Conquering Challenge with an Index Card

In my first  semester of graduate school my professor was quick to tell us that there is no such thing as being just a teacher!   The lessons we teach reach far beyond the classroom.  This lesson changed my life! 

The 7th grade was a year of unforgettable memories.  The ice cream socials, the science fair, choir practice, and the spring spent in neon pick casts after extensive surgery on my lower extremities. I knew that surgery was a solution to the tightness of my hamstrings caused by cerebral palsy. However, the process takes a physical and emotional toll on an individual.  As I tried to fight the nervousness, my temperature reached a boiling 101 degrees.  The heat of the moment gave me the chance to realize that that the enthusiasm to overcome obstacles is entirely up to us. 

I don’t remember much of going into the operating room; it is the recovery that sticks in my mind like bubble gum stuck to the bottom of a shoe. I spent a week in the hospital where the only separation between the next patient and me was a thin white curtain. The noises from her room echoed as if I were standing in a large empty house listening to her speak.  Mom lay beside me on a cot that was as hard as rock. The taste of slimy no sugar added apple sauce mixed with bitter white medicine was always present on my tongue. She eagerly crossed off the days on the calendar until we could leave the hospital and find comfort in sleeping in our own beds. I still had a long road ahead of me but the phrase “home sweet home” takes on new meaning when you are caring for your daughter.  It means even more to the daughter who didn’t quite realize how rigorous the operation would be.         

We finally made it home after what seemed like forever.  Our dining room was  tranfigured  into my living space with my bed and a television. The scent of fresh laundry detergent lingered as I held my blanket close. After all, I couldn’t walk anywhere, especially upstairs.  I began to work with a physical therapist almost immediately, as it was extremely important that I gain mobility. Otherwise, the operation would’ve been useless. To complicate the situation , we would be moving to North Carolina at the end of June.

 I remember the first time I tried to walk in the kitchen with the assistance of my walker. Unfortunately, one of the wheels became stuck in a groove in the tile, and I landed straight on my bottom.     Then there was that beautiful spring day when I was once again strong enough to go watch my sister play soccer. I was her biggest fan. It made me even more proud to make it to my favorite restaurant for mint chocolate chip ice cream and peanut butter cups until an old woman looked at me and said, “She’s much too young to need a walker.”       

 I was red in the face as I rushed to the door. I had worked endlessly to gain the physical strength and confidence to leave home. As far as everyone besides the old lady was concerned, I was moving like the motor of a new car. Soon the casts would come off and there would be no more digging inside them to scratch an itch with a pencil eraser.

As time passed, I felt comfortable enough to walk on my cast. I bragged to family and friends that I would be the new and improved walking Julie when the casts came off. Smiles and laugher surrounded me as I celebrated success with loved ones. I entered the hospital with excitement rather than with the nervousness that had caused my fever on the day of surgery. I would be able to walk “normally.” That’s what I thought, anyway, until I took my first awkward step onto the parking lot pavement. My leg was numb and stiff; it hurt to move again even after all the improvement that I had made.   I thought it could not get worse, but it did.

I had just finished a short walk down the sidewalk with my physical therapist.    However; short doesn’t always mean simple.   It takes determination to move when you’re that weak.    There was always the constant reminder to pick up my feet. My reward for a job well done was the feeling of happiness that consumed me. I was scheduled to return to school the next day. The joy of being a student is what I missed most, and that was truly the only thing I wanted. I sat patiently on the stairs as my therapist discussed my session with my mom, and toward the end of the conversation, we all spoke of my eagerness to return to school. However, my PT questioned as to whether I had tried to put a sneaker on my foot. This was a thought that hadn’t crossed my mind. Nonetheless, Mom went to get me a pair of tennis shoes.  I took the shoe from her and clutched my ankle as I always do, guiding my foot in the downward motion. It was like pulling teeth. I began to cry, and giving me a hug, she took the shoe back from me thinking that if she loosened the laces, it might be easier. So, I wiped the tears from my eyes and started again.   This time tears fell like rain from the sky. I managed to walk upstairs gripping the railing as if it was going to become detached from the wall. I wailed for an hour, and then just laid on my bedroom floor in silence.         

My thoughts weren’t directed toward anyone in my family, but rather toward my middle school principal who had always talked about setting goals and creating high expectations for ourselves as individuals. I distinctly remembered him sharing his personal success of writing down goals. In fact, to this day I still recall him pulling out an index card from his pocket and reciting his goals to us as young 7^th graders. So, I pulled an index card from my desk and wrote my first goal in gigantic letters. SMILE!  If I could do that, then certainly the rest of my journey would be easy. I won’t let my challenges defeat me, but instead I will defeat them.