Living Beyond My Circumstances. Deborah L Willows

their own by this time?” my dad asked.

      Mom nodded.

      This was just the beginning. They took me to doctors all over the city, seeking answers. Finally a diagnosis was made.

      “Your daughter has CP,” the doctor said. After a brief pause, he added, “You should put her in an institution where they are equipped to care for children with her condition. It would just be too hard for you.” Another pause. “Then you can get on with your lives.”

      My mom’s eyes filled with tears.

      “Absolutely not,” my father said.

      In the days following, my mom and dad had many serious conversations.

      “Why do you think God gave us a daughter with a disability?” Mom asked.

      “I really don’t know.”

      My mom hung her head. “How can we cope? And how will we explain it to everyone?”

      Dad shrugged. “We’ve been Christians for a long time. We go to church and try to do what’s right...”

      After a lot of discussion and soul-searching, my dad came to a conclusion. “This is the child God gave us, and we have to accept her as she is.” And that was the end of it.

      My parents got down to the task of raising me the way they would any child—with, of course, some special considerations.

      When I was four I was fitted with metal leg braces to help me walk. I used them every day until I was 13. No fancy shoes. Just ugly brown boots. And a two-hour car ride to Hamilton whenever I outgrew the braces and needed new ones.

      “Mom, they’re cold.” I shivered.

      “I know, Deb, but you’ve got to wear them—even in the winter.”

      “Dad, they’re so hot.”

      “Debbie...”

      I sighed. There was no use arguing. My parents did their best to understand the challenges I faced, but they did not allow me to get away with feeling sorry for myself.