Far From FDR

Lately, I’ve been worrying a lot about my identity. So much is changing at what feels like breakneck speed. My body in particular is alien to me. I swing between thinking I am an ALS research guinea pig, a robot incorporating new mechanisms to extend the life of what is clearly a junker, or, most recently, a plain old invalid.

My sister is not OK with this.


Me: Am I an invalid?

Laura: Rachel, what are you talking about? They haven’t had invalids since FDR. Besides, I don’t we are supposed to use that word anymore.

Me: Oh… then what am I?

Laura: What you’ve always been. You’re a woman with pursuits.


It was pretty unexpected, a little Victorian, and a lot perfect. I remembered then that I’m more than braces, machines,  and physical therapy exercises. Maybe I’m not exactly what I’ve always been like Laura said, but I’m also not less than I was. And as far as pursuits go, I still chase dreams. Now, though, I’m racing after them in a 400 lb vehicle… I like my chances.

 

 

 


Disclaimer: No offense intended towards FDR, who, according to my grandma, totally rocked.


 

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