Fuck You, OI

A friend of mine died tonight. He was in his late twenties, a wicked-smart and passionate man with more compassion and understanding than most people I’ve met. We talked a couple of times a week, usually about politics, because this election has been driving us both insane.

To offset this, we’d taken to sending each other kitten pictures. It seemed to be helping.

But earlier today, he fell over in his wheelchair and hit his head. Doctors tried some things and they didn’t work and he’s gone. He’s just gone. This person with plans and love and art and friends, the center of a wheel of people who knew him but didn’t know each other, he’s just gone. There’s a space now, a big sucking hole.

And he didn’t die technically because of OI (the shitty bone disorder he had that my daughter also has), because I guess anybody can fall and hit their heads and that’s the end. But he was in a wheelchair because he had OI, and he had tipped his wheelchair before and gotten hurt, and I also know of a number of other people with OI who fell in their wheelchairs and hit their heads and didn’t survive.

And I have seen my daughter go over in a wheelchair, her tiny, feather-light body slammed to the ground in a second while I watched, out of reach. She survived that fall, but that’s the stuff that wakes me up at night in a cold sweat.

So yeah, right now, I’m going to blame OI.

Because having severe OI means living constantly with this tenuousness, this constant fear of a fall in your wheelchair (the equivalent of able-bodied people tripping over the curb), or of getting jostled and breaking a bone, or being involved in a fender-bender and ending up in the hospital for months with fractures or worse, or fear of getting a cold that could lead to pneumonia, because that can (and often is) deadly for people with OI because their lungs are compromised. The slightest nudge from stability can send a person with OI into a fracture or deadly head injury. And this is how they live their lives, with this constant awareness that the slightest thing can cause the end in a heartbeat.

Yes, I know that, in the broad picture, this is true for all of us. I’m talking about OI right now, so take your able-bodied privilege elsewhere.

Jeremy had a severe form, like my daughter does. He also wrote stories of incredible imagination, and made gorgeous copper leaves, and had a fabulous fiance he clearly adored.

In the OI community, we talk about the “unbreakable spirit” and some people use the phrase “O I CAN!” because staying positive about all the things they CAN do helps keep people dealing with this disorder from falling into a terrible depression about the pain and fear associated with it. And yeah, people with OI are tough, persistent people. From what I’ve seen, it’s because OI doesn’t affect mental acuity, and the power of the brain and spirit sustain people with OI through some horrifically painful fractures and surgeries over their lifetimes, starting when they are little children. So they’ve been through some terrible things and once they are “healthy” (fracture free) they can start enjoying life for a while again…until another fracture happens.

I can’t bring myself to be positive about OI right now. The “unbreakable spirit” is great, but right now, Jeremy’s body broke. His humor and intellect and doggedness just disappear now, because his body broke. There’s a hole now because his body broke. And I can’t be patient or understanding or accepting of the fact that OI does this to people. It makes them fragile, like sheets of translucent paper, a wrapper holding in this incredible BEING who is so much more than the stupid breakable body. These delicate packages of humanity.

When my daughter was just a baby, one of my family members suggested we wrap her in bubble wrap. It would, of course, have prevented her from living, so it wasn’t a viable option. But I did consider it briefly, knowing there was little else I could do to protect her.

And no I won’t turn the conversation to how this reminds me of how vulnerable my daughter is, because I can’t handle that thought tonight. It’s enough to know that Jeremy, the vociferous warrior for social and political justice, the curious explorer of other minds, the bold challenger of the status quo, has lost his struggle to keep his fragile container intact.

One fall.

Fuck you, OI.


8 thoughts on “Fuck You, OI

Add yours

  1. And for a moment our world freezes. Shock and in your face reality, fear. And I did not even know him, just heard marvelous things.

  2. Yeah…I can totally relate to those three words. But I am on the weird end of the spectrum. I am age 45 with type III OI, having worked for over 17 years now for the same company and I also took a bad spill in ’08 in which by all means I should of died. But I didn’t. And I wonder why sometimes I didn’t when I hear of things like this. I feel like I have cheated death so many times now, that, well, I just have to keep living. I play pool in a smoky bar two nights a week and my mom smoked around me all my life. I have had pneumonia three times in my life, the last when I was in my early twenties and smoking myself. Doctor told me to quit or die, so I did. I have drank a lot also in my past. I take chances, and I have survived. I have lived probably one of the most full and “normal” lives of anyone I know with OI. And the only reason I can think of that I have survived is my faith in God. It simply wasn’t my time. From what I have read and heard, it seems also that Jeremy lived a full and happy life from the time he was granted. It makes me pause and reflect on when it is my time, I just really hope my friends and family know that I had one helluva good ride. 🙂 We just really have to live in the time we are granted, and hopefully whatever is on the other side is for the better. But yeah “F U OI”.

    Chad, aka Shorty

  3. I love how passionate you are in life with o.I doesn’t define you. I hope you can find peace knowing your friend is in a better place fracture free. Thank you for sharing your experience.
    Rachel – mum to Kieran O.I type 5.

  4. Hey Meg, it’s Naomi, Jeremy’s fiancee. You brought such joy to the love of my life and for that I am forever in your debt. He loved talking to you and cared about you very much. I’m sorry you lost such a beautiful soul too. Jeremy also had oi type 3 like Chad up there ^ and he never let his pain or condition define him. I have so many memories of him and I going downtown and playing Pokemon, or going to the mall, or the parks…. He was such a joy in my life, and taught me to be who i wanted to be. If you need anything I’m here for you.

    1. Naomi, I was so happy he had you in his life, and he was *thrilled* about you. I can’t even imagine what you’re going through, but my thoughts and love are with you right now.

  5. I never met him unfortunately, although I might have done when he “ran” away to Australia if Trump won, but I thought of him as a good and reliable friend. He was one of the kindest people I know and had an outstanding intellect capable of bringing a thousand thoughts together.

    I didn’t even know what OI was – he never complained, never mentioned it. I think that was liberating for him to not talk about it. He was one brave mate.

    He’ll be missed.

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