Month: December 2020

I went to a junior high school from the Fall of 1975 through the Spring of 1978. I wish I could tell you I have good memories of junior high, but that simply isn’t true. I was (am) disabled, and grew-up in a small town in Michigan, where all of my classmates accepted and befriended me. When we moved to Virginia the summer before 7th grade, I was very scared of starting a new school and meeting all new people. I had no idea what laid in-store for me.

If you knew me back then, my name was Janice, and I had (and still have) a strange way of walking that resembles a duck waddling, or a person wobbling from side-to-side. It was because of a skeletal abnormality. My pelvis and hip joints never formed properly, which left me unable to walk as a toddler. I had bilateral hip dysplasia that was so severe I got a hernia the first time I tried to walk.

I spent most of my preschool years in and out of hospitals. I had always known I had this disability, and had gone through twelve very painful surgeries and almost 3 years in body casts, so that I could walk. I didn’t walk like other people, but at least I could walk. I knew this, but didn’t consider myself any different from anyone else.

Where I grew up, no one ever treated me as different. When we’d play kickball at school, I’d kick the ball, and then one of the other kids would run the bases for me. I never had to ask – we all just knew. When we’d run races, the other kids would give me a head-start, so I could do it too. I was friends with everyone. They were friends with me. And I was always included.

Then we moved in 1975 and I started 7th grade at a new junior high school. The cruelty and bullying that was aimed at me was beyond anything I could have imagined. Because of my disability, I was teased, called names, pushed over, had rocks thrown at me, and was taunted on a daily basis. I was beaten up in the hallway leading to the girls locker-room more times than I can say. (There were no other classes in that hallway, which meant there were no teachers around.)

I had never experienced any of this prior to coming to Virginia. I had no idea how to react or respond to it. I came home every day in tears. I begged my parents not to make me go to school every single morning. Before coming to Virginia, I had loved school. Now, the only thing I wanted was to be invisible.

Some of the “cool kids” decided to nickname me “Weeble Wobble” and they would hum or sing the song from the commerical – “Weebles wobble but they don’t fall down!” as I walked down the hallway. A favorite thing they liked to do was get on each side of me in the hallway, and slam into me from the side, to see if they could make “the weeble” fall down. Sometimes, they would just knock the books out of my arms, but more often, they would completely knock me over, and I’d have to struggle to get up and gather my books, while people stepped over and around me. This happened daily.

I had a really hard time walking, so I’d fall sometimes in gym class, especially if the sport required that I run. I couldn’t really run, so I’d just walk as fast as I possibly could. When I fell, the other kids would just laugh at me as I struggled to get back up. When we picked teams, I was always picked last, and there were often comments like “do we have to have her on our team? She’s a loser!” The gym teacher never said a word to them about their behavior.

I hated dressing-out for gym class, because it meant changing clothes, which meant the other girls could see all of my scars from my twelve childhood surgeries. The “cool girls” would point and laugh, and say I was “all sewed up.”

For three years, I attended that junior high, and for three years, I was despised and taunted. I learned to hate school, and try to be as invisible as possible. I would tell teachers what was happening, but they didn’t do a thing about it. I grew to hate my teachers, because they saw what was happening, and did nothing. My grades plummeted and for two of the three years, I didn’t have a single friend.

It was three years of being beaten-down, mentally, emotionally, and even physically. Because of my disability, I couldn’t run to get away from those who bullied me, but their cruel words hurt far more than the times they beat me up or threw rocks at me.

If they didn’t like my personality, so be it. If they didn’t want to be my friend, that was their right. But to taunt me over my disability, something I had no control over and couldn’t possibly change, was beyond unfair. To physically hurt me because they knew I wasn’t able to run away or fight back was beyond cruel. To those who taunted me, and to those who stood by and watched it happen, and did nothing, I only hope that somehow they found a way to live with themselves.

Years later, I ran into one of my tormentors as I was walking down the street in my neighborhood. She hollered across the street “I’m sorry I was so mean to you in Junior High.” I stopped and stood there for a moment, and finally answered “What do you expect me to say? That it’s okay? Don’t worry about it?” And then, I walked on.

I guess I should have told her that I forgive her, but she caught me off-guard. At that exact moment in time, I wasn’t ready to forgive. At that time, I still didn’t realize that I hadn’t brought all of this on myself. Deep down, I still believed that if I had done something differently, if I had been “good enough,” they would have liked me, and that it was my fault, that I had done something to cause what happened to me.

This was a year after I finished high school, and I still blamed myself for my misfortune. Honestly, I wasn’t even convinced she was being sincere. It wasn’t like she had sought me out to apologize, she just happened to pass me on the street. There was no explanation for her actions, no sincere expression of remorse – just a casual comment, hollered across a street. She didn’t even cross the street to speak directly to me.

