Feminism was something I had encountered, like many things I now consider myself, in high school. There were the typical guys who would cry out “feminazi” about any girl who stood up for herself or who was mildly assertive. That was when I first became acquainted with the term. It was an awful introduction in all honesty. People also would react in horror to Marxism and thought Buddhism was cool, but just didn’t make sense (almost everyone was a White Anglo-Saxon Protestant at my high school). I now label myself as many of the things that people found odd back then.
I never leave the hospital that day. Instead, I get the grim, but not surprising news, of finding out a disk ruptured. Essentially, the reason my nerves now felt like they were on fire was because rather than being only partially cut off, they were almost entirely cut off from the rest of my body. Which explains why my head was cocked at a forty-five-degree angle, it was to offset the severe balance problem of my brain not being able to communicate with my leg. So, surgery was inevitable, however, you’d think I’d be afraid at this point. The thing is, I wasn’t. At no point did them putting me under, or performing surgery around my spine even phase me. It just seemed like a necessary thing at this point. It was do or die for me.
