Think about the last time you got sick. Did anyone ridicule you for it? Did anyone sigh in exasperation that you were ill yet again?
I was in the NICU for the first three months of my life.
Through it all I had a little girl who needed me to make it better. Yet, I couldn’t. Despite countless professionals reassuring me that she would eventually be OK, she wasn’t.
I get it; a 400 lb. chunk of metal under my ass isn’t the sexiest thing, and my anatomy isn’t out of a Playboy magazine. But I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that it’s frustrating sometimes.
I don’t know how I think I can change a stereotype that has been around for always when I don’t know where I’m going next. But I won’t stop fighting it. Even if the fighting drags me into something I don’t want to be in. I don’t know why I hate the stereotype now that I once loved.
All the siblings of those with disabilities know what I mean.
Having a driver’s license is expected.