We Belong: Chapter 2

722 words

6 minute read

CP AND ME

(Lexie)

You know some things about me, but you don’t know everything.  Here is a list of things I tell people about myself:

1.  My name is Lexie Martin.

2.  I’m a twin.

3.  I’m nine years old.

4.  I have CP.  I like saying CP more than Cerebral Palsy because it’s shorter and sounds less scary.  Also, I only tell people about my CP if I want to.  When mean kids are rude, I don't want to talk to them about it and I don't have to.

Cerebral Palsy means something happened to my brother and me when we were being born because we came too early.  That means our brains sometimes get confused when we try to move our bodies.

Even though we're twins, Jesse has different CP than me.

Jesse has CP because brain got a little bit hurt on the inside.  He walks with a limp and on his right side the muscles are tighter and confused, but not very much.  He can do almost everything, and nobody knows he has CP unless he tells them.  Sometimes I feel jealous of that.

Everybody can tell that I have CP.  I was born second, so I had to wait longer to breathe air than Jesse did.  People's brains need oxygen to do all the things brains do.  If a baby's brain doesn't have enough air to breathe, that's another reason they can have CP.

In my body, the muscles in both my legs are tight and confused, sometimes, in my right hand, too.  The only part of my arms and legs that escaped CP was my left hand.  Its muscles are totally fine.  (Thank goodness, because I’m left-handed.  So is Jesse.)

This probably sounds like a lot, but for us, it's really normal, I promise.  The worst part is people around us making us feel bad for having CP.  Like those kids who rode by on bikes and scooters.

I walk with a walker (outside) and crutches (inside, and on stairs).  At school, I will also use my walker.  On trips with lots of walking, I take my wheelchair.  My wheelchair is the best.  It’s yellow and black.  Dad calls it the Batmobile.  That’s a car Batman drove or something.  It’s speedy fast.  My walker doesn’t have a name.  My crutches don’t either.

I wish I didn’t need anything to walk like Jesse.  Kids don’t make fun of him that much.

“Hey Lexie Lou,” Dad says.  (All of us kids have the middle name Rowan.  It was mom’s last name before she got married to dad.)  Usually, I laugh at that corny joke, but not today.  Not right now.

“That’s not my name,” I say, but my heart’s not in it.  I sigh and sit down next to where he is washing dishes. “Some kids asked what’s wrong with me.”

“Oh,” Dad nods, with a not-pleased look on his face.  “Did you ask what’s wrong with them?” he asks with a little smile.

“Rudeness, I already knew that,” I smile a little.  Dad always makes me smile.  “But, Dad, I can never think of the words in time.  It’s like everything gets stuck inside me.”

“Well, let’s think about this,” he says.  He picks me up and sets me on the counter so I can see his eyes.  He holds on, so I don’t lose my balance.  “What did you want to say to those kids?”

“Nothing,” I say right away.

He squints.

“Because nothing is wrong with me.  Having CP isn't wrong," I say.

Image: A brown cartoon sign reads What If Nothing is Wrong?

“That’s right,” Dad says, and I can tell that he definitely believes it's true.

It doesn't change everything.  (Dad still doesn't know what it's like to have CP.)  But it helps a little bit that he doesn't think what those kids think.

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Questions for Discussion:

Lexie's dad calls her wheelchair the Batmobile.  Have you named any of the things that help you? If so, what?

Lexie's dad made her feel better by letting her know he did not agree with the kids who were mean to her.  What's the best way people can make you feel better when someone is mean to you?

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