This is it. This is how I walk. This is my walk—the gait pattern that causes attention to be drawn to my legs, the walk that alerts others to my differences, the walk that is why I am called “crippled”. And gosh, I try to own the way I walk. I can’t control it. There is nothing I can do but accept the way I walk, in the same way I hope for others to accept me.
I’ll be honest—when I see myself walking, reflected in a mirror or door, I don’t recognize myself. That girl walking in the mirror looks like she hurt herself badly. It looks like she’s walking on broken glass. It looks like she’s about to trip at any second, or that her knees are going to smash together and interrupt the stride of the other leg. And yes, that happens.
But by now, the way I walk is so normal (for lack of a better term) to me that when I see myself walk, I am shocked. I am taken aback at how painful my walking looks. I go through that pain every day, and the constant turning in of my left foot does cause some breakdown of my hip, and I experience that. I just usually forget how my walking looks. And then I remember how different I am.
I have walked the same way for about thirteen years now (I learned to walk when I was two and a half). My gait pattern basically goes like this: due to the spasticity of my hamstrings—especially the left—my left foot turns in. My right foot lifts and turns so I’m walking on the side of my right foot. My right knee bends toward the left leg, so close that my right knee almost touches the top of my left hamstring. My left foot is rotated inward, so it cuts under the right foot and causes me to fall down.
The way I walk feels more awkward on some days more than others. It looks— well, it looks obvious. The way my walking looks is not as important to me as the long-term effect on my body. Right now, my left hip is not dislocated, but it is very slowly loosening from the socket. The way I walk has caused me to have chronic pain—mostly in my left hip—for six years now.
But the way I walk doesn’t have to be painful.
I am a week and two days away from surgery. Surgery is the logical next step toward helping my chronic pain. In the long-term, hopefully the surgery will improve my mobility. My spasticity does cause some wear-and-tear on my joints and muscles, but the surgery will shift the positions of my bones so that I will walk differently. I hope that the difference in gait pattern will take some pressure off.
The surgery is called a derotational femoral osteotomy. The surgeon will cut into my left hip to access the femur and rotate it because my femur is rotated the wrong way. (Not only do my bones grow, but because I have cerebral palsy, my bones rotate as they grow.)
The surgeon also plans to lengthen my abductors and hamstrings. The lengthening of the abductors will pull my legs apart so the right leg doesn’t hit the left leg as I walk. The left leg shouldn’t turn inward as much because the abductors wouldn’t be as contracted. Contracture means that the muscle shortens, which should be avoided if my abductors are lengthened.
Because my left foot will (hopefully) face the right way after surgery, my left hip will be straightened, and the theory is that my chronic hip pain should lessen. I am tired of hurting when I walk. If this surgery grants me relief, I will be grateful.
I have found myself wondering, Will I still look like I have CP after surgery? To clarify, I don’t dislike looking like I have CP. The reality is, I do have CP, and I have to accept it. Actually, sometimes it’s easier in a way if I look like I have trouble walking. If my disability is slightly more visible, people don’t deny me help. For me, because my cerebral palsy is so mild, I struggle with where I fit in, and people do not always believe that I have a disability. I also wonder if I will be called “crippled” anymore. Maybe people won’t notice that I walk differently after this surgery. If this derotational osteotomy improves my gait, that would be wonderful, but I do worry what will happen if I no longer show any signs of having CP at all.
Identity has become a bit of a blurred concept lately, and by saying that my intention is not to be political but to demonstrate that I view CP as a part of my identity. CP is a part of me. I know surgery won’t take CP away, but I worry a bit about how my relationship with my legs will change. I don’t really remember a time without chronic pain, and it will be a bit nerve-wracking to delve into the unknown, but that unknown will offer me a much better quality of life.
Six years ago, I never imagined I’d come so far in my journey with chronic pain. I thought the pain was a growth spurt. How wrong I was. Over my journey, I have learned that I can handle challenges in addition to CP. I learned that even when the circumstances seem hopeless, I don’t give up.
I’ve gone through a lot in these past six years. There have been many joys and triumphs, and I have done it all with chronic pain. As the years went on and the pain continued with no answer, I was convinced I would live the rest of my life this way—in pain, dreading taking a step. But this surgery is my chance. My family and I have explored every alternative the doctors have thrown at us, and surgery is the last option.
This surgery can give me a chance to do so much. It can improve my life; it can change my life. I just have to be brave enough to go through it.
I won’t be alone, I know that. My family is with me and so is God. This is God’s plan. I trust God, but that doesn’t necessarily mean His plan doesn’t scare me. I don’t know what God’s plan for my life is. I always thought that Gods plan for me was to be an advocate for other people with disabilities, but this surgery has taken my life in a direction I didn’t expect.
A while ago, I posted about reflection and how others see us. My hope is that the way I see myself (body image) can improve after this surgery. Mostly, I am okay with how I look when I walk, but I do have my moments when I struggle with body image. But I have to remember that getting this osteotomy does not mean that I need to be fixed. I am flawed. But God made my legs the way He did for a reason, and the surgery will help me and my legs reach my full potential.
This surgery scares me. It frustrates me that in order to stop the chronic pain, I have to go through a summer of intense pain and therapy. But if it’s what I have to do, I’ll do it. The rest of my life is worth it. I know I try to advocate for people with CP and I try to have a positive outlook, but that does not mean I’m perfect. I am so hopeful that this surgery will work. But I am scared of the unknowns.
No matter what, I will undergo surgery. I will walk toward a brighter future, regardless of what that looks like for me. I am in God’s hands now.