The last thing I added was the chart of my wheelchair/cane/crutches use. That chart has haunted me since I made it; it was hard to really see how fast my legs had declined to the point that my wheelchair had taken over and my cane was now nowhere to be seen. In my last post, I had written that I have accepted my chair as my current first choice, the mode of transportation I want most.
The decline still hurts, though.
But something recently made it better.
This was my fourth year participating in San Lorenzo's Relay For Life and every past year, I have upped my distance by at least one mile. The week before, I had to admit (and accept) that likely wasn't going to happen this time. At the end of the 24 hours, I had gone 16 miles; one mile less than my first year, and all but three was with Saber. Using my crutches was usually a moment for me stretch out my body or, in the middle of the night, a gamble on what hurt less.
As I rolled through that last lap trying to use as little of my left hand as possible (I had at least three new sensitive calluses on that hand), it settled on me how much Saber had accompanied me throughout the Relay and how little desire I had to use my crutches.
Mostly, I smiled in realizing I had almost made the same miles as my first year, which were all on foot (or in a wagon..). I was equal to my years-ago self.
There's this stigma that falling into the "disabled" category makes you less than able, pushed on by the label itself.... even when you're living through it and pushing to prove all the things you can still do, it's hard to let that go. It's why I've spent so much time trying to stay on my feet. It's why it's been hard to accept this new world that I'm in. It's why the stubborn side of me trying to hold onto the past kept winning out for so long. And now I have proof right in front of me; I move differently, but I'm still able to match, well... me.
That moment when you have no choice but to admit that you're still you, no matter what changes you've gone through; big or small.
