I don’t have classes until 1pm, but I woke up after getting a phone call from my boyfriend (he just wanted to say hi before he went to school) and now I can’t get back to sleep. I’m restless. I suppose it doesn’t help that there is background noise – my landlord runs a day care during the day – normally I’m not affected by it, but today I am.

Luckily for the most part I’ve been getting a good night’s sleep each night. My bed is comfortable, possibly more comfortable then the one at home for some reason. I don’t know why, considering my mattress at home has a pillow top (which is a really comfy extra piece on top) and this bed doesn’t (and if it does it isn’t as thick). Oh well, I’m not one to complain if comfortable!

My computer chair is far from comfortable though. It’s making my upper legs and bum ache. I’m feeling that bone under my left leg coming in again, which sucks because when I had it removed last time I lost a lot of blood. I don’t want to loose anymore, and it’s in such an awkward position that it made sitting and lying down painful (since it’s on the back).

I can remember my doctor’s words when I first met him. “Oh you are done growing, so you probably won’t need anymore surgeries!” Pfff. That’s just wishful thinking on both sides. I would like to be able to say I don’t need anymore surgeries, but I hate discomfort and being in more pain then I usually am, so I would take the surgery to lessen that pain and find a little bit more comfort.

Sometimes I fear that I complain too much. When I was at Sick Kids, I worried that my doctor thought of me as a whiner, not brave at all. I’m not claiming to be brave or anything, but I definitely don’t want to be a complainer in people’s eyes. So for the most part, I clench my teeth and bare it instead of making a doctors appointment to deal with my thousands of complaints and concerns. My new doctor didn’t seem to keen on talking about future possibilities for surgeries, so it’s going to be harder with him.

Plus it’ll be harder with myself. Trying to convince myself to actually book a surgery, that is. New Doctor is, well, new to me. He’s never preformed a surgery on me or even ordered x-rays. Granted, I’ve only had one visit, but still. What’s new is scary and unfamiliar.

I also don’t want to slow myself down in college. I made a slight pack with myself that I would hold off on surgeries and even complaining until after I graduated from my two year program. It can’t be that hard, I just hope my body will cooperate. Sometimes it doesn’t, but I really don’t want to miss any time. I’m trying to go for “perfect attendance”.

My MHE has always been an awkward subject with new people I meet too. They tend to ask a question that would spark the need to explain my medical disability, such as “why do you walk that way?”. Once I accidentally roped myself into having to explain when the girl asked me if I received any bursaries yet. Without thinking, I told her that one I got at commencement… the Heather Rebeka Lodge award, which was awarded to me for overcoming challenges and completing my high school education and going on to attend college. She wanted to know what challenges I overcame, so I told her about being short 2 credits due to circumstances and working extremely hard in my final year to be able to graduate with my classmates. Again, she wanted to know what circumstances they were, and again I told her about my two surgeries months after each other.

Anyways, I’m still making slow progress being 100% comfortable and sure of myself. I don’t know if it’s just my personality that causes me to be this insecure, but it’s slightly annoying.

I have to go finish the summary for chapter one now, and I suppose I should have did the summary for chapter two as well in Introduction to Psychology.

I never thought I would make it to the final camping weekend. I was almost 99.9% sure I would die of exhaustion, stress, and anger before I saw today. Luckily I didn’t, I’m still alive and kicking. I don’t know if I will be after the weekend, ask me on Sunday.

Last weekend was absolutely horrible. It rained the entire day on Saturday, and my body ached so bad I couldn’t even move. I had to keep going into my tent and trying to stay out of the cold and rain and get warm. I think I pissed off my boss and co-workers but I really didn’t care, I could barely move. Kate says its my fault for taking on a job I “couldn’t handle”.

Anyways, I quit my second job; which was working with a boy who has a developmental delay. I believe I put too much on my plate and just wasn’t able to handle it. Thats alright though, I’ve lessened the load and now I shouldn’t be too stressed out!

