Two Feet

These past few weeks have given me a new appreciation for something we all take for granted: two working feet. Many have shared experiences of a broken leg or time in a cast, but I thought I would share how my perspective has changed during this time.

There are many facets to this injury. Something I cannot escape from is a thought of what I would've done had I been Nicaraguan. I had the opportunity to easily seek medical attention from the best doctors within the country, then be flown out to the U.S. But what does a tendon repair look like for a Nicaraguan citizen?

In every aspect of my life privilege creeps in. This is a prime example of the privilege I had as a U.S. citizen and government worker. I know that my Nicaraguan counterparts would have maybe suffered through pain their whole lives, without resolving the issue. Or maybe they would have had countless surgeries, without any real fix. Or maybe this injury would have costed them the ability to walk on two feet, having to use a crutch to get around, being labeled a cripple in a country that has little to no handicapped accessible buildings. I know this because my original diagnosis from a Nicaraguan doctor in the health center was that my foot was completely fine when it was clearly not.

But I am an American. I work for a government agency that covers my healthcare costs. And I have access to a healthcare system in which the doctors have studied for more than 10 years in order to give quality care, in comparison to the 3-4 years of study Nicaraguan doctors have. I am privileged in this world.

However, that is not the only thing that makes me privileged. I have spent time in a wheelchair and considerable time on crutches. The loss of two walking feet has taken a toll on my physical and mental health. When you can't do something as simple as carry a glass of water, it becomes difficult to preserve a level of independence.

While in a wheelchair I felt even more helpless. First of all, everyone looks above you. It is literally degrading to be invisible because you are stuck at a different eye level than everyone else. During the hours that I spent in a wheelchair, I felt helpless, forgotten, and frustrated that the only way to make people pay attention to me would be to make noise.

So I got better at moving about on my own. I improved at wheeling my own chair. But there's a funny thing about a wheelchair, you still can't open your own door or step off of a curb. Even that little sliver of independence is limited. I depended on someone else to get me from point A to point B mostly, because I knew there would be some obstacle in my way.

And I have started to judge people based upon if they help me or not. Some cannot be bothered to open a door or pick something up off the ground that fell from your hands. I struggle to do the basics, like stand supported on my crutches while cooking or walking up the stairs. Of course there are others who offer their help in any situation. But even that can sometimes be frustrating because no matter how much people say they're sorry about what happened to you, it doesn't change what happened. The world is frustrating place when you cannot take control of your own situation.

Yet once again I have privilege. I have crutches, I can get out of my chair if I need to whereas some cannot. And my situation is (hopefully) only temporary. It is recovery, not my whole life. In these past few weeks I have felt frustration, anger, self-pity, and sadness. I try to laugh instead of cry, but the truth is that it's not an easy situation to be in.

I guess the point of these thoughts is that the next time I see someone in a wheelchair or on crutches, I will not pity them as it will not make their situation any better. I will look them in the eyes and see them instead of looking above. And I will be as helpful as I can because the world we live in is not friendly to those who cannot stand on their own two feet.