Emerging From Illness: Essays from 1997

In 1997, I was just beginning to recover from an extended period of illness that caused me to be disabled and relatively inactive for about six years. It was a scary time of new beginnings and getting reacquainted with regular life, learning how to be an adult in a world that I last knew well as a 17 year old. Yikes...

But, I did well and have come a long way since then. These are two stories that I wrote during that initial period of recovery.

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Regaining Visibility
(Written in April 1997)

Long ago, I knew most of my neighbors by sight and many by name. I babysat for anyone who had little kids when I was in junior high and high school. Other houses contained kids my age who I knew from school or other activities. I was often out walking with my dog or picking dandelions or riding a bike, so I was a familiar sight to my neighbors.

And then, I got sick and I became invisible. When I left the house, it was usually during the day when everyone was at work or school. If they saw me on the weekend, it was only when I popped my head out the front door to check for mail. Neighbors moved and kids grew up. My neighborhood and its inhabitants became a mystery to me.

Finally, spring of 1997 was approaching. Concerns about deconditioning prompted much discussion among my health care team about increasing my activity. Everyone was in agreement. I could start walking as soon as the weather cooperated.

I knew the obvious benefits of walking -- the fresh air and exercise. But, strangely, it had not occurred to me prior to my first walk that I would again become visible. Kids were playing basketball and street hockey, rollerblading and riding bikes. People were gardening and landscaping in their front yards and washing cars and windows. Dogs were barking. And there I was in the middle of everything, one of them again. I waved and smiled at the people, saying "Hi" to some. I dodged basketballs and water from hoses, and I barked back at the dogs.

On one of my walks, a woman was outside with her twins. As soon as I was in their line of sight, the youngsters said to their Mom, "Who is that?" Their Mom replied, "Somebody walking." That was me! I was "somebody walking." I grinned and waved at them. As I continued, I could hear the little girls asking, "Why is she walking? Where is she going?" Delightfully curious girls. I'm always a bit disappointed when I go by their house now and they aren't outside.

Less than month into my new walking regimen, I walk almost every day. It's not always because I particularly feel like walking or think about the benefits of the exercise, but because it's fun and important to be part of my neighborhood again. I've seen some people more than once, and if they remember nothing else about me, they probably recognize my bright pink fanny pack with a water bottle in it. Maybe someone has already thought, "There goes that girl with the pink fanny pack again. I've seen her a lot lately." Wouldn't that be wonderful?!!

On This Date in History…
(Written in September 1997)

I suppose we all have days that are so embedded in our memories that we cannot forget them. Sometimes, a day is memorable because an event of some sort happened. Sometimes, a day is memorable because something didn't happen.

September 3, 1991 is one of those days for me. In a way, I had been looking forward to that day for as long as I can remember. It was to be my first day of college. It was to be the beginning of independence, freedom, adulthood. But, in fact, it was not to be. I had been sick for several months by the time September 3rd came. On that day, I was at home, having made a wholehearted attempt to go away to school as planned, but having been much too sick to stay there. Freshman year began without me.

Many Septembers have come and gone since then. By September of 1995, most of my friends from high school were college graduates, pursuing careers or graduate studies. I had made some progress with my education, but not enough to even be a sophomore at that time. I had fallen far behind my peers.

1997 has proven to be the year when everything started to turn around. And, I'd made a promise to myself that as soon as my health was stable, I would return to school. 1997 has brought fairly steady improvement with only a few steps backwards. I applied to a local university in July and was accepted in August. Registration, book buying, fighting to get into a math class, meeting with the disability office, and finding my way around campus consumed several late-summer days.

And, on September 3, 1997, school began. (There's that date again.) It was a bittersweet day. I was happy to be back in school, and hopeful that this is the beginning of continuous college enrollment until I graduate. But, I could not help but feel sad that so much time has passed, and that I'm still a freshman at 23 years old. I also know I have a long road ahead of me towards independence, improved stamina, and the college degree that I've wanted for so many years.

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