The consultation

      When my father came home from work, I was still sobbing. I had no choice but to accept the fact that not even my parents could make this all go away. As I went to sleep that night, I prayed to make it all go away. Many thoughts kept running through my head, such as - "How was I going to handle school", "What do I tell my friends", "Will I lose my friends", "What is a Milwaukee brace", "Will I be deformed for life or can they fix it and then I'll be normal again", "Will an operation hurt", and then the one we ALL gravitate to in life when we are faced with the incomprehensible -- that maybe, just maybe, they had made a mistake and they were all wrong!!! As I've learned throughout my life, that is just desperation talking.

     As it turned out, they weren't wrong. They weren't wrong at all.

     I had my consultation appointment at Newington Children's Hospital on Friday, November 9, 1973. I took a pillow and blanket in the car and as soon as my father drove into Connecticut, I lay down in the back seat. I stared at the blue, sunny sky listening to parent’s hushed voices. I couldn't make out what they were saying but then again, maybe I didn't want to hear them. I chose to do what I still do to this day when I can't face life and its challenges one more minute. I shut down by closing my eyes and I simply fell asleep. The only difference between then and now is that the falling sleep part has actually become rather elusive. My way of "escaping" and managing life's stresses is to literally stop in my tracks and do nothing whatsoever - I barely breath. Some people clean the house, wash the floors, go shopping or run to the gym for an extra hard workout. Not me. Those kinds of activities stress me more. For me, that is running from the problem and doing your best to avoid it. I prefer to just sit and think about whatever it is that is bothering me, and I literally will stew over it. Sometimes for hours, but then it breaks and I can walk away -most times- with a sense of peace. It is as if I have to run into the fire, not avoid it, to ultimately deal with it. When I was younger, it would be at this point that I would find myself completely exhausted and I would simply fall asleep from mental fatigue. Unfortunately these days, the more I want to escape stress -whatever it may be- the more evasive sleep actually becomes. I'm still apt to sit or lay down and try to mentally "run away", but I just can't simply fall asleep like I was able to do that sunny day in November long, long, ago.

     I awakened to my mother calling my name. I sat up, assuming we were there and she said, "We've arrived a little early, do you want to get something to eat?". Something to eat? Honestly, what is it with Italians and eating?? It is as if food is the fix-all of everything. Wonder why when I am stressed, I eat? It's all my mother's fault!! However, if we were early, I thought "Why not eat?" - I mean, it never hurts to eat, right? We went into someplace like a Newport Creamery, I believe. I actually don't remember what I ate. My parents just had black coffee. We made small talk and I never let on that I was scared to death. I was too embarrassed. I wanted to be like my mother - strong. I always cried more than my sisters. I was always more emotional than anyone in my family and I was teased for it. I was the one that always wanted a kiss and hug, I was always more affectionate. However, neither of my parents was overly demonstrative or affectionate, physically nor verbally. Neither were my two older sisters - so from way back, I always wondered....am I really a part of this family? I started questioning whether I really had been adopted, as my sister Michele always tried to convince me! (That's a whole other story for another post!!). I guess I was really starting to wonder who I really was, I didn't always feel like I had a lot in common with my sisters or my parents and now I had this "deformity" - maybe she wasn't just teasing me, maybe I really was adopted? That was exactly my thought as I walked into the hospital that day. As I was pondering the real possibility of having been adopted and thinking that maybe my family was holding out on a big secret, my father went to register me and came back to the table where my mother and I had sat, with a zillion forms to be filled out. I remember it being very loud with children and parents and medical personnel, all flitting all around. It was a rather modern looking hospital for its day and the lobby was painted in bright colors. In the center were these very large circular openings and in one of them was a HUGE, and I do mean HUGE, stuffed dog. It was so cute and I noticed it actually had a price tag on it. I don't recall how much it was, but I do remember it was a lot of money and I asked my mother, "Would someone actually buy that?" and she replied, "I suppose so". I sat and pondered how lucky some other kid would be to receive such a gift, as her and my father were preoccupied with filling out the many forms. When they were done, the woman at the desk instructed us to follow the "red line" to the elevator and which floor to get off. We were then still to follow the red line. Hmm, the red line? I looked down and I hadn't noticed earlier that there were several very brightly colored lines leading to the elevators - red, yellow, blue, green and orange. The process was simple enough and today, we are all well aware of this system in hospitals. But back then and being from little 'ol Westerly, RI - I had never seen such a thing before! In that moment, I knew I was headed where no one I knew had ever been before. The elevator door opened, I took a deep breath and I entered. I purposely stood between my parents. I've always felt safer "sandwiched" and I still do today. I like being in the middle, I feel safe there. On some level, I knew that I was headed to a whole new world. A different chapter in my life so to speak and yet little did I know just how different it would be.