Memories that Stick

This next post is one that has been running around wild in my mind, trying to find a way out through the maze and roadblocks of embarrassment, shame, pride and fear. Embarrassment and shame because it is a very sensitive subject. Pride because it is something that will put me in an extremely vulnerable place. And fear because I do care how people view me (to a certain extent). I'm in no way the person I used to be, these experiences throughout the years have reshaped weaknesses into a burning strength. They are events that were incredibly traumatic as a young girl/teenager and brought with them a downward spiral of severe depression during the mid to latter teenage years.

These are shared only because I KNOW without a doubt that there are others out there who have had similar experiences and seek to find a sense of worth and knowledge that they're indeed NEVER alone. How many billions of people are in this world - past, present and future - and so many have been through much the same parts of life? With this comes increased empathy, broadened knowledge, and a shoulder for someone to cry on. We are all, in fact, going through life together.

In the young mind as a 9,10,11 year old, everything happening was stored away, locked up tight. At times the frustrations were vocalized to my mom and dad, and their love and compassion surely helped get me through, but unfortunately, much of the time I vowed to travel this desert alone, without a master guide. To wander the wilderness alone, to refuse water, shelter and help from a guide is dangerous, even deadly.

If the time could be pinpointed when my mind shifted from that carefree child to a traumatized young girl, I would like to go back and see with these experienced adult eyes, to transfer this knowledge and understanding to that little girl. But that cannot be. The past is the past, and all the can be done is to move forward.

My mom would pick me up from school, and together we would drive to Boise (in the early years) or Twin Falls (in the later years) for the yearly check-ups for my heart. My cardiologist, an AMAZING, TALENTED man, was the kindest soul. He was a pediatric cardiologist, and a phenomenal one at that. One of the best if I do say so myself!

The perspective of a young girl in the midst of recognizing her body changing and going through the beginning stages of adolescence has a difficult time seeing the true intentions of great doctors. I still remember the thoughts and the feelings I experienced in these times. I felt myself shut down on the road to the check-ups, in my mind the thoughts were so bombarding and overwhelming everything inside wanted to explode.

The nurses that prepared me for exams were mostly male and to me they were perverts. In my mind, every single one was there to take advantage of me.
One time specifically comes to mind, I have NEVER been able to forget it.
I lay on the exam table, being prepped for a heart catheter. I was a bit older, I remember this because the nurses came over and moved the gown in preparation to shave my upper leg/groin so that the heart catheter could be placed. (I was still having heart catheters in the right damaged leg, but through the bypass). I found a place to stare at in the lights, my back hurting from the hard board, cringing at the touch of their hands, recoiling that they were looking at MY body, my SACRED body that wasn't supposed to be exposed to just anybody.
I wanted to die right there. The tears welled up, pooling in my eyes. I can still hear his voice as he spoke to the other nurse, "Hold this here. Hand me the razor." Folding my body in half, I tried to sit up to see what was going on, and how much of my lower half was exposed. They kindly pushed my shoulders down. "Sweetie. You need to lie flat." A simple procedure prep by trained professionals who were kind was not seen as such by these young eyes. Instead, they were molesting me, and I could do nothing but lie there and let them.
Older and now wiser, I can look back and recognize the error of my thoughts and perception. But at the time, no amount of explanation from anybody, not even my parents, would ever suffice. I was being taken advantage of, it happened every check-up, and I began to LOATHE male doctors/nurses.
I would sulk in the car on the way, crying to my mom, "They're all perverts. They only become doctors to molest young girls. They don't care about me. They just want to take advantage of me."

After this specific heart catheter (I was there to have a balloon procedure into the valve as it has narrowed and needed intervention.) my cardiologist came out and informed my mom that a miracle happened. The valve that had been blocked was wide open. Everyone in that room was shocked by the outcome. There was no balloon procedure done, what a blessing. When my mom told me the news it validated my feelings that all these people wanted to do was take advantage of girls like me. "See, nothing was even wrong! I hate them all!"
These were extremely trying years for my mom and dad.
The incredible doctors, nurses, and healthcare professionals throughout the course of my life saved me on many occasions, however, I was so absorbed in the trauma that I could not see the many miracles of God. Not until now.
I still have glimpses of these moments. Lying still as possible for an ECHO, having been mid-development, and the male tech reaching into the gown to move the wand across my chest. I remember the many tears that trickled down my face during those procedures. It felt as if ants were crawling all over my body, the touch of the gloved hands almost too much to bear.
And yet there are wonderful moments that pop up. One of a nurse carrying me into what had to have been the O.R. (I had to have been less than 5 years old) and asking if I wanted cherry or bubblegum sleepy medicine. He was so kind.

Anyone that has experienced these moments knows the trauma, the embarrassment and shame that comes with them. Thankfully, there comes a time that we can recognize these moments for what they actually were, see the miracle of modern medicine, and find gratitude for the love and kindness of amazing people who have a gift for healing. Unfortunately, these hard things come with the territory of a CHD - and many other health trials that others experience - but all things have opposition, and with the difficult parts there are ALWAYS many great things to learn.
Thankfully God gave me the BEST parents, and thankfully they NEVER gave up on me.