In other news, Harry Potter 5 comes out tomorrow. I’m pumped but slightly depressed since I won’t get to get it until Monday since I am camping and since I have a college tour that day anyway.

Most girls love shoes; they love to have several different pairs to go with every outfit they own. Thanks to my MHE and high arched foot, I can’t buy all the cute shoes I see and would love to wear because I can’t actually wear them. Well I could, but the result would be me in a lot of pain and that is just not a result I feel like dealing with at this present moment.

Anyway, I find that in order to make up for not indulging myself with new shoes every time I see something I like, I indulge myself with new purses and accessories. If you have ugly, orthopedic shoes like I do then wearing cool necklaces and carrying around cute handbags is one way to try and balance it out a little.

I know shoes are really irrelevant in the huge scheme of things, a lot of people are too busy to pay attention to what kind of shoes you wear. But you still see your shoes. I hate looking down at my feet when my sneakers are on because running shoes are so boring. They are all I have worn since I have had to wear shoes. For 18 years I’ve only ever really owned ugly but some what comfortable running shoes.

Anyway, I think it would be really awesome if shoe companies started making cute shoes for people with medical problems. I know they already have orthopedic shoes but lets face it, they are really ugly and not stylish at all! You can really only put orthopedic inserts in running shoes, and the “dress” shoes they have available aren’t directed at my generation. So I think it would be really awesome if they started to actually make cute heels and “flats” (or as I would call them; not so flats) for people with feet problems. It would make me unbelievably happy, so if any of you know anybody who makes shoes for a living, run that idea by them; orthopedic shoes that are hot, and geared towards my generation.

Before I started school, I had no idea I was “different” in any way. My sister Kate was my best friend, and I did all the same things she did. I amused her with my ability of double jointed fingers and I can recall chasing her around the house trying to tickle her with my “strange finger” that I could always hold in a strange way that she couldn’t. But Kate didn’t make me feel any different for having double jointed fingers at our young ages.

A rare talent?

Then we started school. Kate made friends with the kids in her grade and I made friends with the kids in my grade. For the most part, my classmates didn’t know there was anything different about me. I kept my double jointed talents to myself. From grade six down, I still was able to participate in gym – not well mind you – and I didn’t have my first surgery until third or fourth grade. I think that’s about the time when people started to notice there was something different about me. Perhaps it was because my teacher suggested I show my “battle scars” to the class after I had recovered from my first surgery. Even at that young age, as she explained to the class why I had the scars, I can vividly remember feeling so vulnerable and exposed, and I know there was tears in my eyes too. But my classmates, the ones who had started school with me and known me all my life, didn’t seem to alter their opinions of me. That’s the beauty of a small school.

I entered middle school with the promise to myself that I would be just as upfront and honest about my MHE as I was throughout my days in the younger grades. However, I found it very difficult. There was more students in middle school then their was in my entire public school – or at least it seemed that way to me. The strange faces outweighed the familiar ones by a landslide, and I was too chicken to go through with my plan.

When I had my first middle school surgery, only my close friends and the people I had gone to public school knew the truth. If anyone else were to ask me, I’d make something up. It was hard telling curious strangers the truth, especially when I knew they weren’t actually interested, they just wanted to know the actual truth so they could tell everyone else.

But my secret keeping was in vain, because people still knew I had some sort of disorder that required surgeries. They just weren’t informed of what disorder I had, so they called me Surgery Girl. Guys weren’t interested in me because I had “strange legs” – which I had thought I hide well with jeans, but apparently the shape of them was still notable.

Perhaps if I had been upfront and honest with my classmates, I would have had better years and stronger friendships. Grades 7 and 8 didn’t suck completely; I had friends who liked me for me, but the rumours were frustrating. All I wanted to do was blend in and not be noticed, but I stood out more then anyone because I tried to blend in. It’s rather funny actually, as I think my friend Mandy has the opposite problem, I think she’s mentioned that she feels invisible and wants to stand out. I guess when you try to be something, it doesn’t work out. For example, I tried to blend in and I stood out. I still stand out, regardless of what I do.

