When Rights Collide

I talk a lot about rights at work. What rights people have. What rights they think they have but they really don't - no matter how much they might want them. And how to advocate for those rights. The biggest challenge with teaching rights seems to be those grey areas when my rights infringe on someone else's rights and how we know whose rights trump whose.

A conversation at work yesterday got me thinking about rights when it comes to diabetes.  We were talking about a situation that happened outside of work and chatting about how the rights of a person with diabetes have equal (not more or less) weight than the rights of those around them.

Case in point:

I strongly believe in not hiding the fact that I have diabetes. My pump is visible most of the time. I tell people I have diabetes. I blog about having diabetes. I check my blood sugar in public.

I don't personally feel that any of these things are a big deal. And I am perfectly confident in saying that I have the right to do all of those things.

Let's explore a little deeper.

I check my blood sugar in public. By that I mean that I don't go off to the washroom to check it where no one can see me. I don't wait to get home to do it. I don't go to my car to do it. Instead, I usually open my glucometer, plop it on my lap, prick my finger, test, lick off any remaining blood from my finger, put kit away, move on with my day.

Does anyone have a problem with any of these steps?

What if I were to change some of them a little.

What if, instead of putting the glucometer on my lap, I put it on the table?

What it I plopped it on the table and pricked my finger during a staff meeting, with people sitting on either side of me?

What if I did this while they were eating lunch?

What if I wiped my finger on the underside of the chair rather than lick it off? Or on a stark white napkin?

I have no doubt about my right to check my blood sugar in public.

But what about a colleague's right to have their lunch without having to watch me draw blood? What about the fact that my droplet of blood, which seems so innocent and familiar to me, is technically a biohazard for everyone around me?

I could easily argue that people have the right to eat in a safe environment free of biohazardous materials. And I could also argue that I have the right to check my blood sugar in public.

But in a simple example like this one, whose rights trump whose?

I could get all uppity about it and insist the I have the right to test right there on the table and that no one can stop me. I could insist on doing it in a place where everyone has no choice but to see what I'm doing - blood and needle squeamishness be damned. I could insist on doing it right beside people having their lunches.

I could do all of those things but I don't actually do any of them. I don't do them because I want my diabetes to be part of the daily routine at work without making it more than it is. Everyone knows I have diabetes - there is no need to rub it in their faces.

I know my solution. I came up with it years ago without any real conscious thought. I always put my glucometer on my lap. People may know what I'm doing but no one else see it. No one see the finger prick. No one sees the blood droplet. And no one sees the number flash on the screen either. My own little nod to the right to privacy.

I have the right to test in public. I have the right to privacy re the number that shows up on the screen.

My colleagues have the right to eat their lunches without seeing blood.

Fair is fair.

(Over)commitment

On Wednesday night I was sitting (well more like lounging) on the couch with my laptop.

I did three things in the space of about 15 minutes.

• I responded to an email about some possible research being done re rights and adults who have a developmental disability
• I sent a final shot list and confirmation details to the bride and groom whose wedding Doug and I are photographing this Saturday
• I made the final corrections to Thursday's blog entry for Running on Carbs

Rights, disabilities, diabetes, and photography.

Just a few of the things I love to talk about, write about and include in my everyday life.

Other things I did this week? Swam three times (with my new Masters coach!), hit the road on my bike to practice my rpms, watched the sun rise on my early morning runs, watched the sun set as Doug and I went for an impromptu flight over Niagara, hosted a baby shower, volunteered for Hospice Niagara, went to the theatre and had a massage.

My days and weeks are busy and packed with activities.

Activities that I choose. Activities that make me happy, that make me think and that keep me healthy.

At dinner the other night, Doug and I were talking about what it takes to get to the Olympics. Not that we really know because neither of us have been to the Olympics (despite my best attempt at swimming 200m in under 1 minute - I can't get my time under 3:48). But we can sort of guess how much time and commitment it might take to get to the level that it takes to even qualify for a spot.

And I got a little bothered.

If someone told me that they worked long days, seven days a week. That they gave up almost everything else in their life, that they left their family and friends and that they committed their life to work, I would have a few choice words to say to them. I am a firm believer in and advocate for finding a balance between work and life. Work to live, don't live to work.

And yet, elite athletes essentially do the same thing except instead of attending meetings, making business deals, and writing reports, they commit themselves to their sport...and we idolize them for it. They are heroes. They are so high up on the pedestal that they are unreachable. We watch in awe as they do things at speeds we can't attain or sustain for even a few seconds and with a strength that we will never have.

Please don't misunderstand - I am not criticizing the choices that our elite athletes make. I'm just commenting on how differently the two forms of incredible commitment and dedication are perceived. Tell me someone does nothing but work and I get annoyed. Tell me someone trains seven days a week and I think "wow, I wonder if I could do that".

I will NOT be part of the 2012 summer Olympics despite my very respectable super sprint triathlon time.

I have not yet received my invitation to join Canada's swim team despite the fact that I swim faster than ALL the seniors in the pool.

But that's probably for the best because, in the space of fifteen minutes I can advocate for diabetes, finalize wedding photography details and discuss rights research. I thrive on variety and can't imagine spending most of my time doing one thing.

So I'll watch the Olympics every second I can, I'll cheer on les Canadiens, the underdogs and the heroes. I'll dream of being able to (insert sport here) as fast or as well as they can, even for one day and then I'll go back to my very fun, very active, very fulfilling life.

Rights = choices

My head is spinning today – chock full of thoughts about rights and responsibilities.  Specifically, the rights and responsibilities of people with disabilities. 

The rights of people with disabilities are the same as everyone else’s. 

Period. 

But theory and practice butt heads a lot and the latter often wins. Vulnerable populations, people whose voices aren’t as loud, or as eloquent, often find their rights restricted. And often, they are restricted by the very people who are there to support them.

It happens innocently enough – someone is told by their doctor that they shouldn’t smoke as much. So staff, being supportive and wanting to take care of the person, limit their cigarettes. 

People without disabilities have the right to smoke as much as they want, no matter what their doctor has to say about it.  So what gives us the right to restrict someone’s cigarettes just because they have a disability?  They have the right to make their own unhealthy choices just like everyone else does.   

I’m working on developing a rights/responsibilities presentation for staff.  And it has me thinking about some of the agonizing struggles we face every day as we try to find the balance between supporting someone and encouraging them to take responsibility for their own choices and their own lives.    

What do you do when someone is making frightening choices about their sexual activities? Spending all of their money before paying for rent and food? Abusing drugs? Choosing to remain in an abusive relationship?  Living on chips and pop?

The best we can do is teach people about their rights, about making responsible choices, recognizing abuse and standing up for themselves.  It’s not ideal, and it’s pretty scary sometimes, but it’s better than the alternative - restricting people’s right to make their own choices in a misguided attempt to keep them ‘safe’. 

We all the have the right to make our own choices – good or bad.

We have to accept responsibility for those choices.

And we have to respect others enough to let them do the same.