“I don’t want you or your sisters to tell anyone that your mother has a brain tumor. We’ll tell people that she had a stroke. It doesn’t sound as bad.”
When mum recovered from surgery, she realised that her leg was missing. She was very sad, angry and blamed my father for conspiring to have her leg amputated.
I had ten hours left. I was fourteen years old and certain of this as if it were a known fact. The following morning, they would wheel me into the operating room, cut me open, and in the process, they would kill me.
If I bottled it now I would have to settle for a double J Cup size for ever and if I lived to be 80, then I would have to carry this huge weight up and down the stairs for another ten years.
The dreams were almost always the same: my teeth were loose or falling out, or I had a huge wad of chewing gum in my mouth that I was unable to remove.
I cried. I had slept about five hours in three days, everything I owned was covered in spoiled formula, and the doctor was telling me it could last for months. I was absolutely positive I would go insane.
Imagine a mother and father waiting for the arrival of their unborn child. When the day they have anxiously awaited for arrives, their child is born with severe defects, such as cleft palate, club feet, or any other disfigurement.
It was the end of January. It was my first trip out of town alone since my C-section. A sudden blizzard came up. I drove home with the wind whipping the car, visibility about 3 feet, sobbing, with Brenden screaming in the car seat because I was so...
