I’m singing along with sopranos, banjos, and fiddles that resound from my tiny speaker.
A deer peeks her massive ears around a pine tree to get a better listen; I gasp. Her delicate hooves inch closer toward the melody, with her ears, perked to pick up every note. I try to keep harmonizing, but as the doe draws nearer to our small deck with big eyes fixed on me, tears flood my own big eyes and my voice cracks.
The deer doesn’t care that I’ve been diagnosed with spina bifida occulta, a congenital form of paralysis. My spine never finished forming, so there’s a gap in vertebrae where there should be bone. The deer doesn't know that I have a genetic, degenerative, hypermobility tissue connectivity disorder that affects every joint and bodily system. She pays no mind that by my teenage years, after years of migraines, motion sickness, calluses, illnesses, crutches, and surgeries, I was diagnosed with a rare form of psoriasis, an autoimmune condition that can cause arthritis and other issues.
The birds don’t care either: the house finches with their melodic songs or the hummingbirds with their midair magic. The trees don’t really seem to mind that a combination of conditions led to many more. They keep swooshing and swaying with breezes as their pollen is scattered with their needles. The lizards keep stopping to smile or sit by my side, so I don’t think my disabilities bother them. If only the peace and comfort they bring meant that my entire being didn’t hurt, or that I could finally hold a pencil correctly, or that my feet didn’t tingle.
Although I see a therapist, I also sing to deer, write about ancestors, and listen to guided meditations and hypnosis. This is my journey; others don’t know exactly what the path is like and can’t necessarily diagnose me with their eyes. Sometimes, people judge, but their understanding, compassion, love, and support are what helps me along.
Lately, I’ve been working through denial and fear toward acceptance and a sense of feeling free to be me. Raising awareness about some of my rare diseases and asking for help is about as uncomfortable as being naked in front of a crowd, but I had to arrive in my own body and my own reality while trying not to worry about whether others would judge me.