CW: Medical Procedures
Having Cerebral Palsy means that I have lots of people in my life. I rely on others every day. Relying on other people is never easy. My PCA helps me with toileting, dressing, bathing, meal preparation, and transportation. These basic tasks make independent living possible.
I am grateful to all of the people in my life who help me get through every day, but sometimes it’s exhausting. On Monday, I had Botox injections to help relieve my spasticity.
The appointment took about twenty minutes. The medical resident who did the injections said, “That was easy” after he finished. I didn’t respond, but I wish I had.
No matter how easy a professional may think my experience is, they don’t know what it is really like. I’ve had dozens of Botox injections over the years. While I have become accustomed to them, it doesn’t mean they are easy. The needle stings and I am achy afterward.
As a child, Botox injections were even more difficult. I often went under anesthesia. I’ve never had an easy time coming out of anesthesia, and I often get sick.
As a professional working with disabled people, it’s important to treat everyone with dignity and respect. That means understanding that our bodies, routines, and pain aren’t just abstract ideas or words on paper—they’re real experiences we live with. They stay with us long after any appointment is over.
For example, when I started working with my physical therapist in 2020, something he said stuck with me. At the end of our first session, he told me, “Remember, you’re the expert on what you need, not me.” No professional had ever said that before.
That comment changed how I saw things. It showed me he saw me as a partner in my own care, not just a problem to fix or a name on a paper. It meant he understood that I live with cerebral palsy every day and that my perspective matters.
That’s what makes care feel respectful instead of dismissive. What might be routine for a professional can be painful, exhausting, or vulnerable for the person receiving care. When someone acknowledges that, it doesn’t make the procedure hurt less, but it makes the experience feel more human.
I carry pain with me. I feel the weight of needing help with everyday tasks. I let people into the most private parts of my life. Even when those around me are kind and skilled, relying on others still feels difficult.
But I also carry resilience. I’ve learned to speak up for myself and handle challenges most don’t see. I am resourceful and aware. I am strong in ways that aren’t always obvious.
So when someone says, “That was easy,” I remind myself they’re seeing only a small part of the story. The full story—the one I live every day—is tougher, deeper, and much more complex. And it deserves to be acknowledged.