One Whole Quarter

Well, I made it. A week of orientation, ten weeks of classes, a week of break, and a week of finals later, and still no one at Stanford knows that I have a brachial plexus injury. Let me be clear that I did not go into my college career intending to keep this a secret. I didn't even realize until about halfway through that it had never come up. Until week nine, I didn't even have to deflect questions in order to finish the quarter without explaining myself. I will admit that in the last couple weeks I purposely avoided giving direct answers in a couple situations where I easily could have shared my story. I shrugged off a friend who noticed the reminder on my phone to do my arm workout, and I ran away from a de-stressing massage workshop in my dorm when it came time to work on arms. I didn't even respond in these ways solely for the purpose of this blog post or my own sense of some form of accomplishment, but after living with people for nine weeks, it seemed strange to spring this on them all of a sudden. I think it is often more awkward explaining BPI to someone who you've known for a while. There is too much guilt and confusion on both sides (Me: "I'm sorry you don't know. I haven't told you?" Them: "How do I not know this? I'm sorry I never noticed..."). Explaining your injury to someone you only recently met is somehow a less daunting task.

Now, don't worry, I do not plan on spending the next four years pretending I don't have a brachial plexus injury. This quarter has been tough enough. What started as a sort of freeing experience turned into a barrier between friends. I found myself constantly worrying that situations would come up where I wouldn't be able to avoid the questions. I felt trapped. I didn't want to tell anyone, but I wanted everyone to know. On the one hand, I do wish I had explained my BPI right off the bat, but on the other hand, there was never a convenient opportunity until it felt like it was weirdly too late into my relationships to be having this discussion. I'd love to hear anyone's thoughts on how I handled this situation. Tell me your advice or parallel stories in the comments box in the right-hand column!

For now, I will tell you my solution. In my dorm, we have been doing what people at Stanford call "spotlight." It's basically an opportunity for someone to tell their life story. Every week, a few people volunteer to do it at a certain time, and anyone in the dorm who has the time can come and just listen to them tell anything and everything they want about their life that may explain who they are today. I plan to volunteer next quarter, and I will share my BPI story within my "spotlight." In my mind, a more formal setting like that will make it less weird for me to be sharing it. I can no longer give the excuse that there was no opportunity for me to explain, and it won't be in a direct conversation with a friend that could get awkward. Also this way, everyone will find out at once. I won't have to try and keep track of who I've told and who still doesn't know. Word will get around and the deed will be done in a ripping-off-the-band-aid like strategy. I'll make sure to let you know how that goes :)

The Jessica Williams Way

A couple of weeks ago I attended a talk by Jessica Williams, a correspondent on the Daily Show. It was a lot of comedy, but she also got serious when bringing up issues like racism and sexism about which she is passionate. She told anecdotes and jokes and recited history and facts, but ultimately it came down to one theme: it's okay to be angry and sad about things going on in the world or in your life, but you can't just "sit" on it; you have to do something about it. She brought this up in the context of how she, as a black female comedian, uses comedy to express her passion regarding issues that affect her as well as the rest of us. 

This was an important message to me. I think all of us who've dealt with BPI can recall a time when we were angry or sad about our limitations or the ways in which we are different from others. And I think it's a choice we have to make whether or not we let that anger and sadness seep into us and take control of our lives. It's neither an easy choice nor a conscious one if we don't recognize it. This blog is an example of how I've chosen to do something about these feelings instead. That doesn't mean that I don't wake up angry or sad every now and then, or that I can conquer it every time I do. But often I find ways to redirect those emotions.  Like I said last time, it's easy to fall into helplessness, but we have to choose a different path. We were dealt brachial plexus injuries and now it's up to us what we do with them. I choose the Jessica Williams way. 

My Presentation Dictates Your Perception

Helplessness is one of the feelings that can be most closely linked to brachial plexus injuries. I have spent much of my life needing to depend on others for physical support due to my shoulder. There are some things I literally cannot do, some things I am powerless to change. It's easy to get stuck on that helplessness, to get stuck in the cycle of "I can't do this and I can't do that," "I can't change anything," "I'm never going to live a normal life," etc. It's easy to forget that there's a lot we can control.

