Who am I
Someone once said to me – it takes a certain kind of person to do what you do? I often wonder what they actually mean by that statement!
It’s made me ask myself numerous times. What kind of a person am I! What kind of a person are they judging me as!
So here is a brief snapshot of my story and why I do what I do
My first trauma. Death
At the age of three, I experienced death where I drowned in the garden pond. I can’t say how long this event happened but I was given medical attention and I was officially dead. My father carried out CPR until the ambulance arrived!
My second trauma. Surgery
From this tragedy, I then went on to suffer with hearing loss. My childhood was a quiet existence, where I truly struggled to hear sound and communication was slow. I did learn to speak but to do this I needed to listen through 🎧 headphones, to match the words to the sounds I heard. This opened up a world of books and I spent most my childhood absorbed in books. I love books.
A year later I began the first of many surgeries to fix my hearing. This was another serious trauma that stayed with me throughout my childhood. It was this trauma that created the very reason as to why I am the caregiver and nurturer I am today.
My mother left me the night before and this was traumatic because I was in a ward with strange people I didn’t know. I felt abandoned! The lights were turned off and this impacted on me immensely. I was scared of the dark, maybe the dirty pond water created this fear! Anyway it was the girl in the bed next to me that stood on her bed waving to me to show me how to put my nightlight on. I’ll never forget her – Jo was he name. I slept that night and was woken by the nurses to have some breakfast in the dining room. I wasn’t having my operation until later in the afternoon so I was allowed to eat something.
I went to the dining room and sat at my chair as the nurse gave me a bowl of Weetabix with milk. On the opposite side of the room I saw a child. Older than me, but this child shook me to the core. She was helpless in every sense possible, fully dependent in a wheelchair. Maybe she was a car accident or some other serious illness. Nonetheless, seeing her was a complete shock to me at the age of five. I wasn’t able to eat any of my breakfast, every time i went to take a spoonful I gagged in sickness. I was so sorry for the person in the wheelchair. Horrified even! I remember feeling really scared in this big building and I thought to myself. – That’s what they’re going to do to me!
Then it was my turn to go to theatre. I sat upright on the trolley as the staff wheeled me down the long corridors. They went on forever, and I soaked in everything, from the big square lights on the ceiling to the doors that we passed of each ward. The lift down to the theatre and more corridors. Eventually the trolley arrived in the operating theatre. It was white and very clinical, with metal everywhere. The trolley, the tools. A big machine with wires coming out. I was starting to feel frightened. The nurse told me to lay down as she put a gas mask over my face. I disliked the taste and smell so I pushed it off. Then another nurse came by and said just count to ten.
I could feel my heart pound as I got more scared, then they guided the gas mask to my face. I pushed it away again and said ‘I don’t like it,’ I was resisting the gas mask and I was very frightened. So another nurse came to the bedside there were three now and in my defiance resistance and of FEAR. I was restrained, I wriggled and kicked until I felt too weak to fight back. Then I was asleep!
I woke and in my drowsiness from the anaesthetic, I fought with all my might to wake up. To move my body. I was shocked at how loud everything was, but most of all I was petrified I was going to be in the wheelchair and unable to move. So moving all my fingers and feet was my first instinct. Relief that I was still able to move about, I turned to see my mother at my bedside, there was a kit Kat chocolate bar on the bedside table and I asked if I could have it. My mum said yes, when I was a little more awake.
I focused my thoughts on the kitkat willing myself to wake up. I could hear Jo beside my crying because her throat hurt! She was given some ice cream to help. Before long I was able to sit up and move about.
That night I wandered down the ward trying to find the girl who was in the wheelchair. I guess in my young mind I wanted to know if she was better too! I didn’t find her, the nurses kept catching me a sending me back to my bed.
A couple of months later, my beloved grandfather was ill. He had cancer and was now living in a hospice. I doted on my grandfather and he doted on me. He had a deep Glaswegian (Scottish) accent that people found difficult to understand. Yet I had no problems communicating at him. He adored me and I returned his adoration back.
When I walked into the hospice, I was horrified as I saw him sitting in the wheelchair. I immediately marched up to the nurses and started punching and hitting them. Yelling at the top of my voice ‘What have you done to him! he could walk before he came in here and now you’ve taken his legs away!’ I went into a blind rage (I was only five) and thrashed out at the nurses. I was so 😡 mad. In reflection the reason I reacted like this was because of my own traumatic experience. I believed it was the hospital that had harmed my grandfather, when in reality it was my own traumatic experience that shaped my perception of sickness and is the real reason as to why I do what I do.
Freud once said show me the child from 0-7 and I’ll show you the adult. His theory was so accurate in my life. How ironic that the very institution that created many of my traumas went on to becoming the institution that I now work in!
I had another seven surgeries on my ears until eventually, the consultant couldn’t do anything more because my eardrums were too fragile and at high risk of perforation. So I was given hearing aids instead. (I hate them not because they look ugly, but because people treat you differently when you wear them. Some even ignore attempting to communicate because it’s hard work talking with someone who has a hearing deficit! But I am grateful that I have them and I do wear them when absolute necessary!)
The truth is, the first trauma of drowning caused many different changes to my brain chemistry. I’m dyslexic, dyspraxia I have attention deficit disorder ADD as well as audio attention deficit AAD and during the journey of my life I went on to accumulate many more traumas!
I learnt to conquer then too!
At 21 years of age it was my grandmother who became sick and this time I left my job to nurse her. I knew that over the journey of my own life she had been a solid rock and a foundation of love and kindness to me after every single operation I had to undergo. It was only natural for me to do the same for her.
My heart ❤️ mirrors that of which you show to me.
This is a brief outline of some of my traumas that I learnt to overcome. I hope some of the work I have uploaded here can offer you some form of support or comfort if you find yourself going through a trauma of some kind, I wish you love and compassion on your journey, whether your trauma is physical, emotional or spiritual – out of the madness I pray you are able to find peace from that which your traumas have given you.
I hope and pray you are blessed to have love, kindness and support like I had and I wish that you find peace of mind, clarity and love ❤️ in your journey.
Good luck in your recovery and remember, life is an unending cycle of trails, traumas and tragedies. God doesn’t lead you to it, he takes you through it and he certainly isn’t going to give you something you can’t handle. Nobody achieves amy kind of soul evolution by sitting on the sidelines.
Experience is your teacher and the trauma you encounter is either a lesson, that will lead you back to yourself or a blessing that will return your soul back to the path it has chosen.
God bless you.
❤️ Kelly 💕😘