The wonderful peeps at Moustache Magazine did a little profile on me and the blog - take a look here. Thanks guys! Supporting Australian creatives is what this mag does best.
FINDING FEMININITY...WITH A CLAW
The claw is my right hand. Yep, that's how I've lovingly referred to it for years. However, it's not so claw-like since my most recent surgery where they insterted a metal plate running from my elbow to my wrist, then put pins into the joints of my fingers to stop them 'clawing'. Yes, sometimes I beep at airports. In 2015, when flying out of Brisbane the female security guard actually said "Next time, I recommend you not have so much metal on you". NOTE TO SELF - cut off arm, remove resin plate from skull and don't forget my passport. Easy.
So, as I've said in past posts, having a mandatory style overhaul because of paralysis was kind of hard to adjust to. Feminitity, by definition, is made up by a set of attributes, behaviors, and roles associated or portayed with/by women...but sometimes, it's the 'superficial' things like hair, nails, makeup and clothes that determine whether a women feels feminine. My long hair had to be 'removed' multiple times for surgery, but it's now grown back...mysteriously white blonde, not the brown hue it was before ;-) Although, it frustrates me everyday that I can't tie it up. If anyone knows a secret technique for bunning or ponytail-ing hair with one hand - pleassssseee share. Now, from hair to hands. A woman's hands, fingers and nails can say a lot. She's terrible at applying fake tan or she takes care of herself. Not everyone is amazing at applying nail polish but when you can't actually try and fail to do your nails yourself, it's annoying. For years I've waited until a steady-handed friend has come over and then I've proceeded to casually drop into the conversation "oh while you're here, would you mind painting my nails?"...Even that gets tiresome. So just before I moved to Melbourne, I started getting my nails done. Acrylics on my left-hand and just a manicure/polish on my right. $20p/ month to make me feel a lil' more 'feminine'? Yep, done. Some girls have their heels, I have my nails.
You guys might be thinking, is she serious? Of all the issues facing women, she chooses to talk about nails? But it is an important issue that the health care industry never considers - beauty and disability. They're not meant to go together. Well, yes they are in fact. From the moment I could decide which colour gym pants to wear to rehab (and the coordinating hat), I wanted to regain control over my appearance. If I applied mascara, my eyes would be the focus, not my shaved head and so what if I was in a wheelchair, that didn't mean I couldn't wear a LBD! Girls will be girls and ladies will be ladies - the rules of style and beauty don't go out the window if you've got a disability. Everyone you encounter on your recovery journey has the same goal, to get you back to what you once were - speech, mobility and general motor skills. Feeling beautiful and feeling confident, whatever it takes to achieve that, is just as important.
THE PROM & ALL ITS SIGNIFICANCE...
18 year old Gena Buza is incredible. An artist, a photographer, sister, loving daughter, friend and a quadriplegic. A beautiful series of photos taken by Taylor Baucom capture some of Gena's journey and document that all-important evening in any young girl's life - the school prom. This is one girl who isn't defined by her disability.
Click to see the photos below:
12 PAIRS OF LEGS...
Aimee Mullins is an American athlete, actress, model, a leading thinker in prosethic innovation and an amputee. Watch her inspire millions with her TED Talk.
THE PEG LEG...
Yes, that's right - I said that. 'They' say turning something serious into something funny is often the best way to deal with a situation. That's the case for certain people anyway. So, in my case, this has proven true. I experiemented with everything to try and get rid of this leg brace (pictured), although Kat Moss seems to like it. Everything meaning years of physio, exercise, electric-pulse machines, acupunture, botox and finally, a tendon transfer surgery where they moved the tendon on the back of the troubled ankle around to the front of my foot. Eww. Hemiplegia (or right-sided paralysis) means the muscles on the right-side of my body (from head to toe) are serverly weakened - the message from the brain telling those muscles to work, isn't transmitting. Anyway, I've accepted I'll have to wear this foreign thing that prevents me from rolling my ankle or plain stacking it in public. Often mortifying, often hilarious when I happens. A slight bump in the road, sticky surface and crack in the pavement can cause a world of pain. Most recently on the tram. The brace doesn't always do the job but, really, I'd be a constant Gillard if I didn't wear it.
Walking, travelling, dancing, climbing stairs and exercising as much as I do, my brace tends to wear out every few months. That means a trip back to the hospital or an over-priced podiatrist visit to get a new one. Two weeks after I moved down to Melbourne, that's exactly what happened - mine broke. You kind of go into freak-out mode when you realise you're relying on a little piece of plastic for independence. The Alfred Hospital told me I'd have to wait seven months for an appointment because my situation wasn't classed as 'high-priority' (ummm...what) or pay $500 to buy one 'off-the-shelf''. So a day of investigation later, I found some lovely manufacturers of said-brace in MELBOURNE who sent me out two for $120. Nice profit you're making Alfred. For those in a similar situation, email me for the details.
