The Losses of Life

Emily Jones

“Appreciate what you have before it turns into what you had.”

As an energized 10-year-old I was constantly moving, as was my imagination- whether I was biking in a magical forest with my sisters, jumping to the moon on my trampoline, or running around the country like Forrest Gump, I was always active. I was also a member of my town’s track team and it was my greatest passion. There was no time to express gratitude for all I had, to ponder what life would be like without.  As far as I could tell, life would never falter; it would always move in consistent waves, keeping me afloat. It was common for me to see the good in things, as is for most children. Parents protect their children from the harsh realities of life, in turn creating a utopian, sugar-coated world built to the child’s standards, until they’re put in a situation that causes it to crumble.

The day I went numb was the day my 10-year-old self lost all sense of the world that had been previously understood. I had never imagined the possibility of losing the ability to run, let alone the use of my legs, until a cartwheel on the childhood slide in my backyard sent me into a state of paralysis for days, threatening the thing I treasured most.

I can still remember the panic that had rushed over me.  The moment I realized I was incapable of getting my mom for help because my legs couldn’t take me there.  The confusion that had swept over me, unable to interpret the newfound form of fear mixed with pain that overcame me. First, the streak of pain in my legs before going numb, followed by the pain at the realization of what I had just lost. I was feeling a million things at once, while simultaneously feeling nothing at all.

The chiropractor took x-ray after x-ray, consulted fellow doctors, and moved my legs into different stretches. Unprecedented as it was for my family, it seemed to be equally mysterious to the chiropractor assessing me. She would reassure me that I would be ok, but it provided little to no comfort. While she masked her true concern with a reassuring smile, I no longer saw things as people wished me to see them. I had already accepted my new reality that was no longer limitless in the things I could accomplish. It was only days later that I could feel a tingling in my legs. Slowly, I felt the familiar feeling in my legs return, coupled with the relief I thought would never come. The chiropractor didn’t know why I had gone through what I did, and all I could grasp at the time was my legs had possibly bent funny, or hit a nerve on impact, causing feeling to go away altogether. However, it hadn’t mattered to me why it had happened, just the fact that it was over. All I was sure of, is I never wished to return to that combination of fear and pain again.

After hours of despair, days of being wheeled to the chiropractor, and weeks of caution (dramatized as it be), it took me mere seconds to see the truth of the matter.That my fear had been instilled by the possibility of my way of life altering forever. The realization alone that this uncharted frontier of my life stemmed from a simple, innocent cartwheel over a slide in my backyard was enough to set me in spirals. I was at a loss, now facing the newfound perspective of how quickly the things I loved most could be lost to a simple misstep. Changing things in one, singular, instant. 

That fateful, simple cartwheel gave me a new understanding of the world. It made me appreciate my ability to run and use my legs, which I would’ve lost if things had gone differently. To this day I continue to run, taking my passion further with every step forward. What used to be a magical forest, however, is now the familiar pathway by my house I get the privilege to bike on whenever I wish. I no longer reach the moon when I jump, but rather settle for the branch attached to the tree, with gratitude that my legs can propel me there.  I am no longer Forrest Gump, but instead an athlete bearing the wisdom to take things one step at a time. I no longer need to resort to fabrications developed by my subconscious need for more. As simple as running, biking, or even standing may seem, the ease at which I can do them is what makes every moment of it special.  Who knew it would take a cartwheel over a bubblegum pink slide to show me that?

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Emily Jones is a rising senior at her high school, where she participates in her school’s cross country and track and field teams. She greatly enjoys creative writing, with English being her favorite subject. She’s chief editor for her school’s newspaper, where she writes and approves articles for publication.