For all of my life, I have had a shadow. A living, breathing, flesh and blood shadow. You see, my twin and I were born two minutes apart (and yes, those two minutes are important). We sat side by side for every standardized test in our grade school careers, we were involved in the same clubs and we were rarely apart. We came into the world side by side and had plans to take on the world together.
And for 16 years of our lives, that was how it was. She was my best friend. She was strong, powerful, confident. She was a force to be reckoned with. But the summer before our junior year of high school, she became weak and fragile. She was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis. Her joints would flare, swell to the point where I was sure something was going to burst and she couldn’t move them. My best friend, who ran and danced, was limited to what she could do while walking. On a good day, she could only do that for so long.
It was immensely bizarre to see my sister who adored working out and being active reduced down to ace bandages and support braces. Our finances switch from focusing on online fitness guides to copious amounts of KT Tape and arnica lotions. My family tried countless diets and online forums to try and alleviate the discomfort. Ice packs, ThermaCare, hot tubs and Ibuprofen became more and more of a familiar name in our household.
This life of someone else, someone older, someone who was not my other half had encompassed my family. It became normal to see my sister soaking her hands or feet in the sink, watching her do her injections, applying KT tape to various locations and late night breakdowns over what she could no longer do. My best friend was becoming someone that I did not recognize and it was terrifying.
Through this process of watching my sister being forced to grow up, I felt ridiculously childish. My twin was having to do her own injections on a weekly basis and deal with needles and intense pain in every part of her body, and I was only concerned with the fact that we are identical twins and I might have these antibodies within myself. I was foolishly crying over a sore wrist in my bedroom at midnight, panicking over thoughts that I might have rheumatoid arthritis as well. This ailment had dramatically changed my family and their day-to-day functions: we knew about every single medicine for both children and adults and had our doctor on speed-dial. We knew the signs to show if her fingers would flare up and precisely which knuckle would be the worst and for how long.
My best friend was hurting, and for once, I couldn’t help her. I couldn’t protect her. I could only tell her that it would be OK, and even then, I wasn’t certain of the words. She was strong before her diagnosis, and she became even stronger after. My twin sister, who would not watch "Goosebumps" after dark became the most empowered person I know. She deals with so much more than I can even begin to fathom, with more grace than I have even seen someone possess.
My shadow and I are no longer following each other’s footsteps. She has a weakness, but that doesn’t make her weak. My sister has become someone that I admire and look up to. If she can handle 18 credits in a semester, with various flares and medication changes, then I can handle what life is throwing at me as well.
