The Doctors Said I’d Never Walk Part 2

Yo guysss, what’s up?  A while back I shared part of my journey striving to obtain the ability to walk. Despite the doctors ruling that it was completely unattainable, encouraging and recommending to search for an adequate wheelchair.  Today, I will recount the remaining sector of my path to achieving walking independently.  If you already have not read my first one, here it is:   

 This next part I have a distinct recollection of.  I was presented with the dilemma of choosing between this pink cane, taking the shape of a tripod in which I undoubtedly despised or the foreboding, baleful option to walk completely independent.  I remember being in my parents room with the cane positioned in front of me.  I yearned for the continuation of the usage of my walker as it was familiar.  But to accomplish extraordinary achievements you have to inevitably venture into the unknown, straying away from comfort.  The vibrant pink colour was like a ploy, luring me in.  Yet to lug that around seemed unwieldy.  Then there was the choice with no g a stepsupport, daunting indeed.  I would have to balance purely on my own.  Quite a predicament I was entangled in.  Ultimately, upon brief deliberating, my little 4.5 year old mind settled on walking freely.  Screw that device.  An onerous feat awaited.

Carpet-that was the preliminary step.  Soft enough to not completely scar me, both physically and mentally.  Using two feet to keep me grounded without the addition of technology was disastrous.  I would apply the pressure to reach standing position just to come crashing down to the carpet.  Attempt proceeding attempt yielded the same ramification.  Tears would be streaming down my face.  My knees scratchy with the excessive contact with the carpet,  Oh lord my fate was sealed.  But resilience, me and my parents persisted.  Gradually, one foot was placed in front of another, marking the first step.  A little flame of hope flickered.  Now we knew it was possible.  One foot, the next foot, the first foot, and again the second.  One step transcended into several.

Hardwood floor- the secondary measure.  More dangerous but not extreme: baby steps.  My balance had unquestionably ameliorated. I managed to execute multiple strides at a time.  However, mastery stretched in the far distance.  My knees were bruised and throbbing.  What value was it only having the ability to wobble a few steps?  Once again hopelessness sank in, amassed to another level.  The fact that I was capable of walking but not to a beneficial extent stirred deep aggravation and exasperation.  Hours after hours progress became recognisable.  A respectable number of paces were achieved before collapsing.  The flame of hope surged.

The neighbourhood-the following undertaking.  A bit more perilous but reasonable.  Some houses, trip, and a fall.  That was the pattern set in motion.  My knees were battered in cuts.  My legs aching; they had been exposed to too much.  Traversing down a singular street in one stroke failed to occur.  More tears were shed.  Even though I was only 5 years of age, I didn’t fail to capture passerbys’ sneak one extra stare, instigating me to squirm and act oblivious.  Now I glare back with greater potency,  Once again, through utter determination, countless time and injuries, notable improvement was brought to light.  I was gleefully striding about.  The flame of hope bursted into a fire.  Of course my form was blemished and distorted.

However it’s the course of action that really defines success, not the product.  Some have it easier than others.  The doctors said I’d never walk.  And despite that harrowing statement, I implemented such perseverance and intrepidity.  I would like to thank my parents for their tenacity.  Although my technique of walking is abnormal, at least it suffices.  I’ve learned to disregard the disparaging remarks.  They lack the understanding of what I’ve been through.  And therefore don’t immediately resort to criticise someone prior to awareness the whole story <3

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