There is, and always will be, a part of me that wonders if I should have replied differently. I don’t think I was wrong, but I’m really not sure.

I was born with very severe bilateral congenital hip dysplasia. The twelve hip surgeries I had before the age of 5 allowed me to walk, but my gait has always been abnormal.

My five childhood osteotomies and use of a position brace allowed me to learn to walk. Until my tendon lengthening surgeries at age 4, I was a toe-walker and unable to flatten my foot to include my heels in my step, but that particular surgery (and subsequent physical therapy) fixed that issue. Since then, my walking pattern is a mixture of three identifiable gaits — Waddling gait, Trendelenburg gait, and Antalgic gait.

Waddling gait means that when walking the part of the pelvis of the leg moving forward moves outward and the part of the leg which is normally placed moves inward. The reason for a Waddling gait abnormality is weakness of the proximal muscles of the pelvic girdle which causes weakness of the gluteus muscles. It is often referred to as “walking like a duck” and indeed, during my entire childhood, I was teased that I walked like a duck.

The second is Trendelenburg gait, which is caused by hip abductor weakness — the pelvis tilts downwards instead of upwards on the non-weight bearing extremity. In an attempt to lessen this effect, the person compensates by a lateral tilt of the trunk away from the affected hip, thus center of gravity is mostly on the stance limb causing a reduction of the pelvic drop. This condition makes it difficult to support the body’s weight on the affected side. Trendelenburg gait is very typical of people with congenital hip dysplasia. My Trendelenburg gait is especially noticeable on the right side.

The last is Antalgic gait. An Antalgic gait is a gait that develops as a way to avoid pain while walking. It is a form of gait abnormality where the stance phase of gait is abnormally shortened relative to the swing phase. It is totally a response to constant hip pain, and is a reactive stance gait. In my case, this is a response to several things — my weak abductors, my limited adduction, my leg length discrepancy, and my hip height discrepancy.

You may ask, how do I know that my strange way of walking is a mix of these three gaits? I did not know the names of these gaits until I was in college. The head of the physical therapy department saw me walking one day, and approached me to ask if I had hip dysplasia. I told him that I did, and he asked me to “help him out.”

For the duration of my college experience, I was a gait model for the physical therapy department. Young physical therapy students were asked to observe my gait and determine my gait pattern(s). Once they determined this, the department head would have them develop a PT plan for this, and when they all had, he would demonstrate how to work with a patient with weak hip abductors, limited adduction, and weak medial glutes.

It made me feel good to help in this way. By identifying gaits, physical therapists can help a patient strengthen weak muscles and improve their walking ability, balance, and strength. While physical therapy can’t eliminate these gaits if the underlying causes have not or cannot be repaired, it can help each patient to lead a more independent life, and avoid falls by increasing balance and mobility.

Even now, after a total of 19 hip surgeries, including two total hip replacements in my early 30s, I still have these distinctive gait patterns. Hip replacements could not undo the prior thirty-some years of muscle development (and atrophy,) or fix my skeletal abnormalities. Even with hip replacements, my pelvis is still mis-shaped, as are the angles of my artificial hips. My skeletal abnormalities will never permit full abduction and adduction range-of-motion, which leaves my hip abductors, hip flexors, and gluteal muscles forever weakened and unable to fully function.

The severe unsteadiness that remains because of this leaves me balance-impaired. However, assistive devices, such as my rollator, dual canes, or forearm crutches, help me maintain my balance while walking or standing, and helps me prevent falls. On-going physical therapy helps me to maintain as much balance and mobility as possible.

I spent my entire life working 60-80 hours per week, for no extra pay, and being so proud of my work ethic. I didn’t take vacations, hurried back from illnesses before I was ready (or came to work sick) and was very proud of my commitment and dedication. I worked in two different low-paying professions throughout my life because “I was making a difference” and “serving my community.”

If I could give any advice to young people today, I would say, “Don’t give your life away. Don’t be complicit in a lifestyle that always puts you last, and some noble cause first.” I’m not saying people should be selfish or self-centered, but to realize that people treat you the way you let them treat you, the way you encourage them to treat you, the way you direct them to treat you.

Your life is just as worthy if take time for yourself, your family, your friends, and set reasonable boundaries. It actually makes you a better person. You have more to give, because you haven’t been drained of your energy by an unbalanced life. Stand up and realized that living your own life is just as valuable, and that there are greater virtues than working hard and giving all.

I always thought that when I got to retirement age, there would be time to spend with family, to share good times with friends, to travel, to do all the things I never had time for before. Then I got sick, and realized my family is gone now, I never had the time to make deep, lasting friendships, I’m no longer able to travel, and I’m not able to do all those things I tucked-away until “later.”

For me, later isn’t coming. It is my one great regret in life.