Digging Deep

I sent out my fundraising letter today, and I was not ready for what followed. What followed, was an influx of emails from people I wasn't expecting to hear from personally, telling me how touched they were by my story  and thankful that I shared it with them.  

It was such a sentimental moment for me, I was pretty bummed that my day at work was distractingly hectic, and that I wasn't able to sit and reflect at the time.

But now I have some quiet time....

The story  I talk about in my letter was such a pivotal, life-altering experience for me; and the fact that it all happened when I was 10 added a unique twist to it all.  I can honestly say I feel forever changed, and forever different from most, as a result.  

When you're 10, you aren't supposed to be thinking-every single waking moment--about how lucky people are to be able to walk, how many take for granted a gift that they don't realize they even have, and how easily it can all be taken away.  

But I was.  I was thinking about that, and more, at age 10. 

I remember wondering, in the recovery room of the hospital, if any of my friends had been hurt in the accident and if they were ok.  I remember hoping my friend Region hadn't gotten hurt because his family didn't have a lot of money (his dad was a carpenter for our neighbor) and they wouldn't have been able to afford the hospital bills. 

I remember sitting in the wheelchair after physical therapy every morning, waiting for my car to pick me up.  And instead of looking at the faces of passers-by, I would watch their feet, and how they moved and glided effortlessly across the pavement, so unlike my own at the time.  

I remember at physical therapy, I had a crush on this guy who was really into Stephen King.  I pretended to be fond of his books as well, so that I could have an excuse to talk to him and borrow his books that I never read. His name was Mike and he was there because he had polio. 

I remember how one of my doctors was also a celebrity singer in Manila, Nonoy Zuniga. He had a crush on my mom, and found excuses every now and then to come to the house for a "doctor's visit". 

 

I remember, before I was strong enough for crutches, making my way down the stairs in my two story house on my butt, step by step. Or, if my dad was over visiting (my parents were divorced by then), he would carry me up and down the stairs.  

I remember needing help in the shower to bathe. I would sit on a stool while the maid or one of my parents bathed me.  I spent a lot of time on my butt at home, that's how I got around, pulling myself around the house with the help of my arms,  backwards on my butt.  What a sophisticated floor mop we had then! 

I remember being home schooled right after the accident so that I wouldn't fall behind a whole year. It was right after new years, and there were three months left in that school year.  The school had agreed to send a teacher over.  I don't remember how often she came, but I think I was subject to the same homework and tests that everyone else was.

I remember how ugly my leg had looked, with all the gouges and the skin graft, and the scars, and wondering who would ever find me attractive after the damage to my leg.  

I remember covering my leg up with an ace wrap long after it was needed for support, simply because I was embarrassed of how my leg looked. 

I remember going back to school in June, when I was strong enough to be on crutches, and how everyone stared as I made my way down the halls. It was as if no one had ever seen anyone on crutches before.  And slowly after came the teasing and the rude remarks about how ugly my leg looked. 

And the most vivid memory I have, is the day I was able to move my toes.I was acutely aware of God's presence, of life and how miracles happen, and how they could very easily not happen.  I later on thought to myself that since I had probably gotten my "one miracle allotment", that I ought to be careful not to put myself in a situation where I would need another one!

And here I am, all signed up for Mt. Hood!

I remember  my last day at Physical therapy: there was a sort of farewell party for me, and I remember feeling sad that more than likely, Mike would never have one, that he would have to keep going for a really long time, because Polio is not something you can outgrow.  Though I kept hoping that Mike would get a miracle just like me, and that someday he might find himself walking again. 

I don't know whatever happened to Mike, and if he ever got that miracle. 

This climb is for Mike, and everyone else out there who might not have a chance, a privilege, to climb a mountain.  This climb is in memory of my grandfather who died of lung disease. I will climb this mountain with my beloved dog Guss' tireless energy and enormous heart, as I will need both to see me through to the summit and back. 

It is truly a privilege, a gift, that I am able to walk everyday.  And I hope I do not live to see the day I forget this.