Back in 1787, James Madison made a case for the inevitability of factions in society in his Federalist No. 10. He argued (and truthfully so) that a nation of millions would invariably split into smaller groups who shared the same beliefs, ideals, etc.
The University may not be a nation of millions, but as a community of thousands, we too have our factions in the form of clubs, sports teams, fraternities and sororities, etc. Take a walk around Grounds and you will notice enough neon-sided plastic sunglasses, backwards white hats, sweats emblazoned with "Virginia [insert sport name here]," and of course the ubiquitous navy-and-orange T-shirts advertising everything from Biology Society to Baking Club to remind you that we're anything but homogeneous.
And here we have a contrast. Madison was convinced that political factions would divide and weaken the nation, but here at the University, our self-sorting is a symbol of anything but weakness. We're a dynamic community, a thriving community, and our smorgasbord of clubs, activities, teams, and societies is testament to that.
Lately, though, a new and somewhat puzzling group has taken root on Grounds. You've probably seen us taking cabs to class or heard us clicking down hallways. Maybe you've taken the elevator with us at O-Hill. Maybe you have moved to offer one of us a seat on a UTS bus. We're the girls with various leg injuries. We're like our own little sorority, except with crutches and orthopedic braces instead of Greek-lettered sweatshirts. People I sit next to in class, suitemates and even my RA have commented on just how many of us there are this fall.
As unfortunate as my injury was, I was lucky to have the opportunity to tap into this unconventional network. A girl who tore her ACL told me about the DART cab system that could give me free rides to class when my bone was too sore to walk. On more than one occasion, I've looked to either side while waiting to cross the street and seen another girl with her I.D. in one hand and a crutch in the other. The crutches give us an instant commonality and inevitably lead to story-swapping; I've met girls with sprained knees, fractured ankles and countless other injuries. On days when I was discouraged or tired or sick of having to crutch-walk to classes or down the hall, I remembered I wasn't alone. Injuries can be truly isolating at times, but being surrounded by others going through the same situation more or less has inspired me with a true sense of solidarity and a confidence that if these girls can crutch their way through first semester, so can I.
But what happens when it comes time to leave the sisterhood? As my fractures heal, I can walk more and more without my crutches. I'm still getting used to the thrill of carrying my own beakers to the balances in Chem lab and occasionally being able to take the stairs instead of the elevator. Walking through crowds at the dining hall no longer feels like parting the waters, and I've almost broken the habit of pausing before doors to allow the people around me to open them for me. I still smile and say hi to every person on crutches I see, and I get either a friendly reply or a weird look depending on whether I have a crutch with me.
As I gradually come closer to complete freedom from crutches, the slight sting of losing the solidarity with my fellow injured students is eclipsed by my ability to lead a normal college life. I no longer have my focus interrupted by searing nerve pains. I can almost always walk instead of taking a cab. I can stay longer at the gym. And despite the fact that I've almost lost my membership to the unofficial injured students society, I can go to more club meetings, concerts and guest lectures. I can kick when I swim. On a good day, I forget my injury and start jogging down the stairs. And each time I see another girl on crutches - whether it's in a lecture hall, on the sidewalk or in my dorm - I remember that all of us, in time, will heal.
Courtney's column runs biweekly on Tuesdays. She can be reached at c.harnett@cavalierdaily.com.
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