Now though, I’m finding that I don’t care if people know the truth or not. I don’t make up excuses or stories for why I limp; I stick to the truth, which is a pretty unbelievable story in itself. Several times people have asked me if I’m serious, extra bones? Thats crazy! As crazy and unbelievable as it sounds, its true, and I’ve come to realize that hiding a part of me was very foolish. People judge; it’s how we’re built. They judge regardless of medical disability, so even if I didn’t have a strange disability, I’d still be judged for something – whether it be how I did my makeup or wore my hair.

Dr. Seuss says it best; Be who you are, and say what you feel, because those who mind don’t matter, and those who matter don’t mind!

Parents worry about their children; there is no escaping that reality. They tend to worry more if their child becomes sick with the flu or a bad cough. They tend to really worry if their child has a disability or illness of some sort. Parents hate seeing their kids in any kind of pain; be it emotional or phsyical. If parents had it their way, then they would make it so their kids never felt pain or sorrow.

When I was younger, my mother would always tuck me in and lay with me for a few moments before I went to sleep. During these nightly rituals, I would sometimes confess things that were on my mind, like if a boy made fun of how my legs were different at school or if I got left out and expected it was because of my medical disability. On those occasions, my mom would get all misty eyed and tell me that she wished she could take it away from me and have it instead, that way I wouldn’t have to deal with the daily pain, the almost yearly surgeries, the feelings of being alone, and other things that come with have a medical disability. Instantly, I would feel guilty for making her feel sad about my MHE. I knew that if my parents had it their way, they would make it disappear for me.

As I grew older, I sort of stopped talking about how I felt regarding my MHE – for the most part anyway, there were days when I couldn’t hold it in anymore and the dams holding back that river of tears would just burst. I was afraid that by complaining about “insignifcant things” I would make my parents feel guilty for the way I was born. I also didn’t want them worrying about how I was dealing with things; as one day in the car my mom confessed that she and my dad sometimes wondered how I dealt with everything, and if I was dealing with it okay.

Its one thing wondering if I’m dealing with things okay myself, but having my parents wonder it is another thing. I don’t want my family thinking I’m weak for having bad days, so I keep them to myself as best I can. It’s rather contradicting though, because a lot of my family reads my blog. I still feel a little weird about confessing these bad days on my blog knowing that my family is going to read it and probably think differently about me; but I try not to think about that. I want to be honest in my posts to help other teens with MHE – or any other kind of disability that makes them feel like an alien or something.

Yes, there are times when I feel like a freak of nature. Yes, there are times when the physical pain gets to be too much and I just want to crawl up in a ball and sleep it away. There are times when I wish I could do all the things my friends and sisters do – figure skating, rollar blading, horse back riding, and snowboarding – without worrying about getting seriously injured. There are times I feel like I’m trapt in a bubble because my parents don’t want anything bad happening to me, and I dislike that bubble. I want to fall and scrape my knees but still know that they’ll be there to bandage it and tell me I’m not an idiot for trying something I really wanted to experience. I want to feel like I’m living and having fun, without them being mad at me because their scared of the outcome.

But I honestly don’t begrudge my parents anything. They keep me so close because they don’t want to see me hurt; and I love them for it. I’d probably be the same way if I was in their shoes. They are parents, after all, and it’s practically programmed in their heads to be over protective.

I know everybody has their insecure moments; but lately I tend to be having them a lot more. I don’t know why, or even how these insecure moments are brought on. Sometimes they just appear out of no where – hitting me hard from the side or somewhere I don’t expect them to hit me.

