Fifteen years ago today, I was lying in a hospital bed, feeling angry, sad and completely alone. At just 10 years old, I was in the throes of recovering from my third surgery, a “minor” orthopedic procedure on my cerebral palsy-affected foot.
But in all honesty, nothing about this surgery, which required me to use a wheelchair for six weeks and involved a few months of recovery, felt minor to me.
The lack of control I felt, both over my body and over my circumstances, was overwhelming. I’d spent days trying to make my family forget about the surgery (or at least convince them to push it back so I’d still be able to walk on Thanksgiving).
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