Being disabled or chronically ill means being terrified of your bad days.
No, really. Terrified.
It is genuine terror when you forget something important. It is true fear when you miss a step and fall. It is horror when you realize you never texted your friend back about something exciting. Because, a bad day for an able-bodied person is just a bad day. For the disabled, it’s: “am I having a flare? Is my illness getting worse? Who knows where I am if I hurt myself and need help? Is this it? Is the life I’ve been trying to build over? Should I see another (fucking useless) doctor? Have I documented my symptoms enough that they’ll care?”
Because for us, it’s that little. A mysterious bruise, forgetting to send an email - it could be just a bad day. Or it could be a recurrence of our worst symptoms, signs our health is deteriorating, because at the end of the day, we have no real control over our health, hard as we try. We can do everything right, and it will still not be enough.
You don’t get to have bad days, as a disabled person.