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When I first entered elementary school, I was very shy and my assistant then, recalled that I came off the bus in my little hot pink wheelchair with my head hanging low. I was incredibly fragile and very scared. But Mrs. C. quickly became one of my most trusted aids.
Her dedication and personal concern to my success was outstanding and beautiful. In my first year of second grade, I had my second leg surgery and was in the hospital in casts up to my waist for a long time. Everyone was there to offer my mother support in caring for me while I recovered. It was incredibly painful, but so motivting, and Mrs. C. made a special visit to color with me in bed. When I returned to school, she was there. She would push me around in my recliner as she went about her day to keep my mind focused on the good things.
When I recovered, she had helped me through my anxiety of being followed around by a camera crew and she encouraged me and reminded me of why they wanted to film me: to inspire, to be a voice and a symbol. In the next year, she taught me "finger talk", or Helen Keller's language. I remember how we went for a few weeks only communicating in the "finger talk" and it is because of this, that I can now do it so fast and accurately during a severe, non-verbal panic attack.
Around the age of 9, I started expressing my desire to advocate. One day, she made all of my classmates go throughout their day only using one arm. She would take me out to lunch and when the weather permitted, go outside and do fun mini photoshoots with me and our friend, Meg.
After 5 consecutive years together, Mrs. C. finally broke the news to me that she was not going to be my assistant anymore. I was walking down te hall with her when she told me and I was overcome by weakness and tears.
Since then, I've had to learn to develop new relationships almost very year, with new aids. It was extremely difficult to move. My high school's annex was attached to the other end of my elementary school, and leaving for 2 years was nearly impossible, at first. I was suddenly told that Mrs. C. was planning to retire by the time I came up to the annex and was deeply upset.
That's when Mark came along...
Taken aback, Mrs. C. said, "I am caring for this litte boy named Mark. He's got CP and can walk independently, but is afraid to do it. I have been telling him about you, hoping it would help, but... I don't think I'm getting to him, like I had with you. Do you have a moment?" I didn't, actually, but I nodded 'yes'. Her eyes lit up. "You're so big! How old are you know?"
"15." She held up her finger and went to get her student. Mark was the spitting image of my younger self, in the way that he thought about himself and his potential. He was around 7. He came into view, clutching Mrs. C.'s arm and he was a bit unsteady on his feet. He would not look up, just as I had done when I was first learning to walk in a posterior walker.
Mrs. C. was explaining to him my story for the nth time and all of a sudden, his little face looked at mine. "Hello, bud. How are you? It's so great to meet you! I understand you're learning to walk?" He nodded.
I decided to take him aside and talked to him, encouraging him personally, praying that by hearing it from "Sarah herself" would be the final push of power he needed to succeed. To my great relief and excitement, it worked. I drove beside him for a few seconds as he wobbled and grew more confident with each step. I reminded him that Mrs. C. was there to help him and catch him if he fell.
Sadly, I knew I had to leave and informed Mrs. C that I had encountered some sudden health problems in the past couple years that required the use of an electric wheelchair and also made me have to learn to walk all over again. I hated to leave her again with that kind of update, but I knew that she knew I'd pull out of it a greater, stronger person, as she had taught me to do in the very beginning.