Di-ver-gent:

Often in our daily lives we spot a person that stands out from the rest. They are different, and we notice right away. They suffer from some kind of ailment or handicap that does not resemble the norm. We stare, sometimes too harshly and for too long. Not because we are trying to, but because our brains are wired to instantaneously detect something that diverges from the ordinary. No one really gives much thought to what they are doing even if deep inside we know we should just look away. No one really takes the time to put themselves in that other person's shoes...until that person becomes you.

Every single day people wake up and go through the motions of life without thinking. You get out of bed, use the toilet, brush your teeth, shower, have some breakfast and carry on with whatever your normal day entails. People don't stop to appreciate the ease in this simplicity because the monotony of life desensitizes our emotions to it. Only when each of those tasks becomes difficult do we realize all of the things we take for granted every single day.

Up until three years ago I was that ordinary person,  until my disease turned into a disability. My once independent lifestyle overwhelmingly turned to dependence. My up beat and active body that always quickly bounced back from a downswing, was failing me at a speed I couldn't even fathom. I would always fill my days with work, school, social activities, and put my disease on the back burner.  My disease couldn't stand to be ignored any longer and stood in my way like a raging, burning brick wall.  

I was left with no other choice but to succumb to this new reality of constant dependence. I needed help walking, showering, making food, and sometimes even had to be fed. It was demoralizing and depressing to rely on others for every little thing I needed. In a sea of normal people walking, I was the one being stared at in a wheelchair. 

I quickly began to see that more places than you would think are NOT handicap accessible. It blew my mind that I would have never noticed this otherwise. People would see me struggling to open doors or slide past a narrow opening, and most wouldn't even offer to help. I was appalled. In those moments I gained the most sincere appreciation for people with handicaps for the rest of their lives. At least mine is only temporary.

My dependence has fluctuated through the years. I was most reliant on others during the times of my spinal compression fractures and after surgery. I hated imposing on my loved ones to be at my every beck and call. I completely understand the difficulty on the other end of the spectrum from their perspective. Empathy, sorrow, frustration, and worry; all fighting to hide behind the forced smile they tried hard to muster so I wouldn't notice. But I did notice. Although the pain emanating from them and myself weighed heavy, their love kept my spirits alive. 

I especially owe my gratitude to my sisters. At only 17 and 14 years old (at the time of my fractures), they both stepped up to the plate to make my life as easy as possible. Their attention and devotion in caring for me was the greatest gift I could have ever received. My older sister took it upon herself to take me in after surgery. She managed to juggle her full time job and care for me simultaneously. I know it was no easy task but it has immensely strengthened our bond and I am eternally grateful.  I would also like to thank the rest of my family for all of their continuous love and support. 

As I now am gaining most of my independence back, I will never again take it for granted. Independence is what makes people feel most alive. For any one out there who knows what it's like to be in my shoes or is unfortunate enough to have a lifelong handicap, never give up hope. And to all those caretakers out there who feel overworked and under appreciated, know that you are a beacon of inspiration in the eyes of the one you are caring for. For the rest of you, maybe the next time you encounter someone with a handicap, you will look at them in a different light.