by Kris Ann Piazza
For a kid with spinal cord injury (SCI), fitting in isn’t often easy-even among other kids with SCI.
My heart thumped nervously as the electric slowly raised my wheelchair into the open doorway of the school bus. I pressed my fists into my lap to hide their trembling, believing that I would make more friends if I appeared confident than if I showed how much I needed someone to ease my loneliness. I desperately wanted the girls inside the bus-girls who used wheelchairs just like I did-to be my friends.
Breaking my neck at a friend’s pool party in seventh grade changed my life forever. Knowing I was never going to walk again was tough, but losing every friend I thought I could depend on was even harder. By the time middle school was over and high school started, I had gone from being popular and feeling cool to being alone and feeling like a total dork.
I was uncomfortable with my new body and being the only person who used a wheelchair at my new school, but I still made an effort to make friends. Most of the girls weren’t interested, but I never stopped trying. That’s why I thought the day that small school bus picked me up was so special. For the first time in a long while, was going to fit in and have friends!
To make the best impression possible, I had dressed carefully that morning. As the driver backed my wheelchair into the bus, I smoothed down my new sweater and put on my friendliest smile. The two girls inside the bus were staring at me with unfriendly faces, but I tried to not let it bother me. It took all of my courage to wave and say hello, but I did it. The terrible silence that followed created an all-too-familiar lump in my throat, so I cleared it quickly and tried again. “I’m so glad to meet you guys,” I whispered shyly. “I’m Kris Ann. What are your names?”
My heart broke when the girls looked back at me with disgust before I could say more. They talked about me as if I wasn’t there, said my clothes were lame and implied that I had brought a gross smell on the bus. Although their cruel words were painful, I refused to let them see me cry.
I blocked out the sound of their voices until I got home, and then I bawled like a baby. My mother comforted me and promised that someday—if I kept trying—things would get better.
My boyfriend and I met up with one of those girls again years later when I was a successful college student. She smiled broadly and said how great it was to see me again. I could only stare in amazement. Finally, I couldn’t keep quiet any longer and asked her why she was acting like we were old friends. She looked shocked when I confronted her with how her past cruelty had hurt me. I said how much her friendship would have meant to me back then and asked what I had done to make her dislike me.
She explained that she and the other girl had thought that I was probably going to be stuck up because I attended private school and they didn’t. She said the designer clothes I was wearing (the ones I had chosen with such care to impress them) had confirmed their suspicions, so they decided to take me down a peg or two.
I wanted her to feel some of the hurt that I felt all those years ago, but something stopped me from being spiteful. My mom had been right that day. I kept trying, and things did get better for me. I grew strong and learned how to make friends. I was happy. She seemed to have moved in the opposite direction. Her face had turned red with embarrassment when she apologized for her past behavior, and the tone of her voice told me that she was the lonely one now.
I felt sorry for her.
It’s easier to hide from the world than it is to take risks and be a part of it, but it’s also lonelier. Many people hurt my feelings after I injured my spinal cord, but I learned to forget about them and move on so I could try again. Life can get better after SCI. Sometimes it just takes time and lots of tries before we get to the place we want to be.
Never, ever stop trying.
Kris Ann Piazza, a former Ms. Wheelchair New York, is a writer, motivational speaker, and medical editor from Buffalo.
