Posted on April 26th, 2013
hen Peaches’ cast came off, I thought there would be a party. Cupcakes and Lazarus walking and cartwheels, I think, was what I expected when the chrysalis around her leg was cracked open and her ankle was free to twist and turn and do the work it had done in good faith since she’d started walking, late, at 16 months.
But there was trepidation in healing, too—of whether or not the ankle could be trusted to support her in the same way it had before. She wanted to run but she was sure that she wouldn’t be able to. Leaving the doctor’s office, she held onto her crutches even more tightly than she had on her way into the appointment, when her leg was still encased in the hard candy orange of her cast.
You could run right now if you wanted to, I promised. You just don’t believe that you can.
“I miss being able to believe,” she told me.
I told her that belief would come back, accidentally and incrementally, but that it would return to her. She would have to extend herself a little to draw this certainty into herself, I cautioned; could she just try standing on both feet a few times today?
She could and she did, sort of. The cupcakes we’ll save for another day.∗