13. Experimentation

On Young Flesh

Trauma is personal. It does not disappear if it is not validated. When it is ignored or invalidated the silent screams continue internally heard only by the one held captive. When someone enters the pain and hears the screams healing can begin. — Danielle Bernock, Emerging With Wings: A True Story of Lies, Pain, And The LOVE that Heals

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Between the ages of five and nine, I had over ten operations. I was placed in traction, had pins put in my legs, casts, used crutches, braces, and even a wheelchair. I spent so much time in the hospital, in and out so frequently, that my memories are chopped in chunks and all mixed together like a stack of identical, white, china, plates that are broken all at once, impossible to reassemble. On one admission, the doctors at Children’s Hospital lengthened my hamstrings and put me in a cast that went over both legs, from hip to ankle, connected by two bars that spread my legs apart. On another, there were pins through the bones right below my knees. For yet another, I was in traction for months. The treatments all blend together in my mind. Sometimes, I think that time doesn’t matter, just reactions, feelings and experiences, but then I connect the memory shards to a timeline and things start to make sense. I feel like I’m being slowly pieced together.

During all these hospitalizations, no one was monitoring the necessity of each procedure. My parents were still very much at odds. I remember the awkward silence when my parents faced each other, a forced quiet. Their animosity was so intense it was almost palpable. Quiet came to represent peace and safety for me.