I am now somewhere around middle aged...although, if I were to listen to my doctors, I am a lot closer to the end of life. I have to remind myself often of my age, because I simply do not feel it. Until I see myself in a mirror, or try to tackle sports or yoga, I feel 17 still.
I have lived my life like that. Blissfully ignorant. When I was in college, a good friend told me I was a bumblebee.
You see, physicists, mathematicians and other scientists have tried to figure out how a bumblebee can fly. To this day, nobody has been able to prove with science and math, that a bumblebee can fly.
A bumblebee does not follow the rules of physics. It has a chunky furry body and teeny tiny wings. It is not aerodynamic at all.
The bumblebee has no idea.
The bumblebee doesn't really care. It has things to do.
When I was a small child, I thought people were all pretty much the same. Yes, I was aware that different crayons may need to be used to draw them: different hair color, eye color, skin color... Essentially, I really thought we were all the same.
It wasn't until I was around four years old that I found that perhaps we might not ALL be the same.
My dad began taking me to air shows. "Look at that F-16. Can you see it?"
"Yeah", I would mumble. I could see blue. Lots of blue. I could not see a plane.
It was about two years later that I received glasses. WOW! I could not believe how much more there was to the world.
Mind you, I had learned to read and to do basic math when I was four. I began kindergarten at the age of 4 1/2 and was able to look up words that I didn't know in a dictionary when I read books. Somehow I was able to do this without being able to see more than six inches away from my nose.
I excelled in math in elementary school. I played soccer and other sports, but in fifth grade, I again noticed that maybe I wasn't the same as everyone else.
Twice each week, we began our day by running a mile. I was the only kid who could beat anyone at baseball and dodgeball, but could not run a mile without staggering across the finish line. I was gasping for air and feeling as if I was drained of all energy. It didn't make sense.
Later, in middle school and part of high school, I played competitive sports. I played various instruments in music. I had a full life. On the weekends, I mowed the yard and did many other chores.
There was nothing remarkable about my life. Just occasionally, I noticed that I really really had to sit down and get a large drink of water.
When I was 14, many things began to happen.
I broke my tailbone and had to slow down for a couple of weeks. The day I was to be released to regular sports activities, I woke up unable to move my neck. I had to wear a lovely collar for a couple of weeks and then three weeks later I broke my tailbone again.
Softball season began and I was playing very competitively. We began the season well, and soon we were known as the "undefeated team". Three games before the end of the season, I was injured during a softball game. Oh, the pain shooting through my leg.
I finished the game, but after my Tuesday practice, I was in so much pain that I visited a doctor.
Xrays were taken, physical therapy and muscle relaxers were ordered and things were supposed to get better on their own, but they didn't.
Four weeks later I was taken from the physical therapists office to the emergency room. I was no longer able to walk. I could not feel my left leg at all.
Several tests and a CAT scan later and I was sitting in a surgeon's office with my father.
"We knew there had to be a reason why a very healthy, very fit 14 year old suddenly could not walk and we have found the culprit." He started.
He pointed to my scans on a lit up board. "There it is."
I squinted. Okay, so I don't get it.
He explained that my back had become fish hook shaped after the original injury, two herniated discs and that they continued to swell and press on this area... this area that still did not mean anything to me.
He told us that he could perform surgery, but that I would have to lay on my back for the entire summer, not moving and that he really thought that would give me a 60% chance of being able to walk again.
That spot on my CAT scan was spina bifida. I looked at him in horror after the 60% comment. "Young lady, you were fortunate that you were ever able to walk. You were born with your skin in tact, but you have a hole in your spinal column."
Yeah, I still didn't like it. I was able to walk before. 60% really didn't make me happy.
So I shook his hand and told him I would consider the surgery.
It was a long two hour ride home in the car. I asked questions out loud, but really, I was not looking for external answers from my dad.
"I was able to walk, run, everything before, right?"
My dad occasionally answered me.. I think he realized I was trying to just walk around in my mind and look at this from all possible view points.
All summer..for 60%?
I did not chose the surgery. I can walk. I had physical therapy five times per week for over a year. Four months later I was able to walk without an assistive device.
That same year, I began passing out rather randomly.
I found that to be more inconvenient than necessary, so I went to the doctor. He took my blood pressure while I was laying down and then told me to sit up. I immediately got light headed and he took my blood pressure again.
He told me all I needed to do was to slow down and pay attention when I was standing up or sitting up.
That worked for the better part of 24 years. I had a few problems when I was pregnant, but really, I was back to feeling like I was just like everyone else.
Then, when I was 38, I woke up one morning and realized that I could not breathe.
Later that day, I was diagnosed with a congenital heart condition. Wolff Parkinson White was my new enemy.
I say this because everything began to spiral. I was informed that it caused "sudden death syndrome", a term I was extremely uncomfortable with. Two months later, I had an episode, my heart stopped and I collapsed onto a concrete floor. I had anoxic brain injury and a severe concussion.
I could not read, speak well, understand people or walk without appearing to be drunk.
After two months, I was told I would not be able to go back to work and that I should begin the process to file for disability. I had extreme short term memory issues and once I began to read, it was at about a second grade level.
It just did not seem right to take their word for it. Yes, I felt different. Yes I was frustrated with my new deficits. No, I didn't think that was the end of the story.
I went back to work in October and although it was NOT easy to filter out all of the noise distractions, drive, and read memo after memo, by November, I was able to do the same job I had done before the injury.
After I was a bit more stable, I had the heart surgery I needed and here I am... Alive, walking, talking, working, teaching.....
I am a bumble bee. I am not special, just as a bumblebee is not special. There are millions and millions of bumblebees leaving the hive each morning and flying.
There are millions and millions of us. We have been told, "You can't_____", and we didn't listen.
Scientists, mathematicians and doctors do not know everything yet. Yes, they can guage the situation based on their knowledge and experience, but my path was not written by them. Your path is not written by them.
I will not tell you that I have no limitations. I cannot leap off of a cliff, flap my arms and believe that will work out well for me. I cannot fly.
I still have struggles, but every day, no matter how impassible an obstacle may seem, I remind myself: You can walk, you can talk. The rest is just frills and thrills.
I am so fortunate that I never truly believed what people said to me. I am so fortunate that I was able to begin my life completely unaware of the spina bifida or the life threatening heart condition.
I have a point, as I always do.
Now, in the 21st century, we have diagnostics for so many things in early childhood. So your child is diagnosed with some disorder or another. Deal with the medical issues, but please remember that your child is a bumblebee. I have a couple of little bumblebees. Both have life threatening medical issues...and I could indeed be perfectly right in protecting them from everything. I do make adequate preparations for them, and have taught them to, but I have always found as many ways as I can for them to fly like a bumblebee.
So, when I was a kid, I was wrong...and yet I was right. There are more differences than can be expressed with crayons, but we are all the same. We are all people. We are all imperfect. We each have our battles. Not everyone has a medical battle, but we all have our battles. We just have to remember that we are ALL like bumblebees.
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