As you know from my previous blogs, I was born disabled. In 1984, I had
to go to a rehab hospital for 6 weeks to learn to take care of myself.
My mom did all of my personal care until I went to the rehab center in
Philadelphia called Children's Heart Hospital. I did NOT want to be
there. First of all, I was 3 hrs. from home, AND I was in the hospital
for my 16th birthday. Looking back, though, it was a good thing. Before
I went, I couldn't even dress myself or even swallow a pill. By the
end of the 6 weeks, I was voted "Most Improved Patient" in PT. I think I
still have the award somewhere. After I was there for 6 weeks, I could
dress myself, pop a wheelie in my wheelchair to get up on a curve if I
had to, and even swim. Unfortunately, I never did master the art of the
transfer board (Still haven't), so I had to figure out how to get in
and out of bed myself.
I still remember mostly what it looked
like. It was a huge white building, with a very steep ramp outside that
I had to master. The lobby was just inside. White walls....everything
was white as I recall. Past the lobby was the cafeteria where we ate
most of our meals. Also on the first floor was the rec center, where we
were required to spend some time I ditched as much as I could.
Upstairs (I forget what floor it was on) were the girl's and boy's
wards. I shared my room, which was right next to the nurses station,
with two other roommates. Looking back, it's amazing how 3 beds fit
into such a small room. The roommates changed at least once in 6 weeks,
hut the two I remember were Dana and Janine.
On my first day
there, I met a girl who although I didn't realize it at the time, would
have a huge impact on my life. Her name was Keisha. She was younger
than me. Between 12 and 14, I believe. The nurses had told me to try
to make my bed. They knew full well I couldn't do it on the first day,
of course. I think it was their way of evaluating me. Well, in walked
Keisha...an African-American street-smart kid. She mouthed off to the
nurse, chastising her for making me try to make the bed on the first
day. I don't know what it was about her, but I just knew I liked her
right away. I seemed drawn to her like no one else I've ever met,
before or since.
Over the course of my stay there, Keisha and I
got closer. I knew her better than anyone else there. I don't know
why, but I felt a closeness to her that to this day, I can't explain. I
have never had a friend like her since. She was like the sister I
never had. One day, another patient had her diamond ring stolen. She
was 16 and mentally slow. What she was doing with a diamond ring, I
don't know. But it was gone, and my dear friend Keisha was blamed. I
was shocked! I knew her and there was no way she would do such a
thing. She was not one to go into someone else's room when they weren't
there. And she definitely wouldn't steal. Yet, there she was,
accused.
The pay phone was right across the hall from my room.
Each day, I could hear Keisha crying and begging her mother to believe
she didn't do this horrible thing. To this very day, I can still hear
her begging her mother to believe her, and it makes me sick. What
mother doesn't believe her own child? I don't know. Maybe what
happened to Keisha has effected my relationship with my own mother, who
seems to always want to believe her boyfriend over me. All I know is
that I've always felt a mother should believe her own child no matter
what. I was angered that Keisha's mother did not believe her.
The
six weeks passed, and the matter was not resolved. 25 year later, it
still hasn't been. I still believe in Keisha's innocence, and I even
think I know who the real thief is. I used to be pen-pals with one of
the employees of the hospital. I kept asking for Keisha's address, but
she would never give it to me. Finally, she told me why. She told me
Keisha had died, but never what was the cause of her death. I've always
felt a hole in my heart because of it. She had asthma which is why she
was in the hospital. Maybe that was the cause of her death. But I
can't help but wonder if it wasn't something more tragic and that maybe
if we had kept in touch, she would still be around today, as feisty as
ever.
No matter what the cause of her death was, the fact still
remains that she died knowing that there were still some people,
including her own mother, who believed she stole the ring. That has
always been the hardest thing for me to deal with, apart from not
knowing how she died. But those of us who really knew her know she
could never do such a thing. Unfortunately the truth will never come
out.
This summer marks 25 years since I met Keisha. Time moves
on...I don't think of her as often as I used to. But when I do, it is
with sadness and joy. I remember her mouthy, don't take any nonsense
attitude, which makes me smile. I miss her as much as ever and wish
she was around for me to talk to today.
I don't know why I chose
now to write about her. She just popped into my head today. I'm taking
it as a sign that she is still around in some way. R.I.P., Keisha. You
are loved and missed.
