Cheers to 42 Years: St. Paddy’s Celebration with One Leg Friend, On St. Patrick’s Day, I celebrate more than just a holiday—I celebrate my disability anniversary. This year marks 42 years since I officially joined the disability community. And yes, I celebrate every day—but St. Patrick’s? That one’s extra special (and no, I’m still not Irish). At two years old, I was diagnosed with a rare childhood cancer called Alveolar Rhabdomyosarcoma. My odds? A 10% chance of survival. But on St. Patrick’s Day, I had to have a hemipelvectomy—a fancy medical term for “we’re taking your leg and part of your pelvis.” Two years of chemo, maxed-out radiation, and a whole lot of resilience later…well, spoiler alert: I lived. Now, some folks think a “disability anniversary” is a day for mourning. I’m sure I had my moments as a kid, mainly because of barriers and ableism, but I adapted—because that’s what disabled people do. I don’t wake up every morning thinking, “Oh no, I have one leg!”—it’s just who I am. But here’s the thing—society doesn’t always get that. Sometimes people look at me like I’m some kind of alien from outer space just because I don’t “fit in.” They gawk, they whisper, they tilt their heads in that weird “I feel sorry for you” way. And heaven forbid I open a door on my own or do something “unexpected” for a one-legged person—it shocks them. Like I have superpowers or something. I don’t. I just have 42 years of experience being disabled and, honestly, I’m better at it than most of these people are at walking in a straight line. The Great Prosthetic Fiasco: Right after my amputation, my well-meaning mom and healthcare team encouraged me to try a prosthetic leg. It was supposed to help me “fit in.” Instead, I peed on the floor. (Not a metaphor. Literal pee. It was that uncomfortable.) I tried again in Kindergarten and wore a prosthesis for a few years, but let’s be real—I was a rough kid, and that thing never stood a chance. • My sister ran over my leg with a go-kart (while I was wearing it). Tread marks were on my prosthesis until I grew out of it and needed a new one. • It snapped in half when I was pushing myself on a scooter. • I tripped over my own fake foot more times than I can count. • It was hot, sweaty, itchy, and uncomfortable—like wearing a cast, but forever. Then one day, when I was nine or ten, my prosthetic broke (again), but this time I had to leave it for a few weeks for it to be fixed. Shriners Hospital gave me crutches in the meantime. That’s when it hit me: Why am I even doing this?! With crutches, I felt free. I moved faster. I was more comfortable. I stopped trying to force myself into something that wasn’t working. When my prosthetic was fixed, I wore it a couple more times out of obligation, then ditched it for good. And guess what? I didn’t need two legs. I still don’t. Society might think so, but they’re not the ones wearing it. The Challenge: So here’s my St. Patrick’s Day challenge for you: Question something you’ve been told you “need”—just because society says so. Is it actually necessary? Or are you forcing yourself into an expectation that doesn’t fit? I didn’t need a second leg to be whole. Maybe you don’t need something you’ve been told is essential to “fit in” either. So on March 17th, I’ll be celebrating, rocking my green, and toasting to the life I’ve built as a disabled person who refuses to be pitied, limited, or defined by what’s missing. Cheers! I’m glad I’m alive—and I love living my life with one leg. - Kimberly Tissot, President and CEO, Able South Carolina |
