Millie Lill: What If . . .
By Millie Lill
The doorbell rings. I answer the door and stare. I realize that most of my friends are, shall we say, unique, but this person has silver hair in an elaborate updo, a tutu, and ballet slippers. Also wings! Yep, those transparent fluttery things are definitely wings.
“Hello, dear!” she warbles. “I am your fairy godmother and I'm here to grant your wish!”
“OK, just one? If I talk really fast, can you count this as one wish: tall thin rich?”
“Oh, no, sweetie. You don't get to choose your own wish, and besides, really, that is three wishes anyway! It's not cool to try to fool a fairy. No, your wish is that you never had polio.” She begins waving a stick around. Well, OK, it's a wand. I know, but really this is getting to be just a tad bizarre.
“Wait! Before you grant that wish...can you show me a little preview of what that would be like?”
Sighing, she taps her toe on the floor and finally says, “Well, OK. I can do that, but you are one tough customer. The usual protocol is to say Thank You and just accept the granted wish. Here you go.” Swish swish swish. . . and my TV comes on.
It shows me as a little girl, age four. I'm telling my Mom that my leg feels funny. Then I laugh and finish getting ready for Sunday School. Then the scene fast forwards to me, a year or so later, begging my big brother to teach me to read. I have to wait till I'm almost six to start school because of my late September birthday. “Go away, Millie. You'll learn next year in school. I'm busy.”
My mother is not a nurturing person, but I'd had the support of the entire town when I had polio. Now, it seems I am just an ordinary little girl. Mom's standards are purposely too high for any of us girls to achieve. She does not like girls, never has. Grandmother didn't like them either. Only boys have value.
As I watch my life unreel, I see myself playing softball with the other kids at recess. None of the boys are fighting over who gets to run for me in the unlikely case of my actually hitting the ball. Nope. Do it yourself time for me. I see my awkward, ungainly self with my thick eye glasses and big teeth, my crazy hair, and with no friends. I'm not good at sports. I keep trying, though, and the results are that I am failing in my classes and still not any good at sports. I'm not crazy about running around and getting all sweaty and still not being an athlete!
My few friends graduate from school and move away. I marry to get out of the house and to limit the amount of time my mother can spend telling me that I am big, ugly, clumsy and lazy. Soon I have children, but they are no excuse to keep me from learning to drive the tractor.
I can feel how lonely I am in this scenario because my husband and his family are all beer drinkers and I can't stand the taste. I am not invited along to any parties. I'm only there to work. Chores, housework, child raising.
I grow old, my husband dies. I have no fun hobbies to fill my time. My time was spent working, eating or sleeping. I never heard of post-polio, so I am not writing my column, I'm not going to support group meetings. I am very bored and very lonely.
“Wait! Don't grant that wish! Having polio was not fun, but it led to a lot of things that were. I met so many wonderful people through my polio groups. Not being able to be so active, I spent my time reading and studying, making good grades, writing and doing other sedentary things. I don't want to lose that!”
Swish, swish, swish, I hear and I start screaming, “NO! NO! NO!” and wake up to find the swishing was Fiona wagging her tail as she tried to wake me up from my nightmare. Whew. Yes, my legs are their usual mismatched, barely functioning selves, but that's OK. My life would only have been different, not necessarily better had I not had polio.