The Silence

A Chapter by Kathryn Smith

Tell me a piece of your history that you're proud to call your own:

In 1992 On Tuesday, July 21st, at 5:12pm a baby girl was born.

She was whisked away from her Mother because she wasn't your average baby.

She was originally due in September.

She weighed 1 pound 6 ounces. So tiny you could slip a wedding ring around her leg.

She was a baby that was fighting for her life and she was a baby that would defy every odd thrown at her.

That baby girl was me.

Before I was born the doctor told my parents I would die because I was not growing. They told my parents to get an abortion.

If they didn't get an abortion I would die before I turned 3.

If I didn't die I would be severely handicapped and that would be stress for everyone.

I was very sick in the months I was first here..and I did apparently die once but was brought back to life.

But Here I am today.

Just fine. What you could call "normal."

I'm on the smaller side, around 5'1, but I'll take that over what I might have been any day.

They called me the "Miracle Baby." I even made the front page of the newspaper.

and all my life...my birth story has seemed to define me.

"you're the miracle baby aren't you?"

"Wow I remember when you were born!"

"You're the girl who was going to die!"

Speak in words you picked up as you walked through life alone

We used to swim in your stories
And be pulled down by their tide
Choking on the words and drowning with no air inside

My birth story has been told SO much throughout my life that whenever I am with my sister or brother I can see them wince.

I see the annoyance in their eyes...and then I begin to feel bad.

My sister and brother were 6 and 3 when I was born..and they usually tell me I took away their Mother. When there is a picture of just the two of them they say: "Those were the days our family was perfect."

I know it's a joke but there is also truth to it. There is always some truth to a joke. I don't blame them for having bad memories when I came into this world.

My Mother had to be in the hospital for quite a long time because of me, and with all the stress of a sick and possibly dying baby girl, my sibling's little worlds were turned upside down.

Now you've hit a wall and it's not your fault
My dear, my dear, my dear.
Now you've hit a wall and you've hit it hard,
My dear, my dear, oh dear.

Because of how I was born I was in the hospital as a child a lot.

I was monitored and watched for signs of possible mental problems or learning disabilities. Once again..I proved everyone wrong and was fine.

Because of being born so small I looked very different as a little girl.

I looked like a kid in skin and bones who survived the holocaust.

A child that was liberated and now on her way to eating healthily again.

In school my peers didn't care at first...but once I got older because of my smallness, and boniness, I dealt with lots of bullying.

Once the tween years came I felt like an animal and didn't have very many friends at all.

Once you are different you're automatically labeled and looked at differently for the rest of your life it seems.

Now you've hit a wall and you're lost for words,
My dear, my dear, my dear.
Now you've hit a wall and you hit it hard
My dear, my dear, oh dear.

from the age of 10 to 15 I was in and out of the hospital again.

Just as I finally thought the whole hospital scene was long gone came the car crash at 18...