Throughout my childhood and teenage years, dancing was my favorite thing to do. I can still picture leaping in the air, landing a perfect double pirouette, or doing high kicks with pointed toes. Two weeks after turning 18, I lost the ability to do what I loved most.
Being ejected from a vehicle is scary, but nothing is more terrifying than a doctor walking into your hospital room and bluntly telling you that you will never walk again. I didn't understand how this could have happened. Imagine going out to have fun with friends and ending the night with an injury that nearly killed you.
Paralysis is way more than simply not being able to walk, but that's the most difficult aspect of it to get over. People look at you differently when you use a wheelchair and have no problem staring you down. Compliments change from "You're so pretty" to "You're so pretty for a girl in a wheelchair." Traveling requires planning, and I can't just hop in someone's car to go somewhere.
The most heartbreaking thing for me is that I can't remember how to walk. I couldn't tell you what it feels like to stand up, walk around, run, drive normally, or dance the way I did before. No matter how much I try to imagine it, I'm unable to remember the feeling and motion of it all.
To anyone with a disability of any shape or form, the most comforting fact is that these earthly bodies are temporary. I know one day I'll be running around again, just not anytime soon. And that's OK because God has a greater plan than I do.
I'm not writing this to be bitter or get sympathy; I'm writing this so that others will recognize that people in wheelchairs are just that- people. We just sit down more often than you do.
