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As a child, I remember my grandmother always taking pills and pricking her fingers. When I would ask her, “Granny what’s wrong with you?” she would reply with “I got that sugar.” That would always be the end of the conversation. Years later, I woke up one morning feeling as if it would be the same as any other day. Little did I know, it would be the furthest from true on one particular summer day in 2002. As a part of my daily routine, I crawled out of bed and walked into the bathroom to take my shower but I stopped to wipe the sleep from my eyes. While gazing in the mirror, I saw something which to me didn’t seem very odd; my lips were dark purple. I initially assumed that I had eaten a popsicle before I lied down the night before. Not under the belief that anything was wrong, I continued into the shower and then remembered I hadn’t had a Popsicle in ages, let alone the night before. Finishing, I walked out and checked the mirror again, just for clarification, only to find that it looked like someone had tried to strangle me and left a dark color all around my neck. “Something is wrong”; my inner thought spoke aloud. Frantically scrounging up an outfit to throw on, I searched the house looking for my mom to show her the discoloration of my skin. As expected, she was speechless and immediately called my Grandmother. Needless to say, she was baffled and we called and set up an appointment with my pediatrician, Dr. Saifullah. Being a twelve year old or teenager in any environment, you are subject to torment from other kids for being “different”. Until I could to get to a doctor, I heard countless rumors, assumptions and careless jokes about what was wrong with me. Even adults made comments, unaware that they were hurting a child’s feelings deep down inside. Taking ridicule from my peers was one thing, but to hear it come from an adult who I felt should comfort me, left me feeling empty and alone. I was an outcast. |
My Story |
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Renata Patton |