One of those major aspects is how we present our injuries and our attitudes about them. If someone notices my shoulder isn't quite like my other one, and I get really uncomfortable or nervous, the person will perceive it as this big deal, a taboo topic that creates tension in a relationship. If I own it, then they have no choice then to be like "oh wow okay" and move on. In just presenting my attitude as confident, they understand that my BPI is a piece of me but that it does not define me, that it's okay for them to ask questions, but also that because it is a piece of me, they cannot make fun of it just as they wouldn't make fun of someone's acne or crooked teeth.

I know it's easier said than done and by no means have I always been able to do this. It was a long journey to find the confidence I have in my injury and generally in myself, but I'm not sure I could ever define for you which one led to the other. They are equally entwined; I just hope that this revelation I've had may remind you to be comfortable with your shoulder, and in turn yourself.

The point is that we are not helpless. How you present your injury dictates how that person perceives it. It's important to realize that you are often in charge of how big of a deal your brachial plexus injury is in your life. Maybe you will never be able to reach the top shelf with your left arm, but you are responsible for the way in which people react to watching you try.

Typing and Biking

Two things that I've done for a long time, but two things I've never done as much as I do in college. Two things that are simple actions we learn as little kids, but two things that aren't so easy with BPI.

I never noticed that I bike/type differently until coming here and doing it in front of my peers every day. I get a little self conscious about my uneven hands when I type out notes in physics lecture or when I'm biking back from the gym leaning a little to my left side with my arm bent while my right one's straight to rest my hands on the handlebars. 

A new place brings new activities, new routines, and new discoveries. I'm trying to teach myself to use my hands equally on the keyboard, and I straighten up when I catch myself leaning on my bike. The knowledge that I'm surrounded by new people upon which I'm trying to make a good impression makes me a bit more conscious of these little things. 

Week 7 and the only person who knows anything about my shoulder is my yoga teacher. I'm starting to wonder if people notice but just aren't saying anything. In fact, I know they do, and I'm starting to hope the opportunity arises for me to explain because I don't want people wondering what's wrong with me. I know I could speak up but this is still an interesting experiment.

I can't tell if I'm happy or not that it hasn't come up yet. Should I be proud that my BPI isn't noticeable, or sad that still no one feels comfortable enough to ask? For now, I'm still happy for myself, but I'll keep you updated.

It's funny that throughout my life, I've had to give an explanation at many different points in relationships. Some people found out the first day they met me while others didn't know for months. I'm enjoying this unexpected experiment :)

Hi again!

I'm back! Sorry for the too-long break. I promise I have not forgotten about this and was in fact taking the time off to come up with new ideas not only for this blog, but also for other ways in which I can make an impact on the BPI community. More to come on that soon hopefully.

Well I am officially a college student. It is the end of my first week of classes, the end of my second week living away from home and in an entirely new place. Before leaving, all anyone said is how excited they were for me and how the next four years will be the best of my life. I will meet my best friends and make my best memories and have such interesting classes, etc. Now obviously I believe that all to be true, but I think it's kinda funny that everyone neglects to remember or mention what the beginning is like. Because it's incredibly weird. You're all excited to get to college and you have all these big expectations in your head about how amazing your life is going to be now that you're living away from your parents and you're surrounded by cool people and great opportunities... And then you have the same conversation over and over with every new person you meet.

"what's your name?"
"where are you from?"
"what dorm are you in?"
"what classes are you taking?"
"what do you want to major in?"


You become this weird version of yourself where you're not yet ready to be as weird or sarcastic as you truly are with these total strangers. You're meeting all these new people but no one's really being themselves so you start to question the point. You lose yourself a little bit and feel overwhelmed by the lack of familiar faces, familiar routine, a familiar place. It's all so uncomfortable.

Now that's not to say I haven't been having a great time. Not to say I haven't met amazing people or I haven't been really weird or sarcastic sometimes. Not to say I haven't been happy or excited or really interested in my classes. I just think it's extremely strange that when you talk to people about going to college, no one warns you about that first week. No one warns you that you won't be yourself that first week. No one reassures you that it won't be hard to find her again, nor will it take long.

Testament to this strange beginning is the funny fact that somehow my brachial plexus injury has yet to come up with anyone here. I realized the other day that literally no one here knows about it. I haven't purposely avoided talking about it, I just haven't been forced to mention it yet. Though the real Lise has definitely risen to the surface based on my new friends' comments on my sarcasm, a piece of me is accidentally and unnecessarily hidden away still. I'll keep you updated on how and when it ends up coming up.

