(Photo of Jessica by Isa Lorenzo)

I’m Jessica Siquijor. I’m a lawyer and an athlete. I was born with spina bifida and severe clubfeet: portions of my spinal cord pushed outward, leaving them vulnerable to injury and infection. My heels turn inward at an angle, and my feet and toes point downward, resembling hooks. They say my father cried when he saw my deformities for the first time. Doctors corrected my right foot when I was just a day old. At one month old, I underwent the first of four surgeries to fix my left foot. Until now though, my left foot is still misaligned.


"DIFFERENTLY-ABLED"

Despite this, I’d like to think that I lived a relatively normal childhood. My parents were always supportive of me. In grade school, I remember my father would carry me all the way to my classroom on the second floor of our school building just so that I wouldn’t be late for my 7:30 AM class. Back then, most schools didn’t have accessibility ramps. There was hardly any awareness of the needs of the differently-abled. Looking back, this was probably one of the reasons why I wanted to become a lawyer. I realized that, as a lawyer, I’d be in a better position to help others like myself.

I already knew that I was different from my friends even when I was in grade school and high school. But it became more pronounced for me when I was in college. Most girls I knew were either already in a relationship or were being courted. Many of my friends had boyfriends. I wouldn’t say that I was looking for one, but I won’t deny that I was a bit jealous. When we’d go out, my friends would bring along their boyfriends, leaving me with no one to talk to. So rather than feel like the third wheel, there were times I chose not to go out with them.

I thought I’d have my chance in college. A guy named Randy* started to show interest. He invited me to a symposium he organized for his university, where his sister was also studying. We agreed to meet by a staircase near the auditorium. We had been talking for a few minutes, when he casually put his arm around my shoulder. I felt light-headed. I could have died right there and then from happiness. Then we saw his sister walking towards us. She had a look of disdain on her face. Randy immediately withdrew his arm. And then it hit me: He was embarrassed to be seen with me. I realized, “he’s not the one.” He wanted to take me home after the symposium, but I refused and insisted that I could take care of myself. Afterward, I began avoiding him. He knew why I was mad. Then he simply disappeared. After that, I just concentrated on my studies and pushed myself to excel--sometimes, I think, too hard. I always felt that I needed to prove myself.

After graduating from college, the next step was to get into law school. Fortunately, I passed the entrance test, but I had to work part-time to pay for my tuition. I was able to get work as a court reporter at the Regional Trial Court. It was stressful working in the day then studying at night. But somehow, I managed. In my third year at law school, I was promoted to clerk of court at a regional trial court. That made me happy, but I had to deal with a lot of criticism. Co-workers gossiped behind my back, saying I was an unsuitable choice and did not deserve to be promoted. Once, I was asked by my boss to request a report from another judge. I went to the judge, introduced myself, and told him why I was there. He said out loud, in front of his entire staff, “Isn’t there anyone else?” I was so infuriated by his rude remark that I had no second thoughts about answering back. “Why sir, is there anything wrong with me?,” I boldly asked. I was sick and tired of people trying to put me down just because they perceived me as disabled. I wanted to prove them wrong. The judge kept silent as he eyed me.


DETOUR TO MY DESTINY

In my last year of law school, when I was a few credits away from graduating, I discovered I had acute renal failure. It was probably because I had overworked myself. Now that both my kidneys had collapsed, my doctor insisted that I go through a dialysis immediately. Since my kidneys were incapable of filtering toxin, I looked grey and bland. I lost more than 10 pounds. But I was stubborn and told my doctor, “I can’t afford to undergo dialysis right now. I’m about to graduate.”

But my condition could not be ignored. My doctor told me that if I didn’t have dialysis soon, my blood would be poisoned, and I could die. I didn’t want my parents to know about my situation. They were old, and I didn’t want to give them any more trouble. I stopped going to school to begin treatment.

I went through my first dialysis alone. I was attached to the dialysis machine for four very long hours. I could see my own blood running through the tube. Without anyone to comfort or hold me, I felt like I would faint.

During my third dialysis session, I had a seizure. I thought I was going to die. I was even more frightened when I found out that a friend who had undergone dialysis in the same hospital just a week before had died. I was expecting to see her again the following session, but she never returned. When I asked where she was, the intern said, “She’s not coming back. She’s dead.” I didn’t want that to happen to me. This is what prompted me to finally tell my parents that I had developed acute renal failure.

