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Medical:

Now.. When I was born, or so my parents claim, I came out a very nice shade of blue. I was always a survivor, and have always ended up wanting to live more than die. I am sure you must be wondering exactly why I was blue, and for that I can not blame you. A blue berry baby is a scary thought if you know what can cause the skin to turn such a color. It turns out that I had a lack of oxygen in my brain, as well as being rather sick. I am not sure if it was a cold, or the heart condition that I was born with, but whatever the case might be, my first week of life was spent in a hospital struggling with the harsh welcoming of life. My parents were told that I had a condition known as WPW, or Wolfe Parkinson White, which is a heart disease that can be very serious if left untreated. For the longest time, it had corrected itself, and was nothing to worry about, but for me, it came back full force in the end of my elementary years.

My heart had an extra set of ventricles that made a U-shape in my heart. When the blood pumped through this little passageway, it would cause my muscle to begin fluttering at an excess of 300 beats per minute. The amount of pain this caused me through my childhood and pre-teen years landed me in the hospital once or twice more. For those of you who don't know, a human heart will beat at an average of 180 beats per minute, while you are exercising hard. At 300, I was a little miracle, because this is beyond cardiac arrest, and should not have been possible. Even a heart attack patient will hit only about 210 beats a minute.

That aside, I was put on medication, and ended up getting a surgery to correct it when I was 12 or so. The doctors cut my inner thighs open, inserted a few probes on each side, and went up through my femoral artery and to my heart, where they sent me into cardiac arrest, on purpose, and stopped my heart to zap the ventricles closed. Operation successful, the only thing I experience now is a minor flutter maybe once a year or so. Needless to say, I have a little scar or three on each side of my groin area. No really noticeable unless you look for them.

That would be my first set of major medical problems I have lived through, and I guess my only physical ones, in a sense.

Back in 7th grade, I was a little bit of a jumpy playful kid that found creative ways to get myself into trouble. I remember clearly, once, that I tried to climb up to my schools roof, by jumping and grabbing onto the thin metal ledge of a canopy over the walk way. I grabbed. It flexed. I fell, and my wrist broke. It didn't heal properly, but turned out to be a good thing, because breaking my wrist is a lot harder now, although it is causing me to get Arthritis early on in life. It snaps and crackles when I rotate it, and creeps some people out! x3

I remember clearly, when I was between 5 and 9 years of age, I had gone camping with my daddy to an SCA(medieval reenactment group) event and had wanted to cook hot dogs. Seeing a grill that would have been perfect to use, I went back to try and borrow it for the fire I was starting up. I circled the camp fire and thought I had gone all the way around it once, because it was pitch black, and sighed, thinking it had been taken by someone else. Taking a couple of steps forward, I tripped over a root or something and landed with my legs on the freshly used grill. Well.. at least I found it! Sniffling a bit, I walked back to my dad, showed him my second and third degree burns, and asked ina calm voice if we had to go home because of it. Oh ya.. priorities straight! I didn't end up crying until the next day when the burned wound began to bleed from the skin coming open. Ouch! I haven't burned myself that badly since then, and just thinking about it, my legs hurt near heat. I was fortunate enough to not have any scars from that experience.

Speaking of scars... Now comes a little bit of a sad part of my story, which will tie in with the next post for psychological damages. I used to be a cutter. My arms and wrists would be the victims to a torn apart shaving razor. Among my cutter scars, which have healed rather nicely, I have had a tendency to play with knives and have had various cuts from them, which I will also explain a bit more in the next post.

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