The world loves a good comeback story.
And I am all for giving people their well-deserved “congrats” when they’ve faced down adversity and accomplished something fantastic.
Franklin Gutierrez, for example, is a Mariners outfielder diagnosed with ankylosing spondylitis (AS). His ankylosing spondylitis symptoms forced him to leave baseball in 2014, convincing many that he’d hit a home run straight into obscurity.
But that wasn’t the case. In fact, Gutierrez recently returned to the majors with a solid showing and has earned spot #15 on Sports on Earth’s“The 15 Best MLB Comebacks of 2015.”
Anthony Castrovince, the article’s author, writes: “It’s great to see [Gutierrez] up here in any capacity, let alone a productive one.”
Guiterrez’s inclusion is a very nice gesture and he is a great athlete, but am I the only one who doesn’t find that write-up particularly enthusiastic?
It’s almost like saying, “Hey, we thought Gutierrez was totally, 100% screwed because of AS. But we guess he’s not, so good for him!”
Personally, I find that insulting.
We all know that having a rare disease can be very, very hard. You face pain and problems in indescribable amounts.
On top of that, it can be a struggle getting anyone—even people you love—to acknowledge that pain, understand those problems, and work with your limitations.
But there’s another side to this: as much as people with rare diseases want understanding, you also want to be seen for who you are—to be seen for what you’ve done, not what your disease has done to you.
The late Stella Young, in her TEDTalk, “I’m Not Your Inspiration, Thank You Very Much,” said it best:
“Life as a disabled person is actually somewhat difficult. We do overcome some things. But the things that we’re overcoming are not the things that you think they are….
“I learn from other disabled people all the time. I’m learning not that I am luckier than them, though.”
Here’s Stella’s full story:
What do we gain from a story like Gutierrez’s? Ostensibly, we’re inspired.
However, part of that inspiration hinges on the assumption that AS was basically a death sentence in the first place. And so the actual inspiring parts—like Gutierrez’s hard work, his commitment to his own health, his personal love of baseball—become lost in that “disease story.”
Is that the kind of narrative the rare disease community wants?
Everybody loves a comeback story—especially if they can skip past the messy, agonizing parts and jump to that perfect, hopeful “ending.”
Doing that, no one has to think too hard. No one has to ask themselves what people with rare diseases—some of whom have lived with the condition since birth—are really coming back from.
But you can ask it of yourself.
If you think about your worst times with your disease and consider yourself “The Comeback Kid,” keep it up! Be proud of who you are!
But for others who are pissed at comeback lists where everyone’s overcoming their “terrible,” “washed-up” lives with illness, think of these words from LL Cool J:
“Don’t call it a comeback/ I been here for years.”
Comeback or not, if you want to see more of Gutierrez’s epic baseball career, read the whole story on Patient Worthy! You can even check out some of his most badass plays.
