Life on Wheels, But Still a Knight

Coming home from rehab was exciting. Freeing, even. I was finally leaving the structured world of inpatient care and returning home to my college apartment. But beneath all that excitement, I  felt like something had changed, like I was stepping into a life that looked familiar, yet felt entirely new.

My mom and friends jumped into action, helping make my small college apartment into something more disability-friendly. It wasn’t perfect, but it worked. Grab bars were installed, furniture was rearranged, and pathways were cleared. Every small adjustment was made with love. It was a big transition, but I was grateful to be back in a space I knew, surrounded by comfort and familiarity.

My mom stayed close during this adjustment period, making sure I felt safe and supported. And I won’t sugarcoat it, I had a lot of feelings about it. There were so many things I wanted to do, but I still felt limited. Things I had taken for granted, like being able to open my front door by myself, had become challenges that I needed to rely on others to overcome. I hated needing help. I had always been independent, and suddenly I had to rely on others for things that once felt automatic. It was hard to accept that my life was temporarily different, even harder to believe it wouldn’t always feel this way.

My best friend Alyssa, my mom, and I decided that if I was going to use a walker, it was going to have personality.My anxiety skyrocketed. I felt deeply insecure in my body. I worried about what people thought when they saw me with my walker. I felt shame surrounding my scar, and part of me begged internally for my old life back, the body I had before, the ease I once took for granted. But this chapter marked the beginning of something important. 

 And as a proud Knight and UCF student, it had to be on theme. We decorated it together, covering the legs with glittery duct tape, accessorized with ribbons and bows, twinkly lights, and of course, a Knight-themed rubber duck. I wasn’t going to blend in, I was going to shine. 

About four weeks post-op, I decided I wanted to do something a little wild; I wanted to go to a UCF tailgate. I had been stubborn about it for weeks, frustratingly enough, this had been planned way before my accident even happened, and I wasn’t taking no for an answer. My friends made sure I was safe the entire time. They stayed on top of my medication, took breaks with me when I needed to, and most importantly, made sure I had fun. Admittedly, seeing people’s reactions as I showed up in a fully decked out  walker was honestly kind of funny. It helped remind me that my life wasn’t over just because it looked different. Even though I wasn't able to have a traditional "tailgate experience" I was still able to have a BLAST! For the first time since going to the hospital, I felt like I had my old life again. All the heat and standing did leave me a little uncomfortable and in pain, but my amazing friends by my side helped me get home safely where we could rest and watch the game (of course, while we ate pizza). To this day, that tailgate is still one of my favorite memories from my university experience.

I made a quiet promise to myself during that time, a promise to enjoy the rest of my university experience. I went to class, I completed my assignments, and took exams to the best of my ability. I was incredibly lucky to have professors who were understanding, compassionate, and did everything they could to accommodate me and help me succeed. Their support mattered more than they’ll ever know.

It was the start of a long, emotional journey of relearning how to love myself, my body, my scar, and the version of me that survived something incredibly hard. I wasn’t there yet. Not even close. But I was learning that life doesn’t end when it changes. Sometimes, it just asks you to show up differently. And I did walker, glitter, scar, and all.