How My Daughters’ Trip to Atlanta Became a Post-Stroke Breakthrough

Photography courtesy of Harshada Rajani

I glanced at my wheelchair stored in the trunk and took a deep breath as my friend Setu pulled her SUV out of the driveway. We exchanged wide-eyed smiles, still in disbelief that this trip was actually happening. We were heading to Atlanta for a highly anticipated and whirlwind girls’ weekend. This was going to be my First of all travel in fifteen years without my parents. It all started when my brother and sister-in-law found the most coveted item of this decade for my 38th birthday: floor seats to Taylor Swift’s Eras tour in Atlanta. And it turned into an empowering, disability-friendly girls’ trip, made harmonious by Atlanta’s accessibility and springtime vibe.

I first heard Swift’s music in a cold, soulless hospital room in 2009. I was 23, a medical student, and had just suffered a stroke. In an instant, I went from being a young, active future doctor to a lifelong dependent patient. I was a wreck of tears and despair, but my family and friends refused to stop filling my life with love, laughter and music. One evening, Setu and a few friends played me their new favorite song: “Love Story.” The upbeat music coming from the old hospital stereo seemed to warm us up a bit. Now, fifteen years later, I had the opportunity to see Taylor Swift perform “Love Story” live, just a few hours from my home in Charlotte.

But I was torn. Since my stroke, I had never traveled without my parents because I needed help getting ready and moving out of my wheelchair. I had become accustomed to living this strange adult life, one that would be extremely unrecognizable to the lives of my peers. My parents would either take me to events and parties or I would avoid them altogether. There’s nothing my parents wouldn’t do for my happiness, but I felt selfish dragging them to Atlanta. And I definitely wasn’t going to skip that either. I wish I could be normal and just go with my friends.

My friends had always offered to help me in the past, but I could never allow myself to cross that line with them: it would take them from friend to caregiver, irreversibly. They would give me something I could never repay. All I could offer them was my companionship: an empathetic ear, a welcoming shoulder and a sincere smile. Just me. But I should take so much from them. I felt like my company wasn’t worth all the baggage that came with it, so I shielded my friends from my burden. That would scare them away, wouldn’t it? Still, I wondered: wouldn’t this concert be infinitely more fun with my daughters?

One day Setu mentioned that she could go to Atlanta the same weekend as me so we could have a mini-reunion with our other friends who lived there. Before I knew what I was doing, I heard myself ask in a small voice, “What if I came with you?” It was barely above a whisper. But her face lit up with a smile and she exclaimed, “We’ve been waiting ten years for you to ask!” »

Photography courtesy of Harshada Rajani

After a few weeks of butterflies fluttering randomly in my stomach – and that of my parents – Setu and I hit the road to Atlanta. We stayed in Midtown, close to all the restaurants and hot spots we planned to go to. We met up with our other girlfriends and spent the afternoon in our accessible hotel suite at the Midtown Marriott Suites, sipping margaritas and trying on each other’s clothes. Like the good old times.

They had no problem taking care of me and, surprisingly, I had no problem with them taking care of me. They were already discussing the destination of our next trip. I couldn’t believe how much time I had wasted refusing to let them in. Whether they were cutting my food, handing me my toothbrush, or helping me into the car, it all felt natural and normal. It felt like love. To commemorate the new chapter in our story, we went to Southern Star Tattoo and got the matching tattoos that had always been our collective goal.

Everything in Atlanta seemed seamless: a rarity when traveling in a wheelchair in an unfamiliar city. I didn’t have to worry about missing sidewalk cutouts, ramps, or accessible bathrooms. Midtown Atlanta has spent millions on development and renovation over the past 25 years, and by law, all of these updates meet the accessibility standards of the Americans with Disabilities Act of 1990. Many cities that I The places I’ve visited are older and accessibility is inconsistent – the barrier usually discourages us and other people with disabilities from venturing out of our homes and into the community. Atlanta’s investment in accessibility has allowed me to not only venture into the city, but also live my life to the fullest.

We had pre-show drinks and an early dinner at Bulla. Then, dressed in an exorbitant amount of sequins, sequins and Swift’s signature red lipstick, we joined the sea of ​​bejeweled and screaming fans at Mercedes-Benz Stadium. We loved every moment, but sharing longing, longing glances with my friends while Swift sang “Love Story,” our hospital song, was the beautiful full-circle moment I almost missed.

Photography courtesy of Harshada Rajani

Photography courtesy of Harshada Rajani

Then we grabbed late night Taco Bell, changed into our pajamas, and sat down to chat and eat. Things so simple and so normal that I hadn’t done in fifteen years. A late night gossip session with the girls and junk food, I wanted nothing more.

With my face still frozen in a smile, I glanced at my friends in the room. In the song “peace,” Taylor Swift sings: “Would it be enough / if I could never give you peace?“She wonders if she is enough for the people in her life. I had let my friends in, I had let them help me and they weren’t going anywhere. My company, my presence was worth it. I it was worth it. I had enough of it.

Harshada Rajani is a former medical student turned freelance writer, nonprofit co-founder, and disability advocate based in Charlotte, North Carolina.

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