I'm happy to be back and ready to get messages about anyone's summer or about exciting news or just a hello! Can't wait to hear from you guys again :)

Chiropractor

A new method that I've found can be useful! BPI can throw your back out of line so the chiropractor can be helpful to prevent and fix that with adjustments. It's not scary. Just a bunch of back cracks that make you feel good I promise. Try it out and tell me about your experience!

Defensive

Ironically, talking about improving my injury is never fun. I've only recently noticed my immediate defensiveness, though I'm sure I've done it for much of my life. Whether it's a comment from my mother, a friend, or a stranger, I resent it. I shut down. It could be a new exercise, a new surgery, a new doctor, a new form of medical attention, it doesn't matter; I don't want to hear it. Of all things, this is what I should want to hear, right?? How do I make this annoying thing better?? But no. Let's see if I can explain this considering I don't fully understand it myself. And let me warn you that it's not all entirely logical.

First, I don't want to talk about how to make it better, because I don't want to even have this thing that I have to make better in the first place (First sign of lack of logic: don't we all have things to make better?). 99% of people I know have two fully functional arms that they never have to worry about. Why do I have to worry? Why can't I just deal with it. This brings me to the second aspect of my defensiveness. I'm used to my arm the way it is. I have spent nearly 18 years getting used to it, compensating for it, learning how to work around it. I'm doing just fine, so why should I have to try and fix it? (Well, Lise, because it could be more than "fine" and also because you ignoring it will probably make your future painful and uncomfortable...). Ultimately, change is scary and I don't like being told how I need to be fixed. Wasn't I born this way and aren't I doing all right? To those who try to talk to me about improvement: I apologize, but I hope this helps clear up my seemingly illogical response a little. And I do understand and apologize for its remaining holes in logic. I'm pretty much giving into emotions during these conversations, and those are always entirely illogical so it shouldn't be too surprising.

Someone who Always Remembers

It is impossible and ridiculous to expect everyone to always remember my shoulder injury. People I've known forever still hit it, pull it, grab it, and even look at it funny. It's to be expected. There are countless people who go in and out of our lives, and I understand and respect that the big "WARNING" sign on my shoulder isn't permanently visible for many people besides myself. I can't expect it to be a priority for anyone.

Still, there's something very endearing about a person who does seem to always remember. Someone who will wrestle me but avoid attacking my left arm. Someone who will offer massages and remind me to pull my shoulders back and sit up straight. Someone who will ask me questions about it, who will always offer to help but also always let me try on my own, and who won't laugh when I struggle. These are the people who I hope to never let go, and I'm lucky enough to have several of them in my life. So here's to them. Thank you.

A Manicure

I've maybe gone to get a manicure a total of ten times in my life, and in the long period of time between appointments, I seem to always forget that it's a surprisingly difficult task for my left arm.

When Senior Prom rolled around, I thought it was enough of an occasion to head to the nail salon. As soon as I sat in the chair and lifted my arms onto the table between me and the manicurist, I quickly remembered my last couple visits and how tired my arm had become while "resting" on this table for the lady to paint my nails. Holding it up there in the right position wasn't exactly easy for me. Just another silly normal thing that I forget is a little more difficult for my left arm. 

This visit was especially fun. I came to realize that the woman painting my nails was fairly new. She was cutting my cuticles a little too close and finally I felt a sharp pang on my left ring finger and looked over to see blood. After twenty minutes of intense effort from three women trying to get my annoyingly persistent bloodstream to clot, they just had me hold it above my heart. Not only did my arm get extremely sore and tired, but also as I sat there in sweats, messy hair, and no makeup not long before I had to show up for prom pictures, I began to think I had scheduled the appointment a little too late in the day.

Eventually, I just gave up and put my arm down. I thought my arm would fall off if I held it up there any longer so I just let my finger bleed a little more. I walked out of there with a tired shoulder, a bloody finger, and a familiar wish to have a normal arm. But now, like always, it's just something to look back on and laugh at. 

"Ouch"

 And as soon as they realize I wasn't joking:

"Oh my gosh, did I hurt you?! Oh I'm so sorry, oh no. I didn't mean to oh I forgot oh no I'm so sorry!"

It's okay. Really. It's not like your friendly slap on my shoulder is a stab wound. Yes, it stung a little. Yes, what normally doesn't hurt your other friends or even my other arm did hurt a little. But I will survive. I have lived almost 18 years with this shoulder and I'm even tougher than you think. "Ouch" is a reflex reaction. The unnecessary pain still surprises me sometimes, but a second later I have recovered.

