I’ve looked at life from both sides now. From win and lose and still somehow.
It’s life’s illusions I recall, I really don’t know life at all
I was born at the tail end of the 70s. My Mum and Dad were vastly different people. Mum was a very innocent and sheltered woman, who had been mothered her whole life. My Dad was an army man, a few years older and totally besotted with my mum. He was an alcoholic. He was controlling, jealous and violent.
When they dated, he was a true gentleman. When they got married, things changed rapidly. He became abusive both verbally and physically. My grandparents were never really on board with their relationship and did not attend their only child’s wedding.
Having me, did not help their relationship. My Dad wanted a son, he got a daughter. If he had to have daughter, she needed to be perfect. I was far from that. After a grueling 36 hour delivery, I was born with nerve damage to my face. Not technically disabled, as there wasn’t anything I couldn’t do but I was definitely not what he ordered. There was huge speculation as to what caused this but everything pointed to the assisted forceps delivery. I arrived battered and blue and after a few days, they knew something was very wrong.
My mum and dad’s relationship ended when I was 4. After years of abuse and threatening behaviour, we escaped. I’m skipping over a lot of detail but there is much to cover. My mum met a new man, that would eventually, become my Dad as everyone knows now. He was 27 years old at the time. He loved my mum very much and understood that we came as a package. Far from being scared, he was instrumental, in getting me the care and surgery I needed to live my life. He quit his successful career to achieve this. My brother came along soon after, when I was seven – we were a family.
I had several major operations throughout my childhood, starting at the tender age of 5. The nerve damage at birth meant, I was paralysed down one side of my face. The surgeries used tendons from my arm to rebuild and support the affected side. Nerves were removed from my leg and grafted into my face, ready for a muscle to be transplanted there. In-between each operation, there were many hours of physiotherapy and some rather brutal recoveries. The psychological effect, of looking at a difference face, every two years was equally challenging. Never missed a day of school though – even back then, I was determined to do it all. The last scheduled surgery, was to remove a muscle, from my pectoral region and attach that to the nerve recently grafted. Boom…symmetry would be achieved.
My entire school life was a hike to this finish line. Bullies never bothered me, as I was always told that come 16 years of age, I would be normal. “Say what you want cretins, my normal was in the post!!”.
Bullies were few but testing. Kids would yell “Esmeralda” at me in the playground and follow me around limping. Ah yes I was Quasimodo in this little skit…delightful. Cyclops was another regular name I was called…the dude with one eye…nice. Even without a different appearance, I think I was destined to be bullied.
I lived on a council estate for a few years at primary school and although the people in those streets were lovely, I was relentlessly taunted at school for living there. I was even accused of sniffing glue. Now at 9 years old I was only aware of PVA Glue and Pritt Stick. Why would anyone sniff those? It seemed really daft behaviour. I can assure you, I never did that. These accusations confused me but clearly had weight, as I lost all my friends. A few years ago I happened to notice a group on Facebook had been created for this same estate. With 600 plus members, I clicked on it to see if I recognised anyone. I didn’t. However, one person had remembered me and was asking if anyone else did. I was relieved when her post went unanswered. I was dreading seeing a thread all about me. I couldn’t imagine it being kind.
I remember moving to a new area when I was 11. The whole street came out to look at me. I was playing squash up against my garden wall as the crowds gathered and heckled. As I got older, the bullies got more thoughtful. I was reminded several times that Halloween was over and I could take my mask off now. I was never sure how to handle remarks like that. I never cried. I never laughed. I felt bad for the boy, who was obviously proud of his put-down, as I did not give him any reaction. Tough crowd.
My first Saturday job was in a cafe and it was pretty grim. I was only allowed to work in the back kitchen, as my boss at the time, thought I would put people off their lunch. One of the most painful memories from this time, happened during a lunch-break at this cafe. I went to the newsagent across the street, to pick up some snacks and drinks for me and the other girls. I walked in and this boy shouted “Look, there’s that girl with the mangled face!”. Everyone stopped and looked. I was standing there with a can of Coke in each hand thinking…now what? Do I bow at this point? Do a twirl? In truth I just left and went back to work.
I think I was 14 when my miracle surgery was imminent. The final operation was looming. I was once again in the consulting room. Everything, since I was 5, had been leading me to this moment. This was it!
There was no miracle. There was a massive operation, that might work but symmetry was a fantasy. The risks were high. The risk of damaging the side of my face that worked was also a possibility. The risk of ruining, all the work they had done in the 9 years, leading to this meeting was also present. I couldn’t breathe. The muscle transplant was more of a wait and hope, than a sprint to a normal life. I was crushed. My world collapsed. The promises. The struggle. The life I thought I would have was over. My 9 years of hospitals, waiting rooms, surgeries and consultations, was over. I made the decision. I called it quits. I couldn’t risk square one or worse. I’d come too far. I remember writing in my diary that night. I had only one question. I can still see it in my mind. On the page I wrote;
Who will love me now?
The last two years of school were such a difficult time. Young girls were becoming young women. Awkward stages and bad make up were fading and beautiful swans were emerging. We all shared mirrors and lipsticks but no make up was going to make me a swan. I looked in the mirror for hours. All I could see were flaws and scars. Individuality was being embraced, as each of my friends found their own way. Boyfriends, relationships and sex were commonplace. For me, I skipped prom and concentrated on being the sidekick. The good best friend and support act to the main event. I had some really good friends at school but I was quickly replaced. People move on.
I left school at 16 with great exam results. My real Dad came back into my life shortly after. He had obviously been waiting for my 16th birthday miracle surgery. His first words to my Mother were ‘I thought she would have been fixed by now’. He never visited again.
The summer after my last year of school was exciting and scary. Little did I know, that I was just about to meet someone, that would change me forever…