Discovering Another Poet's Diagnosis

I found out (on Twitter) a poet I admire has multiple sclerosis.  In every biography I can find on him, there is no mention of it, though he offered the information freely.  It took me by surprise.

Why isn't it common knowledge?  Is he afraid people will see his (many) accomplishments differently?  Is it a fairly new diagnosis?  Does he just not identify as disabled?

I wanted to fire off a billion questions.  I did ask when he was diagnosed, but he didn't answer.  I didn't ask anything else because, no matter why there wasn't a response, it isn't my business.

We are not entitled to other people's medical histories or a detailed disability report just because we, ourselves, are disabled.  It isn't our place to categorize someone as disabled.  We wouldn't want someone making decisions about us we didn't agree with.

It did affect me, knowing he has MS.  I felt excited... and scared... and sympathetic... and honored.
He didn't have to tell me.  I wonder how he's going to navigate our ableist world when he's not considered able-bodied.  I have something (somewhat) in common with him besides writing.
~~~~~
Our brief exchange also made me question (again) my decision to omit my disability status with most of my published works, something I debate a lot.  Does the stigma some editors may have outweigh presenting more of my true self?  Is the fear an editor will publish me just to increase "minority representation" in her magazine more important than telling future crippled writers that there are other literary cripples (me, in this case) gaining visibility?  Is disclosing my disability on Twitter and my blog enough?

I am not sure.
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Have you ever discovered someone you admired was disabled/neurodivergent?  Did it change how you thought about things (them, the world, yourself)?
Would you ever disclose (or stop disclosing) your disability status?  What could make you decide?

When Caretakers Write

Caretakers often write about those they care for.  It makes sense; the person needing assistance is a big part of the caretaker's life.  And caring for someone who needs help can be difficult, funny, bittersweet.  Many excellent essays have come from those who are caretakers in their everyday lives.

There are ethical problems with writing a story about someone else but, often, disabled/neurodivergent people's feelings aren't taken into account.  Our embarrassments, problems, and difficulties are exposed by those who care for us without so much as an acknowledgement of how it could affect us.  We become the subject, and not people.

Caretakers need an outlet for dealing with frustration and it can benefit them to write about their hardships.  It can also help other caretakers to read about others' struggles.  But an essay shouldn't be a gripe-filled diatribe against the person needing assistance, nor should it be humiliation of that person brought to light.
If a caretaker needs to let off steam, he/she should join a support group or keep a diary, not seek out a magazine.

Why aren't more caretakers seeking permission from (or at least talking to) the person they're going to write about?  If they would extend that courtesy to a neurotypical/able-bodied person, they can extend it to us!  If the people who help us the most can't see us as worthy of common decency, we're in trouble.
Here's another idea:  Why don't more caretakers write stories with their disabled/neurodivergent person?  It would make a more balanced, illuminating piece.

We need more stories about us, yes, but not if they come at the expense of dignity and are targeted at people who "other" us.  And if the people who care for us really care, they will write with honesty but, also, with an underlying respect.