My Chronic Pain is Like My Pit Bull: Very Strong and Won't Leave My Side

My disability is invisible, I have chronic pain, and I'm walking around with a pit bull service dog. What could possibly go wrong?

Last year I traveled to a conference with Vin, my service dog who is also a pit bull. It was my first time traveling alone with her, first time flying with her, first time in a hotel with her, and first time probably doing lots of other things that I was really nervous about. She hadn't been with me long and is my first service animal.

Vin became my service dog about four or five months before the conference. She helps with daily life, and she's essential to me. Before the trip, I tried to mentally prepare myself for justifying our presence in the airports, restaurants, hotels, and other places.

This is my service animal. Please don't engage with her … Yes, she must accompany me. I'm happy to give you some information about service animals and a phone number you can call if you need clarification … No need to call the police; we'll go somewhere else … Fair trade, then: before I tell you all the intimate details about my broken body, why don't you first tell me about your …

Wait. Okay, I'm getting carried away again—in my defense, though, the pain isn't as oppressive in these alternate realities.

While I'm disabled, my disability isn't visible. I have enough trouble with the invisible disability part when I'm around people who know me; what kinds of problems or resistance might I encounter where no one knows me? How much of my personal medical history and conditions will I have to reveal to convince people that it's okay for me to have Vin and for us to go where we go?

On top of all of this, traveling is painful, so I'm juggling needing to manage Vin (really that's the easy part), thinking about justifying ourselves without sounding defensive, and trying to do what I can to not let the pain—My pain? Do I need to own it?—increase more than it needs to. That last part still sounds so weird to me: I mean, how can I dissociate from myself something that won't leave me?

On the way to the airport, Vin and I didn't have a problem with or in the car that drove us to the airport, and I was relaxed. The rest of the travel was a breeze. We were welcomed in the airplanes, fellow passengers were pleasant, the staff at the two hotels smiled and were beyond accommodating, and the restaurant staff were happy to sit us at side or corner tables so that Vin would have fewer disturbances while she slept and I ate. No one even seemed to notice that Vin's a pit bull (fashionably considered dangerous and facing discrimination in the early 21^st century). Was it supposed to be this easy? Why did I anticipate the worst?

I know that Vin is essential to me, though others probably don't just by looking at us. I had many questions from people at the conference during social events. Some of the questions were expected, such as the question I received most: "Are you training her?" (You mean, because why would a strong-looking person like me need a service dog?) A few people I hadn't seen in years asked, "Why didn't I know you had a problem needing a service dog?" (Because I neglected to announce my personal health issues on the conference listserv!) Some of the questions were strange: while a woman looked at the "service dog" patch, she asked, "Is that a service dog?" (Because of how I look? Because of how she looks? Why!?); and while pointing to the leash dongle holding the pet waste bags a man asked me, "Why do you have those? Is she not trained?" At this point there isn't anything I can think of to say that's appropriate. Did...