Both of my children have a rare genetic bleeding disorder known as hemophilia. This condition prevents their blood from clotting properly, leading to serious internal bleeding, particularly in the joints.
My youngest, Liam, faced severe complications from his hemophilia that caused significant damage to his knee and ankle. Unlike most kids with this condition, he lost his mobility for 18 months. While he now uses a wheelchair, he can manage to limp or hop a few steps. Eventually, he reached a point where he could walk with just a slight limp, but covering long distances was still out of reach.
To manage Liam’s complications, we frequently traveled between Santa Fe and Denver. Bringing his wheelchair along was essential, and each trip heightened my anxiety. We tried our best to navigate the airport without drawing attention to ourselves, but the stares were unavoidable. It wasn’t just the little kids who looked; adults would often turn and follow us with their eyes, which was incredibly disheartening. I wanted to confront them and ask, “Is something bothering you?” with a hint of sarcasm.
During one of our trips at the Denver airport, Liam looked up at me and asked, “Mom, why are people staring at me?” My heart shattered hearing those words. This child, who displayed such resilience, was aware of the rudeness surrounding him. I paused his wheelchair, knelt down, and said, “Sweetheart, it’s because they see how incredible you are.”
If you saw him in his wheelchair, you might wonder why he needed it. But what’s not visible are the painful realities he faces. His knee and ankle joints have suffered extensive damage, resembling those of someone much older. The protective tissue inside his joints has been ravaged by repeated bleeds, leaving him with limited movement and constant pain. If people witnessed him try to walk, they might comprehend his struggle, but that wasn’t going to happen.
On another occasion at the Albuquerque Sunport, I informed a TSA agent that Liam could walk (albeit with a limp) through the security screening. Immediately, another agent raised his voice, exclaiming, “The lengths people will go to board the plane first! Unbelievable!” He then stormed off, muttering to himself. My heart sank. I could feel the judgment from those around us. I imagined they were thinking, “Thanks for holding up the line.” Thankfully, Liam didn’t hear the agent and was already with my husband on the other side.
Reflecting on that airport incident, I often consider what I would say to that TSA agent. I’d tell him: Not all battles are visible. Some health issues aren’t apparent at first glance. I hope the next time you question why someone is in a wheelchair or using a therapy dog, you’ll pause and consider the unseen struggles they may be facing. Appreciate your own health and think twice before making assumptions.
It’s important to remember that many individuals, like Liam, experience challenges that are not easily seen. For more insights on home insemination and related topics, check out this helpful resource. If you’re exploring options for starting a family, visit Make a Mom for their authoritative guides. Additionally, for valuable information on fertility and pregnancy, don’t miss this excellent podcast.
In summary, the struggles faced by those with invisible illnesses are often overlooked. It’s crucial to cultivate empathy and understanding for those who may appear fine on the outside but are fighting significant battles within.