"Hey look, she has O.I. too. You should go talk to her." My mother would mumble to me in Chinese. We were sitting in the cast room at Children's Hospital, waiting for my orthopedic to arrive. I looked at the other girl and narrowed my eyes and thought, 'I better be the one the doctor sees first. It doesn't even look like she broke anything.'
"I'm not going to talk to her, mom. I don't care."
"But you both have the same disease!"
"Yeah, and so? Whatever." I murmured and slumped back into my seat.


It really wasn't until about two weeks ago, when this blog began, that I began to open myself up to other O.I.'ers. Sure there is the chat sponsored by the OI Foundation every Sunday, but even then I go there to talk to others - it's not really because they have the same thing as me.
Pre-school was the only time I remembered seeing another kid my age in a wheelchair or other disability. After that my parents mainstreamed me and never brought up an O.I. Conference, meeting, panel, play-date, swim session, or disability camp ever again. Being the middle child of two brothers, and always the only student in a wheelchair at school - I seemed to be well immersed and distracted by the 'able-bodied' community. To me I had all my ducks lined up in my life, and whenever one went scattering my mother or father would barge in and tidy things up again. I climbed ropes in P.E., tried the jungle gym at recess, went on an 8th grade sleep away trip, joined debate team, was editor of the school paper, drank, tried drugs, went on dates, prom, went to college... in many ways it was like I was zooming through able-bodied life, racing ahead trying to prove that I could "do it" too.
Every once in awhile though I would wonder what it would have been like if I had a close friend who was in a wheelchair, or even someone my age who also has O.I. Times like before I went on my first interview for an internship, when I wanted to study away in college, trying on prom dresses, when I first tried alcohol, or when I went to my first club. Fleetingly I would, and still sometimes do, resent my parents for having 'shielded' me away from another aspect of myself, away from another community that I only recently stumbled into. It wasn't necessarily because I wanted another ear to listen to me whine about my "unique situations," or someone who would teach me how to open a door while driving your wheelchair through with an ice cream cone in hand. It's because I was and am curious about people in general. In the past I was told that the O.I. community was small but in the past 2 weeks I have been wowed at the enormity of everyone's generosity, kindness, empathy, and encouragement. At the end of every night I have been checking the stats of my blog, seeing which new corner of the world I have gotten clicks from - the map has shown many from Australia, Finland, Canada, France, Spain, even India! There is nothing "small" about these clicks, and now I understand that there is nothing awkward or shameful about wanting to connect with others who may or may not "have the same thing as me."

Today I hung out with two O.I.'ers for the first time - on a voluntary, completely non-spontaneous, outside-of-the-hospital setting. I thought it would be awkward, that I would not be able to have a clue how to interact with others in wheelchairs, and that I would be totally distracted by the fact that everyone was in a wheelchair. But I wasn't. The only time that occurred to me that we were all in wheelchairs was when right before I left the house I decided to go on Yelp.com to look up places that were accessible in the neighborhood we were meeting in, but then I quickly realized... wait a second, I don't need to do that this time. I can just go and not worry about a thing.