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This piece was selected as one of the winners of the AAA’s AnthroDay Student Unessay Competition. This year’s competition was inspired by the Annual Meeting theme, “On the Verge.”
Mary and I giggle through the doors to our summer robotics classroom. I’m anticipating three hours of lectures, but the instructors surprise us. “We’re going axe-throwing!”
Soon, we burst through quite a different set of doors. Wooden splinters scatter across the floor. Along cage walls hang axes—sharp, bright, multipronged.
“Stay in your lane. Mind your stance. No one better get hurt today,” instructors joke. Mary excitedly picks the purple axe. She swings wide—and the blade strikes home: straight into my elbow.
• • •
Sirens. Doctors’ voices, quietly emanating from a corner. Mechanical beeping, breaking through the dizziness. In the ER, my dominant hand feels all wrong—my pinky is completely numb.
The surgeon says, “Miraculously, no bones are broken, but I need to explore to assess nerve damage.” Soon, I’m on a cold metal operating table, a rolled-up towel supporting my neck.
“Cotton-candy-flavored or normal anesthesia?”
“Normal, please.” My mind cringes imagining candy when going under.
Nurses try to calm me. Before I know it, my mind goes dark.
Four hours later
I wake to a cast. Mom tries to comfort me. “Your ulnar nerve severed, but Dr. Tai repaired it.” Still, dread washes over me. What about competitive swimming? Sketching? Coding? Will my nerve ever fully heal?
In dreams, I see myself poised at a cavern’s edge. On the other side stretches a horizon—my future. It blurs and darkens, extending into a void.
FaceTiming friends helps. Eleanor, who has scoliosis, shares how she learned to feel comfortable wearing her brace. Her kindness keeps me afloat; I begin to understand how to live in a world not designed for your body.
• • •
Three months later
My hands shape a clay giraffe. My right pinky dangles limply; my ring finger held in place by the black splint crisscrossing my hand. Yet, I can still create something beautiful.
Around me, the Vanderbilt Neurotech Frontiers Summit bustles. The months since the accident have been a whirlwind of learning. Physical therapy. Surgery check-ups. Heart-to-hearts with mom and friends, reflecting on different abilities shaping each of our lives like clay. Those conversations turned into peeks behind the veils of people’s lives. So many went through something similar, whether physically or invisibly. My brother’s friend navigated autism. My mom masked ADHD.
Somehow, the uncertain blurring of the horizon I envisioned shaped my path forward. We are all one accident away from having to find new ways of navigating the world. We must build a world, kind and navigable, not just for the average person. Highlighting what people are able to do, we must celebrate strengths, bringing people together.
I may never regain full sensation, but today, I run the nonprofit Youth for Neurodiversity. We connect youth across states through advocacy, fighting societal and cultural stigma through personal stories, championing assistive technology, universal design, and policy. Now, when I dream, I don’t see myself alone at the cavern’s edge. I see a bridge—one I confidently stride across, others by my side.