I’m part Native American; mostly Blackfeet, but also part Athabaskan. Lately I’ve been trying to connect more with my culture, and there were some YouTube videos of Blackfeet dancers doing fancy dancing (which is what I always wanted to do). So, I watched them, and tried to emulate them. What I didn’t realize was how hard the footwork actually is. It’s so hard that instead of landing on my foot the right way, I landed on it sideways with my full weight, and it rolled under me. What happened next is the lovely picture you see above. I almost laughed when my mom asked me, after I told her I had tried dancing, if I had tried fancy dancing. I guess that is the style that engenders the most risk.

The doctor gave me a walking boot, and I had to buy crutches, but I can’t put weight on the front part of my foot – which sucks, because I put the most weight on the balls of my feet. It’s funny how something isn’t that big of a deal until it happens to you. I’ve seen friends and family members struggle with foot injuries before, and while I did everything to help them at the time, it didn’t occur to me how difficult getting around like this actually is. I’m overweight, which helps absolutely nothing, and I’m having a lot of pain in my right foot from the strain of putting almost all of my weight on it. And I had problems with my feet before this happened.

It’s not just walking that’s hard. The narcotics make me exhausted, so movement in general is really difficult. Usually if I sit down for more than five minutes, I fall asleep. Bathing is dangerous and hard. I didn’t get a real shower all week, until my dad was able to come up and give me a shower seat and install an extendable shower head. I’m getting better at getting dressed, but self-care in general is hard. When you rely on crutches, doing anything requiring two hands while standing up (e.g. laundry, dishes) is almost impossible. And I struggle with depression and anxiety, which makes it worse.

As if all this wasn’t bad enough, I’m in graduate school, taking 16 credits, most of them quantitative. Math is not my strong suit, and I knew this quarter was going to be the hardest for me. But now it’s so much worse because I don’t have the energy or focus to pay attention in class or do my homework well. Midterms are coming up, too, and I’ve already missed a lot of class because of this. I feel somewhat doomed.

Blah, blah. OK, yeah. It sucks right now, boo hoo. It sounds like I’m throwing myself a little pity party, but the thing is, I know it’s not permanent. I know that my struggles getting doors open, crutching myself to school with my backpack on, keeping myself awake and focused – it’s all temporary. I’ll probably heal in four to six weeks and then I can do some physical therapy and forget this ever happened.

But I’ll never forget how it felt to feel helpless. I’m scared to go out at night, even just from my car to my house, because I’m afraid someone is going to see me defenseless and try to take advantage of it. The bathtub terrifies me, because I know it just takes one wrong move, one tiny slip for me to end up back in the hospital and requiring surgery, prolonging my stay in a boot and on crutches.

Maybe it’s just the anxiety talking. Something I did notice was how much red tape you have to go through just to get a disability parking pass. You have to go see a doctor, have them fill out some forms, and then get yourself to a DMV to submit the forms. Which, for someone who has no trouble walking, would not be an issue. But if you think that people have to make appointments with their doctors before they can get the pass, which can take a few days to a few weeks, that means a lot of time spent crutching or wheeling around, parking in the places people with no disabilities have to park – like at the back of the parking lot at school when there’s nowhere else to park. You have to get forms sent over from the hospital to the doctor, which can be red tape on its own. And then getting to the DMV is a problem because of the same parking trouble.

It took me four hours to get my parking pass from the state and from the school, and it was only because I was able to take the day off school and get myself to a walk-in clinic. But I know it’s taken other people with worse disabilities, less accessibility, and less flexibility in their schedule way longer. Add in the fact that I’m fortunate enough to even own a car, and am able to get myself the places I need to go by myself – some people with disabilities don’t even have that much.

One of the things that really sucks about this is that I can’t grocery shop anymore. And I love grocery shopping. But can I complain about Fred Meyer’s ClickList for a second? Their search feature is awful. You can type in the same product word-for-word, but you still can’t find it unless you look up the brand and scroll through every product in that brand before you find it. I had to call to make sure they had a shower seat – and I had to ask the store associate what brand it was. And you know what? It still wasn’t the same product. Here, you try it. Type in “rubber bath mat” on the search feature and see what you find. Nothing! It’s supposed to make it easier for folks with disabilities, but it’s actually still really difficult.

But enough about that. You know what else I learned? People can be so beautiful. For every door that doesn’t have a button to make it open on its own, for every building without an elevator, there’s someone who’s willing to lend a helping hand. My roommate has been very helpful, my parents have been supportive and helpful, and a close friend of mine and her boyfriend helped get me to the emergency room and got my medication and crutches for me the night I got hurt. There’s a woman at a book group I go to that has an autoimmune disease and has trouble walking that got me hot water to drink the night I walked in on crutches. That was an eye-opener for me. I don’t feel invisible, as many people with disabilities have said. And I know I’m very fortunate in that way.

But there are a lot of people who don’t notice when I’m struggling with something, or who don’t care to help when they see that I am. I’ve seen those same people walk right by someone who’s struggling to open a door. I’m ashamed to say that I’ve been one of those people at one time or another, either out of complete unawareness of what’s happening or selfish distraction with my own life and thoughts.

I hope I’ll never think that way again, though. I won’t lie – breaking your foot sucks. I get really down sometimes, and have to call my mom so she can give me perspective on the situation and tell me I have to keep my spirits high. It’s getting easier. Walking around on crutches is easier, and I’m getting better at cleaning up after myself. I don’t even need the pain medication as much, which is good, because I’m running out.

I feel like a “cheater” because this is all temporary. I hope after reading this you know that I know I don’t have a disability – just a bad injury. But I’ve dipped my toe in (so to speak) the world of those with disabilities, and I feel that I have more awareness and empathy now. I wish it hadn’t taken me getting an injury to see that, but sometimes you really don’t know until it happens to you.

I’m going to heal. My body will be stronger for this. But I’ll never forget having my eyes opened in this way. I hope, in reading this, I may have opened your eyes, too.