These past few days I have been dancing, twirling, walking, celebrating that I am finally physically back to where I was before the accident last summer. Almost. I had the cast removed on the twenty-seventh of February, nine months and three days after all hell brook loose last summer, and, aside from the disturbing side-realization that I could have had a baby in this time, I have realized that the accident might have midwifed a transition to an even better epoch in my life. It forced me to realize that I couldn’t continue to live where I was living, as it wasn’t suited for someone with my needs*, and it also forced me to have a surgery that was bound to take place sooner or later. Rather sooner than later.

I am not saying that I am happy that it happened, because it was absolutely heartbreaking when it happened, and continued to be heartbreaking for a long, long time. I don’t believe it happened for any particular reason other than here is a person who is suffering from epilepsy and she had a seizure at a very inconvenient time, which caused her to get very badly hurt — and that’s it. It’s biology, it’s chemistry, it wasn’t a punishment. It wasn’t a lesson to teach me anything. The circumstances thereafter were just so that I was able to take advantage of it (a long time after it happened), and to let it push me in a better direction for me. I turned the tragedy into something I could use. After many, many, many months of being horribly upset.

But I am really happy about where I am now. I am happy that I am on my way.

*= The rare disease that causes my bones to keep breaking.