Happy Birthday to Me, E.T.

Oh dear, how do I tell my 91-year-old mother that she gave birth to an extraterrestrial being? What else could explain my extraordinary quirks, peculiar ailments, and uncanny ability to survive against all odds?

I’ve recovered from accidents that no mortal should have survived. I suffer from maladies so bizarre that no one has ever heard of them before.

Then again, how many people survived a rabid skunk bite as a toddler and lived to tell the tale?

My latest episode involved the right side of my mouth festering until my gum line resembled the embers of a dying fire. A thread under my lip pulled my gum away from my tooth, exposing the root.

My Swiss dentist pried open my mouth and exclaimed in awe, “Très intéressant! I’ll do a frenectomy!”

Frenectomy?

In the past, when diagnosed with other strange ailments, I had no idea what my American, French, German, Greek and Swiss doctors were talking about.

I’ve always been different.

After all, I was born in Sandwich.

“Which kind? Baloney!” friends teased.

According to my mother, I was the only planned baby of her four children.

Good grief! Who in their right mind would have planned to birth an extraterrestrial being?

Fortunately, back in Sandwich in 1957, I was a bargain baby! The doctor who delivered me charged my folks only 50 bucks.

Since then, I’ve cost a fortune!

Braces, glasses, orthodontia, orthotics, and umpteen surgeries. Disintegrating discs, temporal mandible dysfunction, neuroborreliosis. I had strange conditions before they became common knowledge. My treatments, considered controversial quackery at the time, have become part of standard care, like chiropractic and TMJ dental treatment.

Why me?

Blame it on that rabid skunk bite!

My poor mother! How did she survive my childhood?

My poor Frenchman! How does he endure my adulthood?

After each calamity, he picked up the pieces, paid medical bills and waited for me to heal. With his help, I am still ticking, albeit slowly.

Today, doctors suspect I was born with Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome (EDS). EDS? Huh? It’s part of a group of genetic connective tissue disorders, which could help explain
my proprioception issues and propensity for falls.

We’re all unique beings, trying to move forward, stay strong, and beat the odds.

No one chooses their family, the genes they inherit, the beliefs they assimilate, or where they grow up. No one can predict what physical, emotional, and mental challenges they’ll face.

Wouldn’t it be easier if we didn’t see ourselves only as Democrats or Republicans, Americans, Europeans, Asians, Africans, Indians, Australians, Muslims, Jews, or Christians?

Could we live better harmony if we didn’t identify so much with one religion, nationality, race, or ethnicity, but more as tiny specks in the universe?

What if we all came from somewhere beyond Earth?

How’s this for conspiracy theory?

What if we’re all aliens?

Who knows?

I am here still questioning, still yearning, still learning.

Time is running out. I may never get it right. For now, I exist in a state of grace, warts and all, grateful to be here even during these troubled times.

 

 

Thank you, my beloved mother, for bringing me into existence and guiding my path!

Merci mille fois mon courageux français for staying by my side.

Happy Birthday to me, E.T.