In 2023, world-renowned oncologist Dr. Lawrence Einhorn and his highly skilled surgical teammate Dr. Clint Cary removed the last chunk of the formerly 9 pound cancerous abdominal tumor I’d been battling on and off for years. Unfortunately, the next year, I began to be haunted by a condition I’ll call “Ghost of Cancer”: devastating, life-threatening damage related to the grafts that replaced my two largest blood vessels. The best efforts of yet another world-renowned entity- the Mayo Clinic- kept me safe for only a few weeks. The Ghost of Cancer’s fury ravaged my already damaged body, and when the dust settled, my right leg was left with two enormous wounds, and I lost the ability to lift my right foot (a severe case of a condition called drop foot).
When I returned to IUPUI (a name I refuse to stop using despite the messy divorce of IU and Purdue) in the fall of 2025, I had a visible disability: leg wraps up to my knee and a four-wheeled walker for mobility. When the meager progress I’d made over the last 10 months completely came undone, I began to need a wheelchair often, and I was placed back on an extremely visible device called a wound vac, which consists of a long tube connecting my leg to a loud machine worn like a purse. As a longtime member of IUPUI’s tight-knit community, I knew I would be treated kindly, but I never could have anticipated how often my peers would go above and beyond to help.
Whenever I approached a door at a busy time, at least one person who noticed me stopped in their tracks to see how they could assist me, whether that meant holding a manual door, pressing the button on an automatic door, or asking whether I needed help with a large load of items. On one occasion, two strangers very quickly worked together to lift my wheelchair when it got stuck in a doorway. Another time, someone offered to push me up a steep incline, which would have saved a massive amount of time and effort if I hadn’t been feeling well at that moment. Notably, she asked, giving me a choice rather than automatically doing so; many well-intentioned people don’t realize how large of a mental (or even physical) blow getting pushed without permission can be, yet she automatically offered help in a way that maintained my sense of autonomy. Another day, a skateboarder zoomed ahead of me to hit a crosswalk button and followed me to hit the next one, which allowed me to get through the intersection quickly and safely.
These acts of kindness, from small to large, had a profoundly positive cumulative effect; in times of extraordinary pain and discomfort, they allowed me to spare stamina, allowing me to study with a clearer head and save energy for critical chores (such as cooking). Paradoxically, relying on others in a dozen small ways throughout the day let me accomplish more and allowed me to feel more autonomous overall. I’ve become adept at opening stubborn doors by myself, but it’s much more satisfying to save the effort of a dozen doors to make a nice chicken dish.
Despite this positivity, the inevitability of my yearly health crisis greatly diminished my motivation to pursue long-term goals, especially physical goals like building strength. “Why go to the gym,” I asked myself, “if I’m going to lose all of my progress in mere weeks the moment I get sick again?” My first trip was very brief; I didn’t care to stick around once I got tired. On my second trip, a woman who could tell I had no idea what I was doing (after all, I hadn’t set foot in a gym in nearly two years) fixed my form, which made my little routine go from seemingly pointless to satisfying in an instant; it felt amazing to use muscles that had been dormant for months. On the way out of my third trip, the man who held the door told me to keep up the good work and, through a big smile, told me he was really glad to see that I showed up. Their kindness completely defeated the part of me that saw my goals as futile; after being unsure of my willingness to go to the gym even once, I now look forward to trips four, five, and beyond.
Anyone can make people with disabilities feel supported and valued. Any small act can contribute to a disabled person’s sense of wellbeing, community, and independence. I’m deeply grateful for the wonderful people in Indianapolis and beyond who’ve made the ups and downs of my health easier. I’ll do my part to pay it forward for those with mobility more limited than mine. My community helps me automatically, without me even needing to ask, so I humbly ask for just one thing: please show the kindness you give me to everyone, whether they have a visible disability or not. Your impact is far greater than you may expect.
About the Author
Image Description: Portrait of Trevor, a young white man with curly brown hair, wearing a gray collared shirt against a beige background. He is looking into the camera with a slight smile.
Author Bio
Trevor is a 24-year-old student from the Indianapolis area. He lives with a leg disability due to damage caused by stage IV cancer. Passionate about disability and health advocacy, Trevor is studying Computer Science to make medical software more efficient and accessible. When his health allows, he also participates in other forms of activism on campus, such as sexual assault survivor advocacy. In his free time, Trevor enjoys photography and working on creative projects, including a guide to cancer.