Usually when I have these insecure moments, they appear out of no where and they are almost always MHE related. I’ve been dating this really amazing guy for nearly six months now, and I still doubt what he says. After all, my last two breakups where MHE related – the one guy said after he dumped me that he was the best I could do with my “nasty bone thing” (well, he turned out to be wrong…the guy I’m dating now treats me amazingly) and the other guy said he was breaking up with me because I couldn’t “physically keep up” – he liked working out, ATVing, and a lot of other stuff I couldn’t do.

I’m trying to do something about it too, because I hate how I am – always doubting people and being negative (although I like to look at it as facing reality) but it’s hard. Sometimes I can vanish my insecure thoughts and get on with my days, but other times it’s really hard. Sometimes I feel so weak for thinking bad thoughts about myself – like I can’t do this, or they don’t really like me.

Maybe I am weak. I hate being insecure though. It’s annoying for me and those around me.

Yesterday, I stayed home from school (my stomach was – is actually – hurting a lot. I blame Captain Crunch Cereal) and halfway through the day I found myself bored with nothing to do. I had already finished an entire project that normally would have taken me several hours – I was so intent on finishing it that it was finished in half an hour.

I started cleaning up the family room a little bit, picking out the stuff that was mine and needed to go downstairs to my room. Then I found my yearbook from grade seven. I started flipping through it to read what people had wrote. The instead I flipped it open, I saw a little comment that read “Crippled Lady! Hava good summer!” by a kid in my class.

I decided to do a test, to see how many times people said that to me over the years. At least 3 different people said something along those lines in each of my yearbooks. Gimp was mentioned, “Broken Leg Girl” was too. It’s interesting though, because none of those kids meant to be mean, they just thought they were sharing a rather funny inside joke with me.

But I didn’t find it funny each year when I took home my yearbook and read things like “It was nice seeing ya when you were actually at school, Broken Leg Girl. Have a good summer!” I found it rather depressing. If I ever have kids, and if they ever got their hands on my yearbooks then they would probably think I’m really pathetic or something, and feel sorry for me.

I’m kind of mad that each year I paid 60 bucks for a yearbook only to have it littered with sayings like that. Now isn’t that something you want to look back on years later? I swear to God, if someone writes something like that in my grade twelve yearbook, I’ll flip and throw them all out.

I dislike how my disorder has become an “inside joke” with my peers.

In an earlier post, I rambled on and on about wondering who I’d be if I didn’t have MHE. I guess I will never know if I would be a completely different person, but I do know something: it would be a lot easier.

Yesterday, I went to the mall. I had some last minute Christmas shopping to do. After spending not even 3 hours wondering around with my friends shopping for the people on my list, my legs were killing me. It hurt so much to take each step, and my legs felt as if they both seperately weighed over a hundred pounds each.

I didn’t feel like I could share my pains with the people I was with because I didn’t really honestly think they would understand. When my boyfriend showed up to do his Christmas shopping, I knew that he would be quicker. Basically in and out – he hates malls. So I decided to leave the people I was with after telling them I was going to help him shop.

Now I’m in a fight with my best friend. All because communication lines are fuzzy. I can’t explain myself in words to the people I’m talking to. Blogging about things is easier because I’m not talking to one direct person. I’m writing stuff down and people are reading it after I’ve published it. I find it easier to chat with people online then to talk with them on the phone, which is why I hardly call anyone. There’s something about the keyboard that makes me feel free – so to speak. I’m able to explain what’s going on a little better, instead of talking to someone about it.

Anyway, I left the mall because I didn’t want to push myself anymore. I knew that if I were to spend another hour there walking around and standing in huge lineups, I would seriously regret it in the morning. It didn’t help that it was damp and raining outside – two things that are not good for my legs at all. I know my body, and I know when to call it quits for the day.

If I had the opportunity to change one thing about MHE I would change the pain part. Not only is it painful, but it’s annoying to myself and everyone else around me. It holds me back from doing simple tasks such as Christmas shopping. It makes little things more difficult. It’s the worst part of MHE, because it’s always there. Both physically and emotionally.

