I guess it's high time I started telling some stories about the history of me. There are possibly a whole book full of them, so why don't we start from the very beginning because, as Julie Andrews says, "It's a very good place to start."
My parents were High School sweethearts apparently. They grew up in the same district, went to the same school, got married. I was an honest-to-God honeymoon baby. My parents were married in the middle of May 1966 and then ten months later on March 9, 1967 (there, now you know how old I am!) I was born. My Dad was in the army at the time, stationed up in Queensland I believe. There was a mad dash home again when he heard I was about to arrive.
As soon as my mother's obstetrician saw me he knew straight away that I had dwarfism; possibly because of years and years of delivering babies, however he chose not to tell my parents. "WHAT??" I hear you all exclaim, "HE WITHELD THIS VITAL PIECE OF INFORMATION?" Yes. Yes he did...and it was one of the best things to ever happen for two brand new parents and their newborn baby. The doctor could see that my condition was good. I was healthy. There were no immediate concerns for my health or development, apart from the fact that my growth patterns were not going to be the same as every other childs. He had also known my mother since she was young so he knew that this little piece of information was best kept from her for the time being. So, he allowed her to get to know me and love me and to figure out this whole new parenting thing until such time where the truth needed to be told.
And that's what happened. I was taken home and loved. I ate, I slept (intermittently - like a lot of newborns), I had wet and dirty nappies. Everything happened pretty much as one would expect them to. Sometimes my mother would be concerned by how little I seemed to drink/eat and she mentioned it to the Maternal Health Nurse who answered that if I ate the same as other babies I would be shaped like a square. Little comments like this stayed in my mother's mind and made her wonder. As I got older, other family members with children started to notice that I wasn't growing in the same manner as their children. They all started to talk amongst themselves....so eventually, when I was six months old, my parents took me back to the doctor who was there at my birth. Apparently he told them that he was wondering when he would see them again and gently confirmed that yes, I had dwarfism.
You would imagine that this time would have been a watershed one for my mother in particular, but it wasn't. Instead there was a sense of relief. "Oh is
that all?" were her words I believe. She was comforted by the fact that, apart from the fact that I was growing differently to other babies, I was a "normal" baby in every other sense. After the big reveal, my parents and I were referred to the
Royal Children's Hospital in Melbourne to see the specialists there. I was photographed, x-rayed and examined and my diagnosis confirmed. My parents were given all the current information about achondroplasia and asked how they were feeling about it all. My mother, a very practical woman, was totally fine about it all. She had all the information she needed. I was doing well. I was healthy. There was no reason as to why I was born with achondroplasia, except that it was a random happening and would not happen again in their future children. That was all the information she needed - especially considering she was pregnant with my brother.
I'm not sure about how Dad felt about everything. He was, and always has been, the deeper one who doesn't discuss freely how he really feels about something. I can only say that my own experiences with Dad were of positivity, love and acceptance. Stories that have filtered back to me from various sources over the years have suggested that he took the news harder than he showed. Maybe this is just how people interpreted it. Maybe they took his reluctance to talk about it as him being upset. I beg to differ. My father has always demonstrated to me how proud he is of me - just as I am. He's just a private man. But to be honest, if he did struggle with it I am totally ok with that. As a parent I have struggled with my own children's conditions too.
As I grew up I saw very little of the Children's Hospital although one kind and gentle doctor made an enormous impression on me and that was
Professor David Danks who was the leading specialist in Genetics during the 70's, right up until he retired in 1995.
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| Prof David Danks. |
He was everything you could ever want in a doctor in this field - warm, personable, understanding, gentle. I was so glad that he was still around to see me grown up with three children of my own. (at the time) I remember sitting with him one day and asking him what I should be looking out for with my children; were there any signs I should be on alert for. He looked at me kindly and said to me,
"Leisa, we see them often enough to watch out for anything that needs taking care of. Your job is to just take them home, enjoy them and love them." I think he must have given my parents the same advice, because that's certainly what they did.
(hope you didn't mind that little segue there.)
Of course, things weren't always rosy in regards to the acceptance of my diagnosis. Notice I said "my diagnosis" rather than "me". My grandmother was a very faithful Pentecostal Christian and believed everything as written, therefore if God could heal then I was going to be taken to the latest evangelist/faith healer/pastor and receive healing. My parents didn't see any point in this but Nanna, being a very
bossy formidable woman, was to be obeyed so they accompanied her wherever she wanted to take me. I think I was even prayed for by the late
Billy Graham...or at least taken to one of his crusades. Nothing changed (obviously) and I was brought home in the same state as I left. Nanna, always believing in the goodness of God (bless her) saw it as us not having enough faith for the miracle. I think her words were, "I guess that if we really believed we would have brought along big clothes to bring her home in."
I know I talk about it all quite flippantly, but events such as this (and they continued throughout my childhood) had an enormous effect on my self-esteem and self-acceptance. I know that there wasn't any cruel intent on my Nanna's behalf and she only did what she thought was best, but the messages it implanted within my psyche were quite damaging.
So, that's a little of my early history. Next time I'll be venturing into my early experiences at Kindergarten and school. These, I promise you, will be a lot less serious! :) Stay tuned. I'll also try and dig up some photos!
