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Brooke: I heard the door open and familiar footsteps coming down the hall. "It's me. Anybody home?"It was my occupational therapist. I was in the den studying. I had my books propped up on a music stand that stood straight in front of my wheelchair.
"Perfect timing," I said. "Can you turn the page for me?"
"Don't you ever stop studying? Your eyes are going to pop right out of your head," she said.
It must have looked like I was studying all the time, and I guess I always was. I studied in bed in the morning while my mother got me dressed, I studied before dinner, and I studied in bed at night until I couldn't stay awake any longer.
The problem was it took me so much longer than everyone else to do an assignment. Since I couldn't move my arms or use my hands, if I had to write an essay I had to dictate it to someone else. If I had math problems to do, I would have to figure them out in my head and then tell someone what to write down.
"Okay, you keep reading," she said. "I'll massage your neck and turn pages for you." Then she looked at my mom. "I sure can't keep up with the subjects Brooke is studying."
"Neither can I, and I go to school with her every day," my mother said.
"I can't believe she's going to high school already."
"If I blink twice," my mother said, "she'll be going to college."
I really didn't know where the time had gone either. Days had turned to weeks, and weeks to months. My father always says that life is like running a marathon. The only way to get anywhere is to put one foot in front of the other.
Jean: Brooke finished junior high with a top grade-point average. This gave her the opportunity to continue with her honors curriculum and also be placed in the highly competitive science-research class. We met the program director, Mrs. Krieger, on a trip to check out the high school over the summer.
A slight woman with short salt-and-pepper hair, Mrs. Krieger had a formidable reputation. It quickly became evident why. "You must be Brooke," she said, and then proceeded to lay down the law.
"I don't accept late papers and never give extensions," she said sternly. "You are going to be treated like everyone else. Frankly, Brooke, I'm not sure whether you're able to handle this program. There are going to be a lot of hands-on things you probably won't be able to do. We'll give it a try if you really want to."
With that, she turned away to work with another student.I followed Brooke's wheelchair out into the hall. When I looked at her face, I saw she was ashen.
"Mom, I don't know if I'm going to be able to do that class," she said to me.
"People have preconceived notions," I reminded her, "and unless they're shown differently, nothing changes. This is a class where you're going to have to be the student and the teacher."
I knew she was upset, but I hoped she would see this situation as she had so many others: just another obstacle she had to overcome.
Brooke: Going to high school every day with my mother was working out okay. The kids had become accustomed to her presence. We were always together, and her social life was intertwined with mine. I would see my old friends in the hall as I traveled from class to class, and they would stop and say hello, but it always remained on a superficial level. And as conspicuous as I was, I still seemed invisible to many.
This really bothered me, and I wanted to know what it was that made people feel so awkward around me. I got the sense some people were frightened of me, and that I was a reminder of how fragile their own lives really were. I wrote an essay about it for English class:
Does anybody really know me? I'm the girl on a respirator and in a wheelchair. Is that really me, or is it just what you see? I'm still the same girl I always was. I have the same hopes, the same desires and the same dreams I always had. I'm a dancer, oh, how I loved to dance. I'm a cellist. I'm a lover of all things beautiful: nature, art, friendship, a kind word.
We are too complicated to label each other with a word. We need to care enough to know, before we decide on what we see. When you see me, look through the metal and the equipment and say hello. I'd like to know who you are, and I'd also like you to know who I really am.
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