This tends to happen a lot. It's definitely one of many responses to my saying "ouch" after someone's friendly push or punch to my arm, but I've found it's the one made by those that care about me the most. The people I don't know very well get uncomfortable and quiet, and the people I don't particularly want to spend time with tend to just laugh. These are very broad generalizations obviously. The situations are very different and so spark different reactions from different people in different moments.

The point is, I hate these situations as much as the friend. I don't want you to feel bad! I am fine. I nearly always regret saying "ouch" even as it is leaving my mouth. I promise my arm is not about to fall off. You do not need to rush me to the emergency room and you definitely should not beat yourself up about making me say "ouch." I hurt perfectly healthy people with my friendly pushes all the time and that justifies feeling bad. This is not the same. I cannot expect you to, nor do I even want you to always be conscious of my shoulder's sensitivity and limitations. I'm just a normal human being who wants you to punch my right arm instead of my left.

Just Watch

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=iuYxGtuBSgk

And send me or comment any response you have to this video that has recently gone viral. It is an incredible story.

Another Yoga Story

I welcome written complaints from anyone who feels my yoga stories are too numerous. Until then, I will keep sharing the new stories I seem to be continuously acquiring.

So in another yoga class with another yoga teacher, I had an entirely new experience. This guy got very involved in my practice. In most of my classes, the teacher simply walks up to me after noticing my left arm's lack of mobility, usually during our first downward facing dog, asks if I have a shoulder injury, and then nods and walks away when I confirm. This time, he sat next to me, said "okay here's what we're gonna do," and proceeded to take me step by step through a much more comfortable modified pose. Throughout the practice, he came up to me and gave me more suitable poses for my shoulder and after the class, he recommended a specific teacher and type of yoga to help strengthen my arm. The interest that this teacher took in me reminded me why I started doing yoga in the first place: to help my shoulder. I had begun to do yoga like I do most things in life. I had begun to overcompensate for my left arm, causing strain on my right arm and further degeneration to my left. I had forgotten that if I do it in a way that's right for my body, yoga can actually counteract this tendency. This teacher reminded me that my practice is very different than anyone else's. I don't need to compare myself to them or try and do what I know I can't. I need to find what's best for my body so that I can actually take full advantage of my yoga instead of just going through the motions the way it seems I should. 

"You're a rockstar"

The teacher told me this in the middle of a yoga class last week. Just days after seeing Humans of New York's post that I shared last week, the same yoga teacher stopped me after the same class and told me I was "inspiring." I immediately recalled the picture and the woman calling it "patronizing" and I almost laughed. I didn't laugh! I smiled and told the guy I really appreciated his words, thanked him for the class, and left. The whole drive home I tried to figure out how I felt about it. My immediate reaction was not that I felt patronized. It was comforting to know that my hard work was recognized. But I also completely agreed with the woman on Humans of New York who said "I'm not living a wonderful life for a disabled person. I'm living a wonderful life, period." I think this is a very important message of which we need to constantly remind ourselves. People tell us we are "rock stars" and we are "wonderful" and we are "inspiring," but we are all of these things even disregarding our disabilities. It goes back to what I know I've talked about before which is to not be defined by your injury. You are so much more than your disability. I am a strong yogi and the woman on Humans of New York is compassionate, intelligent, beautiful. We are all of this and more because of who we are on the inside not because of what people see on the outside. You are allowed to feel good when someone calls you a rockstar for modifying all the yoga poses for your shoulder and you are allowed to be happy when someone tells you that you are inspiring. But you are also allowed to not feel so good and to thank them kindly and dismiss it entirely. We are all different and we cannot be categorized. 

Humans of New York

If you haven't heard of Humans of New York, I promise it is worth checking out. It is a Facebook page (also transferred to other social media like Instagram) run by a photographer in New York. He takes pictures of strangers throughout the city and talks to them to get a quote that brings light to a side of them they may not always share or others don't always see. He then posts the photo paired with the quote as the caption. This week I found one quite relevant and relatable :

Never "The Best"

It seems like no matter what we do, we are never the best. Someone is always better at whatever we try. Yesterday's world record or gold medal is a memory tomorrow and it feels as if we are always working only to end up good instead of great. Brachial plexus injury or not, we are constantly comparing ourselves to others and usually finding a reason they must be above us. But it's all ridiculous. So I'm not the best soccer player or the smartest student or the most compassionate friend or the most angelic daughter but I know that I am a good soccer player, an intelligent person, a caring friend, and a nice daughter. My value doesn't have to rest on its relation to others'. I'm not the best but as long as I am striving to be my best, isn't that all that matters? I was born to do something entirely different than everyone else here. You were too. So how can we compare ourselves to them?

