My Crazy Family
Hi. My name is Nico Smith, and I am 34 years old. I am originally from Chicago, Illinois, but I guess you can say that I’ve been all over Illinois. Growing up was mostly on the south side of Chicago. We lived in Hyde Park mostly. My earliest housing memory was our condo on fifty-fifth and Woodlawn Avenue. That’s where it was determined that I was delayed.
I’ve had my disability-cerebral palsy and limited vision since birth; however, the official diagnosis didn’t happen till a few years after I was born because my parents realized that I wasn’t hitting the various milestones that babies should be hitting.
When I was 3, I think my parents had my eyes tested, and that’s when I’d gotten my first pair of glasses. Around this time, the question of where my vision could be corrected came up.
“Nothing can be done because it’s the optic nerve”, was the answer from the doctor.
kept getting as I was about to enter kindergarten.
So, being bussed to the north side of town was my normal.
In May of 1994, I remember my mom writing a note to my teacher, Mrs. Shagrue, telling her of the scheduled surgery-asking that I be promoted early to the next grade.
“why do you have to leave school in May?” I remember students asking.
“I’m having surgery on my legs,” I answered. “Mommy, Daddy, and the doctors think it’ll help me walk better.
I remember being bussed to my after school program after being told this. I was in tears, and my afterschool caregiver put her hand on my shoulder.
Deloris was her name.
“If it’ll make you feel better, I’m having surgery myself.”
I looked at her with the look that said How would you know what I’m going trough if you don’t have a disability?
“You are,” I was trying not to cry.
“Hernia surgery”, she told me.
I still didn’t know what to say.
She proceded to explain how this surgery thing worked.
“You’ll go to sleep for a while, and you may feel groggy and in pain when you wake up”, she said. “But, your mom and dad will be there to see you.”
Back at home, I asked my mom why the surgery was needed.
“It’s to correct how you walk.”
Correct? Yeah, right, I thought. First, I won’t be able to do anything-like go to day camp.
Once I was excused from school, I realized that I was DOOMED!
“You can’t eat anything after midnight, “ Mom told me the day before surgery.
“But, why?” I asked.
“So you won’t get very sick,” was her answer.
The day of the surgery came, and I ended up waking up so early. It was a hot June 1st, and I watched my brother go off to school that morning. Unfortunately I don’t recall much beyond that.
The surgery was scheduled for early that afternoon-even the one six weeks later.
“You’ll be put to sleep,” the doctor told me.
“We’ll see you in six hours,” my parents called as the operating room doors shut.
I don’t recall what time it was when I woke.
“You OK?” my mom asked.
All I could do was cry, as I was in so much pain. It felt like I’d been stung by multiple wasps, as the drains in the casts were so pokey and pointy.
Despite all the challenges, nothing says success more than proving the doctors wrong. Although I am unable to walk well because of my balance, I have been able to do many things that others with cerebral palsy would only dream of doing-participating in beep baseball, wheelchair basketball, and Special Olympics.
When I was about fourteen, we’d gotten our first pet-a Chihuahua. My mom wanted a big dog; however, Dad said,
“This apartment is too small for a big dog.
“Will you take care of a dog?” my mom had asked my brother and i.
“I will,” I said.
My brother wasn’t keen on the idea of cleaning up after a dog.
I ended up the only one to feed Pocket, and take her walking to do her “business” with Mom’s help.
I’ve had my disability-cerebral palsy and limited vision since birth; however, the official diagnosis didn’t happen till a few years after I was born because my parents realized that I wasn’t hitting the various milestones that babies should be hitting.
When I was 3, I think my parents had my eyes tested, and that’s when I’d gotten my first pair of glasses. Around this time, the question of where my vision could be corrected came up.
“Nothing can be done because it’s the optic nerve”, was the answer from the doctor.
kept getting as I was about to enter kindergarten.
So, being bussed to the north side of town was my normal.
In May of 1994, I remember my mom writing a note to my teacher, Mrs. Shagrue, telling her of the scheduled surgery-asking that I be promoted early to the next grade.
“why do you have to leave school in May?” I remember students asking.
“I’m having surgery on my legs,” I answered. “Mommy, Daddy, and the doctors think it’ll help me walk better.
I remember being bussed to my after school program after being told this. I was in tears, and my afterschool caregiver put her hand on my shoulder.
Deloris was her name.
“If it’ll make you feel better, I’m having surgery myself.”
I looked at her with the look that said How would you know what I’m going trough if you don’t have a disability?
“You are,” I was trying not to cry.
“Hernia surgery”, she told me.
I still didn’t know what to say.
She proceded to explain how this surgery thing worked.
“You’ll go to sleep for a while, and you may feel groggy and in pain when you wake up”, she said. “But, your mom and dad will be there to see you.”
Back at home, I asked my mom why the surgery was needed.
“It’s to correct how you walk.”
Correct? Yeah, right, I thought. First, I won’t be able to do anything-like go to day camp.
Once I was excused from school, I realized that I was DOOMED!
“You can’t eat anything after midnight, “ Mom told me the day before surgery.
“But, why?” I asked.
“So you won’t get very sick,” was her answer.
The day of the surgery came, and I ended up waking up so early. It was a hot June 1st, and I watched my brother go off to school that morning. Unfortunately I don’t recall much beyond that.
The surgery was scheduled for early that afternoon-even the one six weeks later.
“You’ll be put to sleep,” the doctor told me.
“We’ll see you in six hours,” my parents called as the operating room doors shut.
I don’t recall what time it was when I woke.
“You OK?” my mom asked.
All I could do was cry, as I was in so much pain. It felt like I’d been stung by multiple wasps, as the drains in the casts were so pokey and pointy.
Despite all the challenges, nothing says success more than proving the doctors wrong. Although I am unable to walk well because of my balance, I have been able to do many things that others with cerebral palsy would only dream of doing-participating in beep baseball, wheelchair basketball, and Special Olympics.
When I was about fourteen, we’d gotten our first pet-a Chihuahua. My mom wanted a big dog; however, Dad said,
“This apartment is too small for a big dog.
“Will you take care of a dog?” my mom had asked my brother and i.
“I will,” I said.
My brother wasn’t keen on the idea of cleaning up after a dog.
I ended up the only one to feed Pocket, and take her walking to do her “business” with Mom’s help.