I just finished writing a letter to my pen pal Mandy in the States. During the letter, I briefly mentioned to her how I used to feel about myself regarding relationships and other such things. Although it was mentioned briefly in the letter, I now find myself thinking about the way I used to think. Are you following me still? Probably not. I’m not making any sense really, but I will in time – I promise.

In grade seven and eight, and most of grade nine too for that matter – I truly believed that I was deemed “unworthy” of having any cute, decent guy crush on me. I automatically thought that they wouldn’t like me after finding out about my MHE. Most of the times, I was right, but only because it was back in grade seven, when boys still thought belching and farting was cool – hell, they still think belching and farting is cool. What I mean to say is they were even more immature in grade seven then they are now, which is saying a lot – for the most part anyway.

In grade seven, I also thought that “a person like me” shouldn’t wear makeup. I wasn’t meant to be a normal teenage girl, so I shouldn’t act like a normal teenage girl by wearing makeup and carrying a purse. That’s right – I didn’t even think I was worthy of having a purse! I don’t know where my train of thought came from, well me obviously but I don’t know why I thought that.

I know now (obviously) that I was completely wrong with my outlook on life. It was ignorant of me to think that of myself, and it’s just as worse as other people being ignorant towards my medical disability. Now I know that I am just as worthy of having relationships as anyone else in the world is. I wear makeup, and do “normal” teenage girl stuff. Since I grew up a little and realized how wrong I was, I’ve never thought anything like that again, because that way of thinking is wrong and very self harming.

There’s no doubt that I walk with a limp – that’s pretty obvious after several leg operations – and no matter where I am, sooner or later someone always asks me; “Why are you limping?”

It’s the dreaded question. It seems that I’ll just be feeling confident about my walking skills and then someone will ask that question. My mind will complain and whine about it, saying; “But I thought I was doing better!” while my mouth answers the question tonelessly. Usually, I don’t answer truthfully. To answer truthfully, I would have to take up a lot of that person’s time, and how can I be sure if they’re actually interested in hearing the full story?

It’s happened in the most unusual of places. For instance, I’ve previously mentioned I volunteer for a place called Sunrise Youth Group, and all of the members have some kind of developmental problem. At one of the week long camps this year, one of my fellow volunteers made fun of the way I walked. I was a little thrown off at the “You walk like an old lady!” comments, seeing as we were at that camp to begin with. The guy saying them didn’t mean any harm, but like I said, ignorance is a barrier. Those comments hurt me, because I had thought I was doing so well. I had just had my leg surgery that May [I think...the details are a little fuzzy, they're always fuzzy!] and I thought I was doing pretty good, since it was August and all. So basically I had two and a bit of months to heal before ditching my crutches and going to the camp.

I’ve noticed that in the hallways at school, if someone is staring at me (which they do a lot, and I hate staring people, can’t they find anything more interesting to look at?) I notice I limp more because I’m trying so hard not to that I end up limping more. How does that make sense? I don’t know. Heck, for all I know, those people who stare at me could be playing there own private game of “Let’s see who can make Jessica limp more!”

I also limp more if I’m tired or in a hurry. Tired is obvious, everyone walks weird when their tired, but limping more because you’re in a hurry? I guess it’s because I haven’t really regained full use of all of my leg muscles yet. I would by now, had I gone to all my Physio Therapy appointments and done all the exercises.

A note to all you little MHE’ers out there: Physio Therapy is very important. Even if you really don’t want to, go to every appointment and do every exercise. That way you’ll get better faster. It’s been around six months since my last leg surgery, and I’m still having difficulties – all because I didn’t really do the exercises my Physio Therapist wanted me to do. So do those exercises and more, that way you get better quicker and you might just be able to do something about that limp. Mine is with me until I do those exercises and strenghten my leg though.