"Don't compare yourself to others. Compare yourself to the person you were yesterday."

I think that is a much better way to go about it :)

P.S. Sorry for the lack of posts the past couple weeks, I was using the time to gather new thoughts and ideas for this blog! But I am back :) 

Back to Yoga

I haven't gone to yoga in a really long time just because soccer doesn't really leave me with time for it. But with the start of a new semester at school, I'm back to actually having it as a class and therefore a part of my daily schedule. Day 1 was a little rough. I could definitely feel my leave of absence in the tightness and weakness of not only my shoulder but also my entire body. But after just a week, I'm already feeling better. That first downward facing dog of every class is a little bit more relaxed each day and I'm realizing how much I missed yoga. It's making me aware of my shoulder again which can be frustrating and almost claustrophobic like I've explained before but being aware of my shoulder is also something I think is necessary in my life. Yoga helps me understand better its tightness and mobility, strengths and weaknesses, and abilities and disabilities and though these understandings don't often make me happy, it's important that I recognize them so that I can do what's best for my body and especially so that I can make improvements. What does make me happy is being back to practicing yoga (5 days a week!) and back to listening to my body. Don't underestimate it. 

"My Bad Arm"

Calling it that has become a habit. And when I call it my bad arm, everyone else follows suit. When my soccer coach said it this week, I didn't even think about it until a moment later she corrected herself: "It's not really your bad arm; it's a good arm!!" It made me laugh but in reality, she's right. It isn't a bad arm. And I shouldn't call it that. I have two good arms with one that can just do a little less than the other. And that's okay! :)

It Scored!

Soccer isn't supposed to be a sport where you use your arms but mine had a mind of its own this week. I made my run into the box on a corner kick in our game Friday and the ball decided to bounce off my arm and into the goal... The ref saw nothing and what do you know, I just scored a goal with my BPI shoulder! I laughed to myself as people congratulated me and I immediately knew it'd be my next blog post. Not many people can say they've scored a goal with their arm and especially not one with a birth injury. It was a very proud moment, even if I was the only one who understood why it was such a big deal. You never know what your arm could do for you :)

One Positive

In my college application to UC Berkeley, I wrote a little about my shoulder and its impact on my life. After receiving my application, they sent me an additional questionnaire to fill out in order to give them more insight into the extent of its effects. The second question was about the impact that my physical disability has had on my academic performance and I realized it hasn't been detrimental in that area of my life at all. I may have a torn nerve but I am lucky to be able to say that my brain can think just fine. There is always so much to be thankful for and it's sad how easy it is to forget that. I am incredibly happy to have academics as a part of my life in which I can perform and be treated normally :)

Feeling Like a Little Kid

BPI often binds you to dependency. Normal people survive their childhoods with the help of others and then slowly learn to live on their own without it. Oftentimes a brachial plexus injury makes that seem impossible. It's hard to feel independent when you still struggle to turn the steering wheel or put a shirt on or give a high five. When you still need people's help to do things any normal teenager should be able to. On top of that, people seem to no matter what treat you more like a child when they find out. They forget that you are the same person they've known as normal before you told them. No need for things to change just cause you now know something that always existed!

Some physical things may still be awkward for me but if anything, I'm mentally older because of my brachial plexus injury. To others I may seem more dependent, but in my mind I feel more independent than most people I meet. With an injury as uncommon as BPI, you learn to figure things out on your own much sooner than everyone else. 

Hair

As a girl with a brachial plexus injury, this is a big issue. I never used to be able to do my own hair. My arm couldn't get up there and even if it could, my hand probably wouldn't have the strength or control necessary. Even without BPI, doing hair is not an easy task. After several years, a surgery and OT, I can do my hair on my own. Well mostly. My ponytails are always slightly to one side and not exactly smooth. Braiding in the back is a near impossible task and don't even get me started on French braiding. My arm gets tired doing all of it. I've taken to simple hairdos. My hair goes up for soccer and stays down for pretty much everything else and that's fine with me! Less to worry about, right? And I'm not afraid to ask my mom or a friend for help if I do want to do something special with my hair. But usually I feel nothing is wrong with just letting it be. I can even blame it on laziness if I want :)