The opinions expressed in this article are the author's own and do not reflect the views of Her Campus.
By Taylor Woods
I am a 6-year-old girl, swinging my short legs from a comfy bench, blowing bubbles at my dad’s face as I watch his glasses film over. All is great, right? Well, what I have failed to mention here is that I’m actually positioned securely in a hospital exam room, with four doctors closely watching me, and a needle slowly entering my head. All of this, because I was recently diagnosed with a brain tumor.
That was the start of the scholarship essay I submitted a billion times, which earned me exactly one scholarship. The essay goes on to talk about how, despite this condition that ruled my childhood and much of my life in general, I was determined to succeed in life.
But I am well aware that I can't do it all on my own. My parents are my rock, and my school has given me multiple accommodations for my disability. Plus, I'm currently on multiple health insurances, including Medicaid, to help me pay for my health care bills.
And I’m terrified of Congress and the Trump administration’s decision to repeal the Affordable Care Act.
I’m not sure I’ll ever forget the day that my older brother, an avid Trump supporter, told me that he couldn’t care less about my ability to receive care. It was in the months leading up to the election. I was home for a graduation, and like at any family gathering, politics weaseled their way into the conversation.
For me, there was no question who I’d be voting for after I saw Trump mock a disabled person. With that, I needed no more persuading. I knew he didn't respect people with special needs and, with his win, both my commercial insurance and my Medicaid would be at stake. And heaven forbid my tumor ever decides to gain a life again and cause me to need a $100,000 surgery.
When I explained this to my brother, he looked straight at me and said, “Doesn’t matter—it’s not society’s problem.” I promptly followed my mom upstairs and cried on her bed.
After Trump’s victory, and after every move he's made toward abolishing my insurance since then, I would text my mom almost in tears and tell her how scared I was. She would reassure me with typical smart mom logic: “We wait and hope, and we keep the conversation going, and we rest assured that we can fight that battle when it comes.” And she’s right. My life has been filled with battles. Why would I let this monster stop me now?
With Thursday’s vote, the House of Representatives has agreed to effectively cut the Medicaid budget by $880 billion over the span of 10 years, and pre-existing conditions will become much more expensive to cover. I mean, I want to spend the rest of my life working at a nonprofit for kids with special needs. I can’t afford to do that and also be discriminated against based on a brain tumor.
When I got on social media on Thursday and discovered the news, I was heartbroken. My body went cold. My eyes got watery. I posted about my feelings on Facebook and had so much love pour in from friends and family. But about half those people encouraged the situation to happen in the first place. Half of them voted for Trump, cheered for these new bills, and posted sickening memes and rants along the way.
All I could think was, “You asked for this to happen to me. How could you do this to me?”
I think back to the little girl battling the enemy in her own head, and question how I was so brave. I start to wonder if it’s because I had so much trust in those around me. My parents were pillars of strength, my doctors and clinical team were legit tumor killers, and my community at home was full of superheroes.
All those players are still as fierce as they were, but maybe my perspective isn’t. Am I starting to lose my faith in humanity? Am I tough enough to conquer what the world has dealt me this time? You bet I am. Watch me.
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