When Michaela Davert wheeled into a University of Michigan exam room more than 15 years ago, she was fragile, broken—her bones had already shattered dozens of times. She had lived most of her life in and out of hospitals. She used a power wheelchair by age three. Osteogenesis imperfecta had always been her enemy.
But what she didn’t know was that she was about to meet someone who would walk with her through every high and low: Dr. Michelle Caird.
Dr. Caird was a pediatric orthopedic surgeon, and the moment she met Michaela, she saw not just bone fragility—but potential. Over the years, their relationship would grow into more than patient and surgeon. They became partners, confidantes, voices on the same path.
Michaela’s life has been marked by pain, surgeries, and endless uncertainty. Over 100 fractures. More than 30 operations. Each break, each reconstruction, each rehab left scars—physically and emotionally.
In late 2020 came perhaps the hardest decision: two severe spinal curves, one 150°, the other 180°. Her lungs were compressed. Her life at risk. Doctors said that without surgery, she might have ten years or less to live.
Dr. Caird sat across from her in the consultation room and told her everything. The risks. The probabilities. The unknowns. No sugarcoating. “You may not wake up,” she said. “But I believe in fighting for quality of life.”
Michaela remembers that moment as electric. Her parents were trembling in the corner. She looked at Dr. Caird and nodded, despite fear. This was the fight she had to take.
The surgery was brutal. Twenty-eight days in the hospital. Intubated. Isolation during COVID restrictions. One emergency operation after another. When complications surfaced, Dr. Caird didn’t disappear. She was there bedside, asking Michaela if she could move her fingers, describing every step in real time, holding her hand when anxiety clawed her mind raw.
Michaela later said: “That kind of presence—you don’t forget it.”
Through complications and doubts, they pressed on. Recovery was slow. Each day was measured in millimeters. Physical therapy pushed her body to respond after years of breaking. Her parents watched from the sidelines, hoping each morning she’d open her eyes stronger.
But they grew beyond hospital rooms and broken spines. In 2016, Michaela and Dr. Caird traveled to Washington, D.C. They testified before lawmakers, advocating for research funding for osteogenesis imperfecta and musculoskeletal conditions. Michaela’s fragile body stood firm. Dr. Caird listened and translated her patient’s voice into data and policy.
They stood before Congress together—doctor and patient. Their story became advocacy.
And then: years later, Michaela returned to the U-M Medical School to speak to first-year medical students. She told them what she had learned about life, pain, dignity, and trust. Dr. Caird sat nearby, watching. “I’ve seen every side of your journey,” she told the students. “That bond changes how you practice medicine.”
Today, Michaela is 26. She still uses a power wheelchair. She’s endured more than most. But she also graduated with a degree in business administration in 2023. She runs a growing social media presence called “Funsized Style,” sharing her story, fashion, challenges, triumphs—with thousands following.
She’s appeared on billboards, magazine features, national advocacy platforms. When people look at her, they often see disability. But Michaela sees independence. She sees purpose. She sees joy. She sees the incredible faith she and Dr. Caird built, one surgery at a time.
Dr. Caird says: “The trust we formed is sacred. Walking this path with Michaela has taught me more than I could ever teach her.”
Michaela’s life is not just survival. It’s a testament to partnership: patient and surgeon walking together through the storms.
It’s proof that in medicine, healing doesn’t always look like cure. Sometimes it looks like consistency, presence, advocacy, and faith.
And in every moment Michaela lives—every post, every speech, every step forward—that bond continues to write new chapters.