"Lucky Girl": A reflection on privilege and IBD

“Lucky Girl”: A reflection on privilege and IBD

By Natasha Kacharia from the United States

I go to Stanford. I have parents who still love each other. I have amazing friends and a wonderful sister. I drive a BMW convertible. I vacation in Costa Rica and Cabo. For all intents purposes, I have a picture-perfect life.

I always had.

I mean for as long as I can remember, I have always been referred to as a “Lucky Girl.” I never agreed with them. Am I privileged? Yes. Am I lucky? No, I just framed things a certain way. If I lost, I did not want it that much anyway. If I won, the entire world would know about it, and I would underplay how much effort I put into it in the first place. Everything that happened to me – the good, the bad, the ugly – is the best thing that ever happened to me. It is just part of my plan. I used to revel in the nickname “Lucky Girl.”

Now, it annoys me.

Despite being diagnosed with ulcerative colitis 5 years ago during my junior year of high school, this year (my senior of college) was the first time I applied for housing accommodations. I never felt justified before because if I was in remission, then I questioned if I truly needed them. However, after a bad flare during my junior year of college, I decided it was good to plan for the worst-case scenario, so I started my senior year with a single, a private bathroom, and a kitchen. People often thought I paid a doctor to write a letter asking for accommodations for me. Others assumed I simply sweet-talked Stanford’s office of accessiblility for accommodations. I often laugh, neither confirming nor disconfirming either theory. I am not shy about being chronically ill, but I clam up about the specific details. Besides, it is not anyone’s business on why I have certain accommodations. I told my mom about the situation, and she said, “That is a good sign that people think you are normal.”

I am not sure what my facial expressions conveyed, by my mom felt the need to correct herself, “I only meant that you do not look sick all the time.” I gave her a small smile. I knew that statement should have made me happy, but for some reason it did not.

This Thanksgiving, a cousin made a small dig on how lucky I am to attend Stanford and the opportunities that entailed. I wanted to say how lucky he was to have great health, but I simply commented on how we had similar, if not parallel upbringings, then I walked away.

His statement irked me, though. We grew up with the same education and the same access to opportunities. The biggest difference is that I spent my adolescence studying my ass off, and he spent his dating and hanging out with friends. Besides, if he wanted more opportunities, he could achieve it with a bit of hard work. I wanted better health. And there was nothing I could do to achieve that.

I am privileged and I have ulcerative colitis. Chronic illness does not distinguish based on socioeconomic class or a picture-perfect life. I just wish others understood that.

Featured photo by PhotoMIX Company from Pexels.