It’s the princess-and-pea syndrome, only in reverse. The fairy tale princess, you’ll recall, didn’t sleep well because there was a pea buried beneath her 20 mattresses.

I wonder why there isn’t a similar story about the hardy pauper, who - though accustomed to sleeping on the cold, hard ground - is kept awake by a tiny pebble.

Maybe because the hardy pauper has nothing to prove. Minor irritations are a normal part of his life.

Years ago my husband stumbled across a saying whose exact wording I’ve lost, but it’s something to the effect: “I’ve never had to fight giants or dragons. My problems have all been more like stepping in chewing gum.”

The irony of John’s life is that, because of a paralyzing stroke, he did end up having to fight giants and dragons. In fact, he fights them daily - although he has other names for them.

THE part that sometimes irritates me, like a pea under the mattress, is that the chewing-gum stuff doesn’t go away just because you’re fighting dragons.

When John’s eye recently began to swell and ooze, I complained bitterly to the Almighty about the inequity of it all.

“Doesn’t he have plenty to deal with already? Isn’t total paralysis quite enough?” Of course what I’m really doing is expressing frustration over my own inability to change things.

I had to do most of the complaining because it was too hard for John, although he was clearly in pain. I couldn’t understand the words he was saying, so we resorted to our usual eye-blink communications.

It is doggone difficult to spell out words, letter by letter, by blinking your eyes when one is swollen shut and the other’s at half-mast.

A prescription for antibiotic eye drops turned things around. I tried to ignore the news articles I’ve been reading lately about how we’re being over-dosed with antibiotics and how it’s leading to a growing problem of antibiotic-resistant bacteria.

I’ve been thinking instead about a recent commentary in the Washington Post, written by John E. Smith. He’s the postmaster in Hood River, Ore., and father of a son who is quadriplegic. He was commenting on a newspaper story about his college-age son, who continues to rock-climb, surf, kayak and paraglide despite his disabilities.

THE dad observes that media stories about people who are disabled tend to be of the inspiring, feel-good genre.

Smith contends that “we delude ourselves into thinking their lives are some kind of fantasy camp. Obviously, they are not living happily ever after in an amusement park of accessible activities. Nor is their existence an endlessly grim continuum of incontinence and indifferent caseworkers. Somewhere in between is a life.”

That’s where life is for most of us - somewhere in between.

Smith makes an important point. When we turn people with disabilities into inspirational icons, they become less real, and their very real problems are less likely to be of concern to those who could be doing something about them. Practical things, like funding stem cell research or protecting Medicaid programs.

Smith also causes me to examine my motivations for writing about my husband, week after week all these 12 years.

Do I seek to inspire, to reform, to vent? Maybe none of the above; maybe all and more.

I’m simply telling a story as it unfolds around me, a story that wanders from mountain tops to valleys, a story that sometimes rolls through chewing gum and ultimately takes us to that in-between place where life mostly happens.

Mary Koch is caregiver for her husband, John E. Andrist, a stroke survivor. They welcome your comments at P.O. Box 3346, Omak WA 98841, or e-mail marykoch@marykoch.com. Recent columns are on the Internet at www.marykoch.com.