At the turn of my eighteenth birthday, seven months ago today, I started the journey into becoming a fully blossomed adult. That hormone-driven teenager started to disappear and a balanced, confident young lady began to emerge. I had newly found confidence where I felt more comfortable talking to strangers more than ever. I had more courage to ask people for things (whether it be convincing my AP Biology teacher to move my grade up at the end of a semester or asking my opa if I can borrow a car for a weekend trip), and to not be shy at the cash register at WalMart. I even walked differently, sanguinely, if you will.
But despite all of this, tragedy struck my life two days before New Year's Eve. An injury to the arch of my foot in which the heel of a stiletto had pierced through about 1/2 inch. A crescent shaped gash. Extreme agony at the ER with four numbing needles, then four stitches. After the numbing wore off, exposure to air felt like getting stabbed all over again. Sleeping was even difficult, trying not to move my foot the wrong way. I only had one week of rehabilitation until I'd have to return to school. I don't remember much of the rest of Christmas Break, but then going to school became my newest trial.
On January 6th, my mom drove me to school with a knee scooter loaded in the back of the car. I couldn't imagine anything more humiliating. Doctor said I'd have to stay on it for 2-3 weeks. Scooting down the halls was one difficulty all on its own. I could feel my confidence diminishing with every push off the floor. People first stared at me, then down at my wheels, and kept staring until I veered away. Then at home in the afternoon, hopping around the house, crawling up the stairs, standing on one foot in the shower. All of them piled up, and I didn't know how I could keep going on with the life of a girl with two whole feet. It all felt pretentious, acting like this wasn't interrupting nearly every aspect of my life. My sense of normality was overthrown and all I could do was go to school, go home, do homework, go to sleep, repeat.
Three weeks passed. The night before I prayed that my foot would heal enough to stomach walking on it. Next day arrived. I was wrong. Crawled up the stairs, hopped to the car, and went to school again. Another week passes, and I'm still incapable of putting even a little weight on it. My physical therapy appointments seemed to be encouraging healing, but at a tediously slow pace. A pace in which there was no pacing at all. Another month passes, my two month anniversary to the day- March 29th. Two months I'd been riding that scooter everywhere I went. At 3:35, almost the exact time my accident happened I was standing in front of the stove, resting my severely bruised knee on the semi-padded scooter. Lifting it gently off, I let my toes touch the kitchen floor. Then the balls of my foot. I'd practiced doing this several times, but never farther with the nerves firing up my leg. Apparently the wound was healed, all except for my neural systems where the trauma hadn't much subsided. Ghost pain- It wasn't real. This fact bothered me. "It was all in my head", they'd say. I'd always wanted to say to them, "Well, yeah but it feels as real as getting your foot shot with a .45!" Stubbornness and determination led me to keep setting my foot down. I got the side of my foot, and then finally my heel, but just barely. I took a limp step. Then another. Then I was out of the kitchen, into the hall, and into my parents' room where my mom was sitting on the bed. When I reached the doorway she looked up at me. "I walked in here," I said. She beamed, and then I leaned against the side of the bed for support, but without lifting my foot. "It really hurts" "So get off of it." "No, it's good for it, it'll make it easier." Three days later I was finally able to go to school without my scooter.
Now over a month after my 'recovery', it still hurts to walk, but that pain pales in comparison to what it used to be. My friend Amber taught me to use my injury as an advantage when it came to boys. Amy taught me that even with all our problems, a quick solution may seem optimal, but a friend can be the most important thing we need. My mom taught me that chocolate always makes everything better and a run to the store is only one suggestion away. My dad taught me that mortality is temporary. This experience taught me strength and courage to overcome strains of confidence, keep your head held high. Don't look down when you walk, look forward to the future.
