February 12, 1975

     A year passed. Eventually. But I am here to tell you, although the years pass much more quickly as you get older, it passes really, really slow when you're thirteen years old in a cast.

     For a whole year, I was back at that hospital for a cast change every three months. Lots of x-rays. Lots of pain. Lots of embarrassment. Lots of really yucky memories. And now it was about to come to an end. Or so I thought.

     I re-entered the hospital on February 12, 1975 for the permanent removal of my cast. Part of me was ecstatic and part of me was very scared. I didn't know what to do with my feelings, so as we left home, I simply reclined in the back seat and fell sound asleep.

     We arrived and went right upstairs. I was brought to a room and as usual, Shirley was there. Oh Shirley, I do wonder where you are today? I was soon brought to the 'ol familiar cast room. This time I wasn't shimmied over to the "balance beam" table. This time they laid down plastic on my bed and I had to lie on top of it. Then a man came with "the" saw and I had to raise my arms above my head. He started under my right armpit and as I always did, I prayed that he didn't cut me. You could feel the vibration of the saw as he moved along the cast and I don't know who was more stressed in those instances, the patient or the cast cutter! He did well and as soon as both sides of the cast were cut, they simply removed the top shell. Then they had me turn to my left and shimmied the bottom cast from underneath me. The cotton stocking was still on me. Then a nurse by the name of Ann took a pair of scissors and cut it off of me. You may ask how I remember her name? I have no idea! I just do. I remember she was older and very soft-spoken and she took measures to respect my privacy, shielding my young body with sheets as best as she can. Perhaps that is why I remember her name. Privacy was NOT something that was thought of often then, but she did show compassion and concern. So I remember her. She helped me into a clean Johnny, covered me up and called for an orderly and soon I was being whisked to x-ray.

     I was taken to the same room I was brought to over a year ago, where they took the "naked" pictures. I was handed the same black blindfold and paper panties and I even remember being told I should smile. Imagine that? I mean, are you kidding me? Smile, when you're standing there naked? At 13 years old? So they got their pictures and remember thinking, "I won't ever have to do that again!'. And thank God, I never did.

     Then I had to go to "x-ray" and have those familiar 3-foot x-rays AGAIN. I was then put on a gurney. It didn't feel "real" yet, as I had experienced this same scenario (except the naked picture part) every 3 months for quite some time now. When I was brought back upstairs, Shirley came and slathered the baby oil and she would always say, "Scratch to your heart's content, but don't bleed or I'm not letting ya outta here!” She was so funny. So I scratched and my mother would yell at me, "Stop scratching! You're going to bleed!” I kept scratching. An hour or so later, I was brought to the bath. This time I was allowed to get into the tub on my own; however I soon realized that I needed help. I felt "weird". After the bath, I was brought back to my room and Shirley massaged my skin with body lotion and my mother came in with clean clothes and............a bra!! Why do mother's always think of everything?? Before my surgery, I wasn't wearing a bra. I guess now she felt I needed one. I looked down and realized............I did. Sort of anyway. I said to Shirley, "I feel funny" and she said, "What do you mean honey?" and I said, "I thought the cast was what made me feel so stiff and straight and I still feel that way now?" and she said, "Sweetie, your spine is fused. It IS stiff and straight, but before long you will get used to it and you will figure out ways to compensate". I started to cry. I cried, "Why did this have to happen to me? Why can't I be normal??” We sat on the bed and she told me that although I was feeling down, everything was going to turn out okay and I would get used to it. Then she said, "Let's go for a walk!" and off we went. Charlie was there. He ran up to me and Shirley stopped him from practically jumping on me. He asked if he could kiss my cheek, I obliged!! (I probably made him soooo happy at last!). I remember him saying, "Gosh, you stand so straight" and he saluted me!! Then came all the other "regulars" whose names I just don't recall. Except for Marco. He was such a sweet little kid from Mexico.

     As we approached my room, I heard Dr. Hardy's voice. I entered and there he was. He was larger than life and came and gave me a huge, but gentle, hug and said, "How's my girl?" and Shirley told him that I was a little "surprised" that I was so stiff but that I was already getting used to it. He said, "Aw honey, I fixed you up perfect, don't be sad! You look great!” I think I mentioned how I had always taken my old casts home for some reason and this time he asked, "Where's your cast?" and I said, "I didn't ask for it and they didn't give it" and he said, "Did you want it?" and I replied, "NO!". I was ready to move on. I remember my parents asking a lot of questions. I don't recall all that was said, but this is a synopsis of what I do remember:

1. NO horseback riding - EVER.

2. NO skiing - EVER. (The ONLY "sport" I had ever, ever even liked! Go figure!)

3. NO diving - EVER.

4. NO gymnastics of any kind - EVER.

     As we all walked out of the room after he filled out my discharge papers, he had his arm around me and I DO remember him saying, "You're cured! Go live life and have fun Valerie. You're all set. I'll see you at my office in 3 months!" and off we went. I turned and kissed Shirley good-bye and several other nurses. Shirley was crying as she kissed and hugged my mother good-bye. I then said goodbye to the kids that had gathered, as they were watching me leave. My very last memory of Newington Children's Hospital was as we were walking to the elevator, I turned back one more time, to glimpse at the place and people that had become part of my life. The very last person I saw was Charlie. He had tears streaming down his face. I waved and smiled and we walked out of the hospital. Part of me was so happy and part of me wanted to run back and never leave. I was leaving "family" that I knew I would probably never see again. And I never did.