EPILOGUE
Friday July 25th
Scottie
“I have great news,” Ms. Bartlett, my counselor here at Dickson, updates as she leans across her desk to hand me a paper. “Your schedule has been updated.”
“How many of my classes did you manage to switch?” I question, glancing down at the sheet of paper with a cup half full of hope. I know Ms. Bartlett will try, but with the semester starting soon and open enrollment happening nearly a week ago, I don’t expect her to be able to perform magic.
Studying the paper more closely when Ms. Bartlett doesn’t say anything, I run quickly through the dream schedule, double-check twice that all the psych classes I needed are on there, and then gape. “Wait…you got me in all of the classes?”
“All of them.” She smiles, and she’s not the only one. If my face were a spaceship, it’d be picking up humans at an astonishing rate.
“You’re a miracle worker!”
“I’m glad you’re happy, Scottie.” Ms. Bartlett grins and blows imaginary dust off her fingernails before subsequently polishing them on her shoulders.
“And—” A soft knock on her office door grabs our attention, interrupting her.
A scruffy curled head pokes in and locks eyes with her, and she gives me an apologetic smile. “Give me a second, Scottie?”
“Of course,” I say with a nod as she steps out of her office to talk to her colleague.
Silence and solitude seep in around me, and I pick at my cuticles as thoughts of excitement and anticipation for my new career path swirl through my mind.
A career path inspired by Molly and me and Luke—another teenager from St. Luke’s Inpatient Rehabilitation who was diagnosed with retinal detachment syndrome and is mentally and emotionally struggling with his new reality after a failed surgery attempt on his right eye. A career path inspired by the millions of young adults like us, dealing with unforeseen circumstances or unfair hands and doing their best to navigate in a world that wasn’t designed for them. A career path born of one pivotal conversation I can still remember word for word, weeks later.
“You know, Luke, maybe being blind won’t be so bad?” Molly had chimed in. “You’re really cute, and I bet there will be a lot of girls who will want to help you out, you know.” She waggled her brows and giggled, and Luke burst out in laughter.
“You think being blind will get me girls, Molly?”
“Probably.” Molly giggled more. “And maybe I don’t have to stop running track because I lost my leg. Maybe I can get one of those cool legs and run in the Paralympics.”
“That’d be so cool, Molls,” I said, and Luke agreed.
“That’s definitely something I want to be there for in person,” he said. “But you’ll have to save me extra tickets, though, because I’ll need a bunch of seats for all my new girlfriends.”
Luke’s doctors have given him a dismal prognosis in regards to his vision, and they’ve estimated that, in a few years’ time, it's likely he will go blind in both eyes. Molly is still dealing with adjusting to her amputation, but she’s also experiencing a significant amount of phantom limb pain. Per Molly, it sucks big time. And I’m not sure what the future holds for me. I may or may not walk again, and I can’t put my life on hold in hopes of a miracle.
But the three of us are a mere drop in the bucket of people like us, and there’s a space for me to help provide light at the end of many a dark tunnel.
We need space to vent our frustrations and the tools to fix the things we can. And we need someone advocating for that outside of ourselves and our families, during the most vulnerable time in our lives.
As Luke and Molly spoke and I listened, I realized that the someone advocating for the bucket of people like them and me could be… me .
After I left the hospital that day, I sent Elizabeth—aka Ms. Bartlett—an email. Ever since then, she’s been helping me get my course load updated to reflect my new major—a bachelor’s in Developmental Psychology that will hopefully lead to a masters of science in Child and Adolescent Developmental Psychology.
My end goal is to be a therapist who specializes in counseling and being a supportive resource for children with disabilities. Especially, children and adolescents who are faced with tragic, life-changing situations like Molly and Luke and me. I want to help advocate for them. Help them and their parents deal with the numerous difficult emotions you face. Help them find their path to acceptance, and more than that, their path to not just surviving but thriving .
“Sorry about that, Scottie,” Elizabeth announces as she walks back into her office and sits down behind her desk. It’s crazy how all those months ago—when everything had happened with my mom—I was purposely ignoring this woman. But over the past two weeks, I’ve been in contact with her so much that we’re on a first-name basis.
“No problem,” I say.
“So, we’re happy with the schedule changes?”
“Happy?” I question on a laugh. “More like ecstatic. Thank you so much, Elizabeth. I know it wasn’t easy, getting all of this switched last minute.”
“It’s what I’m here for, Scottie. I’m glad to do it.” She smiles. “So…do you think you’ll want to get a PhD in Clinical Psychology?”
“A PhD?” I furrow my brow. “That sounds like a lot of work.”
“Of course it is.” Elizabeth chuckles. “They don’t call you a doctor for nothing. But I’ve seen your grades, Scottie. I also see your passion. This is the kind of career you were made to do. So, don’t write it off, okay?”
“How about I’ll start with my bachelor’s and go from there?” I toss back, and Elizabeth grins.
“And how about I’ll be here for you every step of the way?”
“Sounds perfect.”
“Oh, by the way,” she adds. “I had an interesting meeting with Connie over at the Disability Services Office. She wants me to assist her in creating a survey for all students to fill out every year so that the university can be aware of any disabilities and provide them with resources that will help accommodate them. And I heard that you are the driving force behind this incredible change… Is that true?”
I can’t hide my smile. “It’s true.”
After some serious research on ADA accommodations on college campuses, one of the things I found out was that most universities—including Dickson—have students self-identify their disabilities. Every university appears to have a different process of self-identifying, but the commonality of them all was that it ends up putting students in a situation where they have to strongly advocate for themselves rather than having the university trying to advocate for them.
Insert me looking out for them instead.
And it appears that Dickson is taking my suggestions to heart. At a pretty rapid pace, to my utter surprise.
“I swear, Scottie, you can take on the world.” Elizabeth smiles at me from across her desk, and the only thing that comes to mind is… Hell yeah, I can.
My phone vibrates in my jean-shorts pocket, and I cringe a little when I meet her eyes, but she just waves a hand at me. “By all means, check your messages. I don’t mind.”
I glance down at the screen and see a text that makes me smile all over again.
Finn: Are you coming home soon, birthday girl?
“Well, with the look on your face, I’d say, it’s a good text,” Elizabeth comments, and I laugh.
“It’s my boyfriend.”
“Let me guess, he wants you to get this boring meeting over with so you can celebrate your birthday?”
I snort. “Pretty much.”
“You got big plans for your birthday, Scottie?”
“Just spending time with my boyfriend.”
Honestly, it feels weird to call Finn my boyfriend. With how far we’ve come, that word feels weak. It feels like it doesn’t come close to encompassing what he is to me.
“Well, I’m not going to keep you here any longer. You need to go enjoy your birthday instead of sitting here talking to me about career paths.”
Funnily enough, I love talking about my career path. It feels like my destiny. It feels like everything I’ve been through has been for a reason. Like, this is how my life is supposed to be.
Would I love to get out of this chair and walk again? Of course.
But am I going to spend the rest of my life feeling sorry for myself? Hell no.
I have so much to give, so much to offer, and if my freak accident of an injury has proven anything, it’s that I’m strong. I can do hard things.
I can do anything .
“Thanks for everything, Elizabeth,” I tell her again as I start to wheel out the door.
But when I make it down the hallway and to the elevators, I pause to send Finn a quick text back.
Me: Honey, I’ll be home soon. ;)
And his response comes in a second later— I can’t fucking wait.