Pondering my Heart Defect

As I was driving home from my latest doctor’s visit, I began pondering why I have trouble accepting my heart disease. I was born with a heart defect—my mother was unaware of the severity of my illness and she often told me that I was born with a veil over my face—which symbolized that I was going to be someone special. Could it be that I was born blue—with visible signs of a heart defect? I was born at home with only the assistance of a midwife, and no another means of medical attention was accessible.

My mom always told me I was a “sickly child.” My poor health was never understood by my father. For my safety, Mom smothered me with love and kept him at bay. My siblings have told me and I remember that I cried a lot. I was underweight until I was 11 or 12 years old. My father was emotionally ill-equipped to handle my prognosis—once when I was gravely ill and my mom needed assistance negotiating the medical system, my father had resolved to let me die. My mom received help from a male stranger—and she shielded me and cared for my health until I stabilized at the age of 16 years old—until she became sick herself and I had the tools to care for myself.

There is an a interesting parallel, in that I learned to repress my illness early on and empowered myself to ignore symptoms related to illness in order to survive. As I recount my life, I was often sleepy, would nod off in classes, was reprimanded by teachers, and laughed at by peers when I would fall asleep and snore loudly. At an early age, I learned to compensate for my illness. I learned to verbalize my feelings and worked hard to not fall asleep in class. I remember that's when I learned to daydream. But is it really daydreaming when your heart is not getting enough oxygen and you are in a limited state of consciousness?

Compensating and coping by repressing the notion of illness is how I managed through life. My undergraduate college years were treacherous; as I look back, I was very sick and academics were difficult. I muddled through and persevered. I was raised during the Civil Rights Era, and the tools learned in my youth to combat racism helped me to progress in life despite my heart condition. I used these same tools throughout my life to reach the goal of an expert in my field of social work. I have learned early on to care for others as I would care for myself and I became very good at this skill.