Posts Tagged ‘spinabifida’

What would she be like?

September 3, 2011

What would she be like? The girl born on the twenty-third of the third month of the year that is the year I was born.

 Do her legs slot into drain pipe jeans with shape and dignity?

Do her feet melt into high heels?

 Is her back as smooth as a back should be?

Maybe her skin is marked with the time people tried to repair her; maybe not.

Would her life be all that different? I’m not sure how deep the damage goes. Maybe her favourite colour would be purple and she would enjoy the smell of rain.

She’d be a dancer, one that trains for hours on end, although I’m not sure that she would pursue it. You see, she always excelled in math and English, perhaps a degree in English literature in Edinburgh or maybe she would become a business women, in a black pencil skirt and jacket with killer high heels to match.

She would settle down early but keep her head above water in the business department. A wedding dress down to her ankles, showing off simple white heels, decorated with lace.  Her children would be healthy and she would run with them as they battled each other in a game of cowboys and Indians. She would be a cow girl. She would work abroad and eventually move there for several months however she’d return to be with her family.

Later on in life she would retire, spend years with friends going to fitness classes and wasting time at spas in dressing gowns. Her children would grow into musicians who speak at least two different languages. They’d be successful at work and take their parents to dinner to celebrate birthdays.

Eventually she would grow old with her husband and whilst putting out the rubbish they would wonder how it got so good.

She’d look back at her life; the parties, the shoes, the work and she’d be proud.

The truth is, she would probably hate her freckley skin and straighten her hair to cover the curls. She would regret not going onto become a professional dancer.

Her friend would give birth in Holland to a girl with a ‘defect’ and she would write a ‘thinking of you’ card enclosed with the ‘Congratulations’ card. She wouldn’t know what to say to her so simply write “To Ben and Caroline, Love Amy and the family”. The scar on the inside of her foot, where she trod on glass as a child would bother her, she would use bio oil to cover the pink patch and would wear shoes to cover the unholy blemish. She would have gone to hospital on many occasions, her birth, her child’s birth, her second child’s birth and her husband’s death. On top of these would be the odd visits to a relative or friend, she would skip the canteen for fear of hospital food and leave.

She’s a good person, a nice person. She cares for others and many care for her. She gives to charities and is a shoulder to cry on. She’s different to me. We’re not really the same person at all.

I wonder if we had the chance to cross one another in the street, who would stare at who? The jealous or the curious; which is better?

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Wheelchair raving and lumps in the road.

October 20, 2009

Inside I'm DancingThis year is officially the year of the eighteenths…so many of my friends are having wild parties, fancy dress, formal, Hawaiian, you name it, I’ve now got the costume.  So last weekend was no different, I went from one birthday meal (Nandos, which by the way do amazing veggie burgers, seriously, who knew?!) to a birthday party at the local rugby club. We all had a great time; I caught up with some friends I hadn’t spoken to in a while. Not many people were dancing when I got there so I grabbed one of my friends Mams and started the dance craze. That’s the great thing about being in a wheelchair, when you start dancing, people tend to feel that they should join in! It reminds me of a scene from one of my favourite films “Inside I’m Dancing” in which Rory and Michael go to a nightclub and Rory starts to dance. Now, before I get asked, yes, I’m a terrible dancer, I make Ricky Gervais look like Michael Jackson. There I said it, it is something I have to face up to, I’m an awful dancer HOWEVER I was the first person in a wheelchair to pass/take dance GCSE, oh yeah, check out my alloys.

After sweating off my Nandos meal in what can only be described as incoherent, completely sober and slightly deranged raving I went and sat in the bar with my orange juice (I was driving!) I was bent over across the table (sat in my chair) when one of my friends asked me quietly “What’s that?” whilst pointing at my lump on my back, which shows through my clothes like a great big bulge. I asked “What?” and he pointed again so I said “Oh, that’s my lump.”

“Why do you have a lump Ali?” he asked and for some reason I didn’t give him an answer, I distracted myself with another conversation, I was in a party spirit, I didn’t want to talk about how my nerves, bone and fat have mangled into a stupid ball at the bottom of my spine which makes clothes shopping unbearable. I felt bad after, I haven’t spoken to him about it since, it hasn’t come up but I can’t help wandering “why didn’t I just tell him?” and I think I know: It’s the part of my body I can’t cover up, it’s behind me so I pretend it isn’t there, I haven’t accepted it myself yet because I hide it therefore I don’t expect other people to understand it. Feel free to say what you think.

I went clothes shopping today and every time I tried a dress on I turned sideways and saw how my lump looked in it, fat and ugly I thought. I can’t wear pleats because they bunch up when I’m sat down, I can’t where puffy dresses for the same reason, I don’t like to show off my weak legs, I can’t wear drainpipe jeans because of my splints and now I’m obsessed with how my back looks…my back?! Bloomin’ heck, I need a personal shopper now!

Ali x

P.S. I’ve got a fancy dress party to attend next week, any ideas would be great, shopping for normal clothes is a big enough task, a fancy dress one…? ARGH!