I have scars. I know what it's like to feel and look different. I know what it's like to be ridiculed. Stares were all too common for me. But I also know that my scars have a purpose. My scars are a story of survival, and of beating the odds. Here is my testimony.
I was born on May 2, 1996 at Cleveland Regional Medical Center. I weighed a whopping eight pounds, twelve ounces. The time was 1:00 AM, and my mother had a cold at the time of my delivery. They had placed her on bed rest. The doctors quickly whisked me away. My mother didn't know it at the time, but something was wrong. While I was developing in the womb, I had somehow twisted my right leg under my left one, causing my right femur bone to be shorter when my bones fully developed.
The doctors went into my mother's hospital room, and told her they were going to fly me to Charlotte. My mom cried, and said that I wasn't going anywhere without her. My hip bone was out of socket when I was born, also. So the doctors popped it back into place.
Two weeks after my birth, I was scheduled to see an orthopedist in Charlotte. His name was Dr. John Wattenbarger, and he specialized in birth defects such as mine. His face would be a very familiar one to me over the next several years. As a result of the defect, my right femur bone was drastically shorter than the other. Wattenbarger explained that as my body grew, my right leg would not grow as much as the other.
He informed my mom that I would probably never be able to walk normally. He also explained that if I didn't undergo surgeries in the future, I would probably develop a curved spine. My condition is medically referred to as Limb Length Discrepancy, or Short Leg Syndrome.
"Normal" babies crawl, but I never did. I scooted across the room on my butt. My mom didn't treat me any different than other babies. She let me scoot around. When I was about fourteen months old, my older brother Bryan started trying to teach me how to walk. He was five at the time. He would hold out a gummy worm and dangle it in the air, and slowly I began taking steps towards him. By the time I turned one, I was walking around everywhere.
The doctors also told me I would probably never ride a bike or play sports. But my dad, uncle and brother taught me how to ride a bike without training wheels by the age of four. I also joined cheer leading when I reached elementary school, and I cheered on up until seventh grade.
When I started kindergarten, the difference between my legs was three inches. I was given a pair of specially-made shoes that I called "build-ups,” because the sole of the right shoe had three inches added to it. By first grade, I needed an even bigger "build-up.” By second grade, my doctor suggested we start the surgeries. I had five inches difference between my two legs. Without my special shoes, I had a severe limp.
In the second grade, I had a surgery on my right leg. I was placed under anesthesia and doctors went in and cut my femur bone. An external fixator was placed on my leg. Metal pins were inserted through my skin and into my bone. These pins were placed above and below the cut in my bone, and my skin was stitched shut. The external fixator has rods attached to it that are to be twisted every day, which results in the leg being lengthened. Bone tissue will gradually grow where the bone was cut in two. The procedures vary in time, depending on how many inches need to be added.
I became home-schooled after the surgery, because it was too painful for me to sit in a classroom all day. Each day my mom had to twist the rods to lengthen my leg, and each day, I had to pull skin back from where it met the pins. It was difficult to maneuver and very difficult to sleep. I had the fixator on for two months before I had to have surgery again. The doctors went in and made some adjustments to my leg. I had another surgery a month after that, to make adjustments. About two months later, they took the fixator off. I had gained two inches, but still lacked three. I was on a walker for several months afterwards, and endured many days of physical therapy. By third grade, i was back in public school, but still had to have a special shoe.
At the age of nine, I had surgery to place a titanium rod in my leg, extending from my hip bone to my knee. They also placed a metal plate in my knee, in an attempt to straighten it.
My journey still wasn't over. At the age of fourteen, I underwent surgery on my tibia bone. Another external fixator was used. Same procedure, different bone. Within that length of time, I had three more surgeries to assist with the lengthening of my tibia bone. I was on crutches the entirety of freshman year of high school (though I wasn't home-schooled this time), and on into that summer.
That summer, I had surgery on my knee once again, in another effort to straighten the kneecap. I used crutches for nine months, and I underwent six months of physical therapy.
At the age of sixteen, the doctors put me under anesthesia again. They removed some of the metal plates in my leg, and they placed a metal screw in my ankle. Following that, another external fixator was placed on my tibia. I had three more surgeries after that. It lasted the entirety of my junior year. I still went to school on crutches.I even went to junior prom on crutches. I remained on crutches for awhile after that to allow my leg time to heal.
The finished product? Fourteen surgeries, endless physical therapy, and many scars later, I only have a half an inch difference in my legs. I still have a slight limp, and I still have a metal rod in my leg.
The surgeries were very painful, and I cried many times because of pain. People around me would often comment how cheerful I was, despite my infliction. They always said that despite my surgeries, they could always expect a beautiful smile from me. Which was true. Though I suffered and ached, I still managed to put a smile on my face around other people. Why? Because I wanted people to see that there is joy in everything. That my disability did not define me, it made me stronger.
But what bothered me most was the stares. I experienced a lot of indirect bullying in high school, because the "weird" metal fixator on my leg. I was looked at differently. I was called names and laughed at by people who thought it was "cool" to do so. But I also had very good friends whom helped me in every way they could, whether it was carrying my book bag or helping me to class. I would name them, but they know who they are. I will forever be grateful for all they did for me, and still do.
I used to be very ashamed of the scars that were left behind from my surgeries. I hated them. I thought that they were ugly. I used to hide behind jeans, even in the summer. And I would only wear a bathing suit around people I knew who knew about my journey. I used to fear that I would never find a guy who loved me, despite my flaws.
I began reading the Bible and I questioned God as to why He would let me go through what I did. One night I stumbled upon a Bible verse that immediately spoke to me:
You may ask, why this verse? This verse spoke to me, because it was then that I saw my purpose. I wasn't given my disability as a burden. It was my blessing. God showed me that I had handled my tribulations the right way. By smiling and keeping a cheerful attitude, I had given others hope. A hope that when bad things happened to them, they could take it in the stride that I did.
My self-confidence still has a long way to go, but now I don't hate my scars.I wear short dresses now, and I wear swimsuits in public. I see that these flaws are the "story" of my journey. They show me that I'm a strong individual who has overcame many obstacles. They are beautiful, and I know that God gave me them for a reason. To inspire others. To encourage those like me. And to remind me that I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
"You are altogether beautiful, my love; there is no flaw in you".
Song of Solomon 4:7
