The Swallowtail Butterfly Effect

Like a tiger with eight iridescent blue eyes that shimmer with changing light, the four-inch wings of a Western Tiger Swallowtail butterfly float, and then gently flap, lazily—almost gleefully. Black stripes across its orange glow move and sway to follow a gentle breeze through green broadleaf trees over a lush lawn. The large butterfly turns mid-flight to touch drops of water that splash from a tall fountain beside the historic Yavapai County Courthouse in Prescott. Large white columns complement the commanding courthouse with its clock and stairs toward justice.

The lady of the fountain keeps watch as, from my red rolled out cushion where it rests on the green grass, I notice that a family of visitors—lost behind their strollers and camera phones—doesn’t notice the most beautiful butterfly ever flying only feet from their faces. I put myself in their shoes and immediately want to see such an elegant creature.

“Look at the butterfly,” I say calmly, smiling and pointing out the feathery wings, attached to trails like black streamers that glide behind.

“Oh, wow! Look at the butterfly, kids,” they say, gasping and pointing. They turn toward me, smile, wave, and say, “thank you”.

I smile, nod, and wave back. I’ve pointed out these massive butterflies to families of visitors at the Courthouse Plaza from my mat before. All people seem to appreciate help spotting the beauty of these floating fairies with tails—their hairy wings the size of a bird and their aerial ballet that seems to defy gravity at the square. Butterflies don’t get much bigger.

I understand the feeling. Although some say I look nice, my list of chronic medical diagnosis is longer than a mountain lion’s tail. 40 conditions by age 40 doesn’t seem humanly possible, but some of us are just overachievers.

Being born with Ehlers Danlos Syndrome (EDS) and spina bifida occulta makes me about as fragile as a butterfly. I fractured my already broken back taking care of my old dog and then falling asleep on the couch sideways for a couple of hours. Now I have bilateral vertebra fractures, spondylolisthesis, Tarlov cysts filled with spinal fluid, and a slew of other stuff. I broke my head helping an old couple. Arthritis in my neck is so cliché.

Degeneration has led to weakness, pain, limitations, joints that pop out, and a whole list of co-morbidities, even though I appear relatively healthy to most people at first. While some people have been kind, others have judged, shot dirty looks when I use my placard, or told me to get help when I shared just a few diagnoses. They watch, but don’t truly hear or see me.