When I was 18 months old I was diagnosed with Spinal Meningitis. There were several children that came down with the illness at the same time. I was given a 3% chance of surviving. The doctor told my mother she should start planning for my funeral. My mother, a woman of great strength, refused to listen. My fever was so high that I was on an ice bed for months. I had a tube in my chest, a tracheotomy, I.V's in both hands in various places, a tube under my belly button, and others. I lost the blood supply to my feet and lost 3 toes on each foot which grew back even though the doctors said there was no way they would. During my stay in the hospital all of the other children with Spinal Meningitis died. One little boy survived but was left mentally disabled and in a wheelchair, if I remember right I was told he later died. I was the only one left. The doctor said I should have been a vegetable for the rest of my life, or at the very least deaf, blind, or both. But I survived. I was left learning how to walk and talk again, a small feat for being granted a chance at life, my survival was nothing short of a miracle.
I was released from the hospital 3 months later, free of any disability. Little did I know that the infidelity and horror had already begun, and the worst was yet to come.
I still bare the physical scars from the many tubes and I.V.'s that were placed in my body to keep me alive. My toes are a visual reminder every day that I survived. Some people may think that I should be embarrassed about my toes because they don't look normal, but they make me unique. Sure I have days when I am self conscious about them, But I know that i wouldn't feel the same with 'normal' toes. They are a part of my story, my battle to survive.
