The Choice

I had a choice. To save my life or to die a slow, disfiguring death. I faced the world looking down. A mass of collapsed bones compressing my heart and lungs. I stood against the wall in my undergarments, red faced, and exposed. A room full of medical specialists examined my spine with their hands. Questioned repeatedly to figure out if I was in pain, I refused to answer. I felt nothing. I was numb. My mind, a refuge.

Going forward I planned to stay numb to survive an uncertain future. All other choices for survival, unacceptable. I needed to remain in control. One week, my frame was sturdy and strong. The next week, my vertebrae piled on themselves from top to bottom. Wedge shaped and disfigured, my growth spurt resulted in calamity. My heart was skipping beats, and my lungs had difficulty expanding.

Designing a custom-built external fixation device was complicated. The engineer scratched at a bald spot into the crown of his head while filling two whiteboards with complex equations. He remarked repeatedly that this needed to be right, that each level of my spine went into an opposite direction. His task was to realign a deformity severe enough to warrant surgery. A surgery that had too high a failure rate. The goal was to expand my chest cavity to allow my organs to work normally. I wanted to see the world facing upright.

In a matter of weeks, I returned to school. Fitted with something tantamount to a fiberglass corset, it covered from hip to breast. Leading from the top, two large metal rods designed to push into my chest. They concluded by going up and around both shoulders, and down the back. At the nape of my neck, a twisting lock. Above the small of my back, two Velcro straps. Overwhelmed by this, I spoke only when absolutely required, I nestled all feelings into a deep recess inside my mind. Attempts to cover it with clothing, a wasted effort. Taunted and teased, my friends began to disappear one by one.

I found solace in my first school crush. An olive-skinned athlete with thick, deep brown hair. Staring at him in class, I imagined a world where we would be a couple, holding hands, walking down the hall. Catching my stares, he glared back with disdain. Even still, this break from my world felt calming, reassuring, and euphoric. My imagination, an oasis.

Serendipity paired us together for a class assignment. My crush stopped glaring and became intrigued. He summoned the courage to ask questions. I summoned the courage to respond. Anticipating mockery and rudeness, I found acceptance. Paired for additional class assignments, a comradery developed. When I was with him, somehow, the need to put myself out there came with ease. The days we ran into each other, electric. I would daydream about a closer relationship. I told this to no one. I kept this wish inside.

One day he was standing in front of my locker. He asked if I wanted to go to a movie. Time slowed down. I looked around. I imagined us with demonstrations of affection, holding hands, being in a relationship, going out on dates. That image interrupted by an accidental push. The student whose locker was next to mine, inadvertently hit me with the door. The impact of the metal against the fiberglass propelled me backwards, pushing me to the ground. I heard laughter, I felt pain. Physical pain. Emotional pain. Reverberating over and over.

Graciously helping me up, my crush inquired again. He wanted to go to a movie. I shook my head no. I retreated to the oasis inside my mind. Far too vulnerable to move past the fear. Far too vulnerable to embrace change, to embrace the possibilities. The smile on his face transformed to confusion. I wanted to tell him why, but the words would not come out. Closing my locker door, I walked away. Head down, holding back a flood of tears, I let go of love. It felt so much safer, easier, less complicated to live in the dream, than to face reality.

In hindsight, I wonder what would have happened if I said yes. If I had taken the journey down a road most of us would travel. If I had explored the connection. Would this simply be a detour in that road, or a thoroughfare, to a life far greater than my imagination. I will never know.