My dad was scared for me, but being the optimist that he was, he reassured me that everything would be fine. My mother was terrified. She cried: “Why you? You already have enough illnesses!” I had been undergoing dialysis three times a week for one month, each dialysis session costing P5,000, so that was P60,000 per month. I had no more money to spare, and I didn’t want to burden my family. I finally decided to have a kidney transplant. Luckily, two of my siblings were potential donors.

In December of the same year, I had my transplant. Before I underwent surgery, I wrote my will. I wanted to be ready in case something happened. I just prayed and hoped I'd wake up. Doctors took out both my kidneys and replaced them with one of my sister’s. When I woke up at 11:00 PM in the hospital’s intensive care unit, I felt recharged and revived. I thought to myself, “Did the operation really push through?” I looked down, and saw bandages plastered all over my stomach and a urine bag right next to the bed. The operation was a success.

For six months, I had to be isolated in order to fully recover from my kidney transplant. I stayed in my room the whole time. I took high doses of immuno-suppressants, which are anti-rejection drugs and steroids used to strengthen my immune system. When I went outdoors, I had to wear a mask because I easily caught colds and other viruses. For six months, all I did was watch television, complete jigsaw puzzles, and paint.

(Photo courtesy of Jessica Siquijor)

ACHIEVING MY DREAM

Once I had recovered, I returned to law school to complete my missing units. I enrolled in a review class and took the bar exam. I began working part-time again while waiting for the results of the bar. On March 19, 2001, an officemate sent me a text message saying “Congratulations!” I didn’t immediately understand what he meant. Then, I remembered. Results of the bar exams were released that day. My sister and I went straight to the Supreme Court to confirm if I had really passed. My sister was the first one to get down from the car to check the results. A few minutes later, I saw her running down the stairs. She jumped up and down upon reaching the car. “Check your name! You made it,” she exclaimed. I didn’t want to because I was in a wheelchair--it would have been difficult to get through the crowd. But she forced me to. So I slowly made my way to the board and saw my name on the list. For the first time in my life, I was really proud of myself. I achieved what I had set out to do.

After passing the bar, I began looking for work. I applied to a non-government organization and was called for an interview. But when the interviewer saw that I was in a wheelchair, he told me straightaway, “If we hire you, we’ll have to pay for your medical expenses. I’m so sorry, but we can’t afford to hire you.” This made me furious! I was qualified for the position. I couldn’t understand why they turned down my application. Was I less capable or more prone to getting sick compared to people with normal legs? Of course not! I didn’t lose hope. I submitted my resume to the Office of the Solicitor General (OSG) and within two weeks, got a call-back. A week after my interview, a representative of the OSG called to tell me, “Congratulations! You got the job. Can you report for work next week?”

A month after I started working at the OSG, I came across the judge from the regional trial court who humiliated me in front of his staff. I smiled at him and said, "Hi, judge, remember me?" I could have sworn that his jaw dropped from shock. He probably couldn’t believe I was a lawyer now. He was just one of the numerous people who’ve tried to put me down. Until, now, I still battle with discrimination in the workplace. I’ve been dissuaded from taking on cases because of my disability. But I’ve learned that the best way to deal with them is to be confident in the knowledge that I am as capable as they are.


GIVING BACK

I realize that if I really put my mind to it, I can do the things that seem impossible for someone with my condition.

This is how I live my life. I seize every opportunity to push myself to go beyond my physical condition. I joined the National Para games (Olympics for the differently-abled) and competed in the Women’s Table Tennis division. I surprised even myself when I won a gold medal. Last December, I also competed in the third ASEAN Para games. Although I didn’t win, it was still quite an experience for me.

Aside from competing in sports, I find fulfillment in helping people like myself. I’m part of the consultative advisory group of the National Council for the Welfare of Disabled Persons. We lobby for the rights of disabled persons in the government. I met a lot of other disabled persons in this group and have formed deep friendships with them. We try to help members run for office in order to give the 8.4 million differently-abled in the Philippines a voice in the community. There’s still so much to do. And I do hope that there will be someone special I can share my experiences with. I’d like to get married and have my own family someday.

Life hasn’t been easy for me, but as Robert Hensel, the poet-writer who was also born with spina bifida said, “I look beyond what I can’t do and focus on what I can…I choose not to place ‘DIS’ in my ability.” Despite physical limitations, I believe I can still do many things with my life.


*Names have been changed.


(First published in Marie Claire Magazine, First person section as "Being in a wheelchair didn't cripple my success" in February 2006; recounted to Trisha Andres; adapted for use in Female Network)