he still manages to fight the bad guys and save the people he cares about. Having an “imperfect” limb or hand or body doesn’t mean that he can’t do things. It just means he has to do them differently. And ultimately, not having his original arm and leg makes Ed who he is. If the incident that caused him to lose them had never happened, there would be no story. But there is a story, and within that story, Ed’s missing limbs bring certain challenges and setbacks, which Ed deals with. At the end of the day, he still manages to kick the bad guys’ asses. So, from a disability theory perspective, while the series sort of glosses over Ed’s disability, it also shows him coping with it. And from a personal perspective, it makes me feel a little bit better about having carpal tunnel.

Are We Cyborgs Yet?: Evolution of the DROID Commercials

I distinctly remember the first DROID commercial I ever saw. It was for the DROID 2, and it ran in 2010. Somehow, it seems so long ago, perhaps because the idea of a smartphone still seemed novel and now it’s become a part of everyday life. In any case, upon seeing the commercial, I was taken with the way in which the smartphone turns the man in the commercial into a machine—literally. As he types on the slide-out keyboard (which only a year later seems so quaint), his fingers, hands, and arms gradually become metallic, his muscles replaced with metal and his tendons transforming into wires. The phone has made him a cyborg—an amalgamation of human and machine.

I found myself mesmerized and a little disturbed by the commercial. If the comments on the commercial’s YouTube video are anything to go by, I wasn’t the only one. Most of them approved of the commercial, but others seemed displeased with the lack of humanity, references to The Terminator and Cybermen of Doctor Who, and disgust with corporations turning their clients into robots. Personally, I think the red DROID eye is reminiscent of the glowing Hal of 2001: A Space Odyssey. Whatever the reference, the glaring red light that seems to be looking at the viewer is reminiscent of various movie and television examples of technology gone awry and controlling people’s lives. Hal takes over the ship in 2001. The Terminator, a robot meant to infiltrate human society and kill a particular human target, is the result of Skynet, a self-aware program that rebelled against the humans that created it in the Terminator movies. The Cybermen are the frequent adversaries of the Doctor in Doctor Who, as they overpower biological subjects and turn them into metal automatons. All of these robots are pop culture warnings of what can happen when technology becomes too all-consuming in our lives.

Other DROID commercials also portray the smartphones as part of a person or in one case, a snowman, and not merely a tool to be used. However, the commercials seem to be moving away from presenting the DROID as a physical part of a person. The DROID Bionic commercial places the smartphone outside the protagonist of the commercial. In fact, the ending tagline states that the DROID was “made from machines to rule all machines.” This most recent commercial seems to be making up for the earlier ones, in which the phone was so seemlessly melded to its user that it was hard to tell who was controlling whom. The statement that the DROID Bionic “rules all machines” suggests that the smartphone is giving the user control over machines instead of being controlled by them.

So, who really does control our smartphones? Do we control them, or do they control us? Or have we entered into a sort of symbiotic relationship with them? In many ways, we are beginning to think of our technology as extensions of ourselves, though whether this is due to marketing that gives us an identity associated with a product or to the increasing prevelance of technology in our society, I can’t say. Most likely, it’s some combination of the two. In any case, as these commercials show, our close relationship with our technology is turning us into a sort of cyborg, something part human and part machine. Technically, anytime our culture presents the human body as being something like a machine, like a piece of technology, it is presenting us as cyborgs.

Rather than worry about whether this is a good thing or a bad thing (because there are good arguments on both sides), I’d like to focus on how these commercials present our interactions with technology as embodied. Usually, when we think about going on the Internet or using smartphones, we aren’t thinking much about our bodies. We tend to think more about our minds, since Western culture has generally placed more emphasis on the mind over the body. But using technology is an embodied experience. We type on our keyboards, our smartphones, our iPads or tablets with our fingers. We manipulate webpages with our hands, whether through a touchscreen or a mouse. Our interactions with technology are not something that takes us out of our bodies. Instead, they do the very opposite. They rely on our bodies, so much so that they have become an extension of our bodies.

As changes in the DROID commercials suggests, this doesn’t seem to be a concept that we, as a culture, are completely comfortable with yet.