All About Me Part 1

I guess I wanted to start with my testimony, it explains so much of who I am and why passion for God is what it is.

Well here goes, it's kind of lengthy so I'll probably have to break it up into little pieces, plus one day I'd like to print this out and have my children have it so they can understand where my heart was when they were growing up.

My parents had me when they were very young, they were both 19 and they had been married a month before I was born. You can imagine how it might have looked two unwed teenagers having a child out of wedlock in 1969. Especially in Spanish culture it's a big NO, NO. But I know my parents loved each other very much so that was never an issue for me. It's amazing what modern day times says about having a child out of wedlock now (kind of sad really), but I won't go down that rabbit hole today. I was born into this world two months early, I can joke now that, that was pretty much the only time in my life I was ever early to anything. I was born with a rare congenital heart defect called Tetrology of Fellot. It's when there is a hole between the two ventricles of the heart, so blood does not flow properly oxygenating the heart or lungs. In 1969 the surgery I needed was rarely done on children and the first successful one performed on a child was in 1954(watch Something the Lord made ...its an HBO movie about the doctor who discovered the defect). The first successful surgery done on a child less than 6 months old was in 1986. As I grew up I was not allowed to do a lot of physical things (like run, jump or play sports), too much risk for my health and my lips were the color of grapes until I had the surgery.

Well here I was born to two teenage parents, weighing in at a whopping 2lbs 5oz at 7 months of age. I stayed in the NICU for two months fighting for life (like most preemies, how amazing is God's miracles). I know I wouldn't have known what to do with a preemie baby at 19, I could barely take care of myself let alone a sick baby, God's provisions are amazing. He was clearly watching over us.

Growing up in what most would call a "religious home", I was taught from an early age to pray and be a "good little girl". I had always known about God but never about who he was. We were never encouraged to read the bible only listen to what was taught to us in Church. I went to private school from first grade to 9th grade, I did my holy sacraments and prayed like I was told to. My grandparents till this day have saints all over their home.

So from the beginning my heart was taught to always love and follow the Lord, that was my emotional side. My physical limitations were what you could imagine. From infancy until about the age of 6, I was carried a lot or put in giant strollers, if we walked anywhere my family made sure they took their time so I would not become out of breath or pass out. I had lots of catherizations and lots of doctor visits, (there were no MRI's or EchoCardiograms) lots of EKG's though. I could tell anyone about what was wrong with me from the time I could speak clearly, although I doubt people understand a 6 year old saying tetrology of Fallot. Once I was too big to be in a stroller or be carried I just walked, it wasn't such a big deal growing up in New York (the Bronx, we just took buses or trains everywhere). I have to say I never felt that different from anyone else. I was just some one's child, some one's grandchild, some one's sister, some one's cousin, some one's friend. My parents tried to do their best to allow me to have a normal life, to not shelter me or treat me like a china doll that could be broken and for that I am especially thankful.

My parents separated sometime after my 6th birthday, I can't remember the day but I do remember my dad leaving with his packed suitcase and my brother begging him not to leave and following him down the hallway as he left (we lived in an apartment building) and I think my heart broke more for my brother, than it did for myself or either of my parents.

Even though my parents were separated I knew my parents loved me, although I see now how the stresses in their marriage came out, little screaming matches my mother and I had over little things (it's hard being a parent of a wilful child), I know that now more than anything how we take our stresses out on the people who are the closest to us.

All through this I never blamed God, I never blamed God for giving me this illness, I never blamed God for letting my parents get divorced, I never really blamed him for anything, but even then with the little understanding that I had I knew there was a purpose to all of it.

When I was 10 it was time for me to have my surgery. The surgery that would correct my heart defect and allow me to become a normal kid. To run, play jump rope, dance class anything I wanted. I couldn't wait.

When we checked into the hospital, I didn't have a private room, I wasn't in a ward either I shared a room with another little girl who was suffering from leukemia. I wish I could remember her name but for the life of me I can't, but I can remember she lost her hair from chemo. Her favorite food was strawberry jello and milk shakes and she LOVED Elvis. I think that one might have been influenced by her mom, although Elvis had been dead for 2 years, his death and (sightings) were in every rag magazine ever. Isn't that weird I can remember that stuff but not her name....it's killing me.

Anyway, I was in this room prepping for surgery for over a week (now a days you prep the night before and then you go in...not sure why it took so long). So in that weeks time frame she and I did a lot together, the nurses would come by and have special little projects for us to do, or allow us to rome hallways in search of adventures (there were no such things as play rooms, or family life specialists who bring things to your room, no Wii or games) we had a lot of books, a lot of food (jello mostly) and we had whatever toys our parents brought us. Mostly magazines, books and barbies.

The night before my surgery I went up to the ICU to get prepared, final testing before surgery first thing, doctors came by several times to see if I understood exactly what was going to happen. I said yes and my parents were there understanding what was going to happen after (the risks...anasthesia...after care...heart/lung machines, etc. etc.), finally I went down and I can remember the nurse saying to me, are you OK, you look scared (as if there was any other way to look when you are going into open heart surgery).

When I woke up I could remember seeing my parents, everything was a blurr, fuzzy, I could remember little things like noises from machines and nurses yelling "how ya feeling?" Like I could talk with a tube down my throat. Finally I could remember being completely awake my parents being there and someone pounding on my back to cough and get something out, it could have been the tube down my throat, it could have been to make sure I didn't have stuff stuck in my lungs, but whatever it was, I remember the back pounding, not truly comfortable. A few days later, I was well enough to go back to my room downstairs, my friend had checked out so I was with a new girl, don't remember much about her, but I did miss my friend.

I stayed in the hospital for about a month before I was allowed to go home. It was good to be home, but it was weird the scar on my chest itched all the time and I was not allowed to do anything physical while it healed. To this day I remember going to my grandmothers house about a week after my surgery and getting into a fight with my cousin Rodney and him hitting me with a GI Joe doll right on my scar, he was 7 at the time, and boy did it hurt. My scar had a blood clot right at the top and my grandmother was panic stricken. I can remember my mother being furious, but luckily it turned out to be nothing, the scar had healed enough that it didn't make much difference.

I went back a few weeks later for a follow up and while I was in with the doctor, my mother said she ran into the mother of the girl who shared my room, when my mother asked how she was the woman told her she had lost her battle with leukemia and died. When I asked my mom what was the matter, she told me about how my friend died.

That was my first of many times I had to deal with death at a young age.