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Lisa's Story
I was born in 1961 - the "bad old days" supposedly. I was blessed, gifted, whatever you want to call it - I was just lucky. I was born with a unilateral left cleft of my lip, and a complete cleft of my hard plate, with a slight notch in my uvula. Today, 36 years later, I'm left with a faint scar on my lip, a bridge that covers the remnants of my hard palate cleft (between my left front tooth and what would have been my left incisor), and a slightly mis-shapen nose. Oh, and when I'm very tired and have taken my bridge out, I lisp. (Or, like Dr. Shutt on Chicago Hope says, I have a sibalant "s")
What are my memories? As far as being a cleft child, my earliest memories are of being the center of attention! My folks didn't have insurance, and were rated as "poor", so I qualified for the best surgeon in Indianapolis, Dr. X who taught at X Hospital. I don't remember my first 2 surgeries - I was 6 weeks and 18 months. My mother remembers them, they were hell on her. My 3rd surgery, to correct the front part of my cleft hard palate, I remember - as an adventure! I went to sleep for awhile, I woke up and *everyone* gave me presents! I loved it! I got games and toys and a new dress! And my first *real* book - Mom gave me "The Bobbsey Twins in Lakeport". Before that, I'd only had Dr. Suess. (I think I was 6 - it was before 1st grade.)
I guess I really didn't know what what scar meant, and what my hospital visits meant, until I was in 4th grade. Mom and I were at X for my annunual visit, and someone left the file in the room with us. I started paging through it, and found my pre-op pictures - very graphic, not like the pictures Mom had taken of me when I was a baby. That lip - or lack therof - was right there. "Oh, Mommy," I asked her, "How could you love me? I was so ugly!" Mom looked me straight in the eye and said, "I have always loved you." I didn't believe her - I had just seen the pictures. Dr. Y (my speech therapist/audiologist) took me into another room with the pictures, and we went throught them. He pointed out to me what the surgeons had done for me, he pointed out to me how pretty my eyes were, he pointed out to me how little had changed. He told me that if I were a big girl, I would see the truth; if I weren't a big girl, then the pictures wouldn't help. He was a very wise man.
The summer before I entered Junior High, my girlfriend Judy and I hung out at an overpass by our neighborhood; this was where the kids raced mini-bikes, this is where we went to get away. Judy and I were sitting under the bridge when a guy in a VW Van pulled up and asked us if we knew where there was a Catalpa Tree - he wanted the seed poods for fishing. Judy knew where one tree was, and I knew where another was - but they were in different directions. As we gave him our garbled directions, he interrupted us and asked me, "Who's your surgoeon?" "What?" I asked, covering my lip. "No, don't do that, my daughter Ramona was born with a cleft lip, who's your surgeon?" I took my hand away from my mouth. "Dr. X at X Hospital," I said. "My daughter was born with a harelip, too," he said, waving his wallet at me, showing a picture of a dark haired girl. "Are you girls here every day? "Sometimes, usually," Judy said grudgingly. "I'll be here next Thursday," the man said, "My name is Bill, and I wanna bring Ramona here." He pointed at me, " I want her to see how beautiful she'll be when she grows up." I had never had anyone outside my family call me beautiful: I told Mom about it, and she told Gramma. Judy and I went back to the bridge, but Bill never showed. But you know, if anyone here knows someone name Ramona who's Dad's name is Bill - he made a difference in my life. (And her baby pictures were gorgeous!) And I thank him.
I don't know, maybe it's different for me...my era, or whatever...but there are worse things that could have happened to me. My cousin Brian was profoundly retarded. My cousin Tommy was severely brain-damaged. We were all born within a few years of each other. I live, I love my husband, I enjoy life. I have been blessed, and I know it. My mom is always there for me, as was my Gramma. I still have my Mom, I lost my Gramma last year. Losing Gramma was much, much harder to live with than a simple birth defect. In the end, we all have to get our priorities straight. In the end, it doesn't matter what my lip look like at birth, it only matters how I acted. I only hope I was a good grand-daughter, and not just a grand-daughter with a cleft-lip. She and my Mom have given me so much love...I hope I have the grace enough to pass it on.