Returning to the title of this post, yes, that's often how my family and I refer to the 'the leg' - the peg leg. This doesn't work for everyone and that's fine. When my two-year-old nephew started walking around the house like a drunken sailor (in an attempt to imitate me) I finally saw the funny side of it. It kinda puts things into perspective.
A GIRL'S WARDROBE - THE TRIALS & TRIBULATIONS
Sometimes it's the 'trivial' things that affect you the most. My brain injury (let's call it the B.I. from now on) inadvertently forced me to change not only my writing hand (but I love now being a member of the lefty club) but also my entire outward identity - my style. A lot to comprehend when you are a 19 year old girl, who's also a journo student wanting to write for Vogue. I've got long legs and used to show them off in little skirts, little dresses, little shorts and sky-high heels. I was simply a young girl. A young girl with almost waist-length hair and a habit for spending most of my money of clothes and shoes.
Waking up from a coma with a shaved head was the start of my transformation. Over the following year it was shaved before most operations so the surgeons could reopen the nasty scars on my skull. Every time my hair would start growing back - they'd take a big chunk out of it. You could almost say I started the trend of half-undercut pixie style hair, all the way back in 2004. Ha.
When the occupational therapists and physios finally got me out of the wheelchair and 'walking' - I assumed I'd be wearing heels again in no time! I think I ignored the subtle sideways-glances between therapists whenever I verbalised this goal. Velcro sneakers were the hospital's recommendation. Plenty of people benefit from wearing these and that's great - but going from heeels to velcro was hard to bear. Right-sided paralysis is the reason - i.e. no muscle working in my right ankle or foot. Long story short - I refused to wear velcro (stubbornness can be a good trait) but I grew tired of waiting around for the nurses to tie my shoes in the morning...so I had to teach myself. It is possible. I still get the shocked looks from people when I do it. If something like shoelaces is preventing you from leaving your hospital room - you find a way around it.
Just like the laces, unless I wanted to greet the male nurses and therapists with bare nipples in the morning, I had to work out how to do up my own bra. It's pretty simple, lay the bra on the bed, do the little latch-thing up and put the bra on, already fastened, over your head. Easy. Anyway, enough about my morning rituals. Basically, I've had a style transition from being a 'girly girl' to a kind of an androgynous/red lipstick/b&w/skinny jeans/leather/boots/cons/minimalistic/classic/tees/tights/occasionalbrightcolour/60s shift dress wearing girl - if that makes any sense. Which I'm sure it doesn't. My wardrobe is 77% black and warm - that's why Melbourne and I are a perfect match.
I've always wondered if 'all of this' would be easier if I was a tomboy who didn't care about material things like their wardrobe - specifically high-heels. Then I stop angosing over it and realise, it'd be hard regardless of the situation you're in. You just have to work around those difficulties and find your own solutions. Forgive me for using this corny cliche but it's so appropriate here - 'where there's a will there's a way'.
SEA CHANGE →
After almost 10 years of living with a disability - it's time to finally start an honest dialogue with the public. Trust me, I never thought I'd utter those words. I've spent so long trying NOT to talk about it. Anyway, this is not for my own benefit, i.e. I'm removing myself from any association with Gen N (Gen Narcissism) and promise you I won't be publishing selfies every two hours. This is for other young people in a similar situation - really, anyone who has unwillingly been stamped or branded with the 'disabled' label and the 'awww' (sad face) that goes with it. We need to remove the stigma around disability. My life is not over: I work, I studied, I socialise, I have very very very late nights, I cook, I shop, I travel and just like everyone else, I have my off days too. After a recent discrimination experience (I guess you'd call it) with a potential job in QLD, I was compelled to act - not march in protest but communicate. Change was imminent...but in the form of what?
Change came. I did it. Hit the road (well, the airport) and found myself in Melbourne.
After the suggestion from my friend to move, I spent a couple of weeks on 'what if's' and another few days convincing friends (and myself) it was the right time to take the plunge - it was set in motion. Yes I know - Brisbane to Melbourne, still in the same country, just a different state, not that big of a deal. I'm a Cancerian - the sign that is known for indecision, so it was a big deal. I sometimes call Mum if I can't decide on whether to have a pasta, rice or chocolate dinner.
So timing, timing is always a bitch but in this instance, it just felt right. Approaching 30...not sure if 'approaching' is the right word, it's in two months. Anyway, 30 usually signifies changes - if it's not a baby, it's gotta be a big move. I chose the latter. Obviously.
A friend said to me a few weeks ago "Wow...you've got the chance to totally reinvent yourself in a new city...you should shave your head or become a lesbian or something like that". I agree, to a somewhat lesser extreme. You can reinvent yourself whenever you choose - it doesn't have to depend on geography. My version of reinvention is simple - live life for myself - other people's opinions don't matter. Some wise person once said: Expect the best, be prepared for the worst, f*ck what others think and do your own thing.
Words to live by.