Brand New

A Story by Kathryn Smith

You remind me what I used to know:

Like when I close my eyes and don't even care if anyone sees me dancing

Like I can fly and don't even think of touching the ground

Like a heart beat skip

Like an open page

Like a one way trip on an airplane

The way that I feel when I'm with you

Brand New

All my life there is one place that has made a strong reoccurrence.

The hospital.

Years of doctors, charts, scales, gowns, medical tools, needles, and medicine.

Years of different faces, bright colors, grey walls, whiffs of coffee, hand sanitizer, and eyes of fighter children.

Some people might read this and pity me, but when I'm finished with this writing hopefully they'll see the other side.

Even before I came into this world, my mother was put on bed rest in the hospital for months.

In the days arrived I was whisked away to the NICU to be closely watched.

Because I was born weighing 1 pound, 6 ounces - I stayed there from July 21st to October 6th fighting for my life.

Because people were so unsure of what kinds of problems I might have developed, I was again closely monitored for years.

My earliest memories involve nurses measuring me.

This wasn't your normal measuring.

Someone would hold my little feet down and another person would put their cold hands below my chin.

Suddenly my head would be stretched upwards with a gentle but firm force.

I remember thinking grownups were strange people - It wasn't like I was magically going to grow any taller in those minutes they were puuuuuuulllllling my tiny little body apart! I screamed in horror until I could understand what was happening.

I remember a friendly man named Dr. Miller with a pen and paper watching my every move, speaking to my mother, while I played with toys in a small room.

I remember test after test. Question after question.

I remember returning to the NICU as I grew older and soaking in all the attention and awe from people. I loved seeing my fellow fighters and had faith some of them would make it.

Finally the glorious day came.

To everyone's pleasant surprise, I was a child who showed no signs of developmental problems. No dwarfism. No mental disability. Nothing.

I escaped the hospital scene

Until I hit the age of 10.

And that is when my memories get darker.

This time I was sent to the children's hospital, in a big city called Madison.

I will never in my life wish a muscle shot upon anyone.

The needle was as big as a paintbrush.

It was slowly put into my thigh.

The pain was agonizing and these shots made me unable to walk for weeks.

My classmates didn't get it..and neither did I, but I took it with dignity and hobbled around for quite some time.

My mother eventually had enough, and for five years on, little me would receive two smaller shots every day.

I even learned how to give them to myself.

Without those shots I wouldn't be as tall as I am.

At 15 they finally stopped.

I left the big children's hospital I had come to know so well.

18.

I found myself right back in Madison.

I was in a car crash that changed my life forever.

The airbag took out my eye lens, exploded my pupil and tore my iris.

It gave me a form of glaucoma. This will have to be closely examined for the rest of my life.

Of all the damage that was done, I am still very lucky.

Once again I had doctors peer at me in disbelief about how well things turned out.

Now I am 24.

My mother recently informed me I may be leaving Madison and going to a different eye doctor closer to home.

To my surprise, my heart has broken and sunk.

In Madison, the ghost of my childhood resides in the hospitals and clinic hallways.

Mad town became my life.

The highways, the traveling, the shops, the people.

The doctors, the nurses, everyone.

In the end each and every ounce of blood that was drawn, each needle that was stuck into me, each pen mark, each surgery, each measurement, each dose of medicine..

It all made me into who I am today.

There have been tears and pity parties.

There have been pain and heartbreak.

There was a wide eyed little girl who grew up in band aides.

I never dreamed as a child I would look back at 24 and think of a hospital as a home.

It's been a long road.

This piece is for every nurse and doctor I've had.

For my mom and dad.

For my own faith and stamina.

This is for my fight.

I am blown away by what I've gotten through

and I am proud of how far I've come.