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When I was born, my parents were shocked to learn that I didn’t have legs. I had a pelvis, but the X-rays showed nothing resembling a femur. So, I grew up accepting the fact that two legs weren’t on the grocery list describing my anatomy. By the time I had to start going to school, my parents bought me a wheelchair to roll around in. They were actually surprised that I got little criticism from the other kids for my disability.

So, I decided to make the most out of life as an amputee. I graduated from high school, went to college, and majored in medicine. Most people were actually surprised when I got a full tuition and boarding scholarship for (specifically) congenitally disabled natural-born Americans with a GPA of 3.7 or higher.

I actually had a boyfriend, but he had moved to a different state, and we were forced to break up by the time I finished high school. I made up with that fact, and continued (figuratively) marching my way through life.

I got into medical school, specializing in congenital diseases. I felt that the workload was a bit higher than in college, but I breezed through the first year nonetheless. I had managed to rent a decent home with grant money. It was all on one floor, so I was able to roll about it in my wheelchair freely without having to worry about stairs or elevators. Just about the only places I couldn’t go were places I would that only maintenance workers had to worry about (plumbing, electricity, gas, etc.) and my shower.

It wasn’t until after my second year after med school that what I call “the change” started.