The Unseen Struggle

In the quiet corridors of my childhood, my feet whispered secrets of pain. Nobody understood why, but I kept going. The ache was my silent companion, urging me to dance through life. Little did I know that these early steps would lead to a symphony of survival.

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 A Dance with Destiny

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The 80s brought three right knee surgeries, each leaving its mark like a unique note in a melody. Doctors scratched their heads, labeling my knee as "interesting." Meanwhile, my left knee waited patiently, its own story untold. Sitting proved to be painful so I succumbed to standing at my desk, swayed in the break room, and sat on chair edges—figured my circulation problems were due to my short legs—and I moved on, avoiding doctors for 20 years.

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 The Chilling Revelation

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January 2003—the turning point. My feet, once my allies, rebelled. Shoes became enemies, and booties my companions. A podiatrist's X-ray revealed more than bone spurs. Genetic AVN (avascular necrosis) and osteoarthritis had woven their threads into my bones. At age 38 the MRI alleged, "Young, active woman, yet her bones appeared that of an 80-year-old."
 

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The Dance of Healing

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Surgery became my choreography. Feet, knees, hips—the stage for my defiance. Six foot surgeries, eight knee surgeries, a specialized left hip procedure and the right hip replaced. My right hand, too, danced with scalpels. But I waltzed through it all, learning and experiencing 25 dance styles along the way.

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Morning Rituals

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Each dawn, I rise—a conductor orchestrating my body's revival. PT exercises, kundalini yoga—the notes of resilience. Against all odds, I walk on two feet, a testament to movement's magic. Diagnosed with grade 4 genetic AVN and told I’d be wheelchair bound. Yet I chose MOVEMENT. Soon, I'll meet you on the dance floor, where every step defies limitations.