After being informed that I was born with a congenital (why congenital?, there weren't any genitals involved-well maybe originally) heart defect, I think that's when the real fear settled in even though all the childhood mystery was cleared up (well not really but at least I knew). There still wasn't any real talk of repairing it surgically and I think Mom and I made one last trip to the doctor for a checkup. I was told to keep an eye on my fingernails, if they turned blue that was a sign of poor circulation... you want to talk about keeping an eye on your fingernails. That was pretty much the last time I saw the inside of a doctors office for seventeen years.
Like I said a couple of lines back, that's when the real fear started because I immediately got the feeling I wasn't going to live very long. I actually used to picture myself on my death bed at 32 and wonder if I needed a priest to come in so I could "get right" with God. The family around this time had been through many trials and tribulations as well and this was a blow to what little self confidence I had left. I don't want to come across as "poor me" here but it was an extremely tough time. I started to feel the "why me's" and I would look at my friends and think how lucky they were not to have this to deal with. I also felt separated from everybody, alone and jealous of my sister for being unaffected.
I guess the worst thing was that I had nobody to talk to about all the feelings of fear and anxiety. The topic wasn't really ever brought up again until years later. I can also recall feeling angry at my parents for not taking care of this when I was an infant and putting the burden all on me. It's funny because there was a girl named Shelley Campbell (the little red-haired girl) that I had a crush on in junior high school and she had a quarter-sized scar on the upper part of her chest- she had the surgery done when she was a baby and I was so envious that she was healed.
At around nineteen years of age I became obsessed with my mortality--death and dying, heaven and hell and where my final resting place would be. I used to wake up Sunday mornings after a night of partying and torture myself with one televangelist after another and there was also an evangelistic radio station I would listen to when I went to bed. All that basically did was scare the crap out of me and scar me for life as far as any belief system...to this day the only concept of God I have is the one that threatens us with hell.
I never told anybody that I had this heart defect until my early thirties when I began to deal with it myself. Any relationship I had was fraught with the fear that I would have to admit to this defect so I became paranoid about anyone lying with their head on my chest dreading they would hear the wooshing sound that it makes and would ask me. "What's wrong with your heart?" To this day I don't rest my hand on my chest, I can feel it and it still kind of freaks me out.
Enough for today, things get a bit brighter in part three.
1 comment:
Oh man, I really feel for you. But it must have been good to be able to talk about it. Is it still a concern, can they tell if it healed over?
I think it's normal to feel the "why me", I'll share this with you..
When I was in grade 11, coming home from rollerskating I was in a terrible accident in a VW Bug, rolled over several times and when it finally landed upside down, the battery blew apart leaking acid all over my face, but not in my eyes (always thought "somebody" was looking out for me that night) the guy in the front passenger seat died, although they didn't tell me right away.
That same night, my dads' brother in N Van committed suicide, one of his sons' found him (I was just told at the time he "died") yet all 4 cousins came to see me in the hospital.
Anyways, I recovered and eventually got used to the scars on the face.
Then in my early thirties, I started having fainting spells, which grew more frequent, and I was always being carted off in an ambulance...to shorten the story, they finally figured out I was having seizures..they found scars on my brain that were from the accident and had gotten bigger in the last decade.. so now the big "Epilepsy" word was tagged on me. Couldn't drive for 2 years, no more playing softball,(can't get hit on the head) no swimming unless someone is close by etc. I'm on medication and everything is cool now, but I know what you mean.."Why me?" But could be worse,eh?
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