Rediscovering Hope: My Story of Pain, Surgery, and Moving Forward

A year ago, I felt pretty conflicted. I saw so many people with my condition struggling, yet I was doing relatively well. Compared to my friends with disabilities, I was in a good place. But then I’d look at my non-disabled friends, and it was like I was stuck in the middle—feeling sicker by comparison but also somehow less valid in my struggles. It’s a strange feeling, and I even caught myself wishing I were more unwell sometimes, just so people would see what I was going through.

Then, everything changed this past March. My body suddenly started to shut down, and the pain became unbearable. Walking wasn’t an option anymore, and I had to rely on my wheelchair to get around. There was a moment when I wasn’t sure if I’d ever walk again or if I’d ever get back to track—the sport that always gave me so much joy.

The uncertainty was terrifying. But looking back, it forced me to face some feelings I’d been avoiding for a long time. I had to stop comparing myself to others and realize that every journey is valid—whether your struggles are visible to the world or not. This whole experience has redefined what strength means to me. It’s not always about staying on your feet; sometimes it’s about finding new ways to keep going when life makes you slow down.

Now, as I reflect, by the time this goes live, I’ll be getting ready for my seventh surgery in eighteen years. Even after so many, surgery is never easy. There’s still fear—fear of the unknown, the anxiety that creeps in with the sterile hospital smells, the bright lights of the OR—but there’s also hope. Hope that this will be the one that lets me finally move forward without my health constantly interrupting my life.

For the past six months, it’s felt like one thing after another—chronic pain, a diagnosis of autoimmune arthritis, and now surgery to repair a deviated septum. This surgery feels like the final step toward recovery, the moment where I can finally start getting back to the things I love and the life I’ve worked so hard for.

What keeps me hopeful through all of this is looking beyond the initial recovery. I’m excited for fewer doctor’s appointments and more time living out the best of my senior year. I’m holding onto the hope that my next school break won’t be spent dealing with health complications, but instead, I’ll be making the most of my days, not counting them.