The Diagnosis

When It Rains, It Pours

I was six and a half years old.

I had been to the cardiologist for a heart murmur, who noticed a malformation in my ribs. (When it rains, it pours, right? No, the two things are not — known to be — related. The murmur is gone now, anyway.)

He referred me to an orthopedic pediatrician, who ordered full-body x-rays.

Then we had to wait.

The call came one night as we were having dinner. My mother took the phone and listened intently. Eventually, she hung up to take in our blank faces.

She started to explain, but all I remember is hearing they first thought I had “cancer all over” my body. The phrase pummelled me. At that young age — and even now — it’s hard to imagine that words alone can knock you over. I mean that literally. I seem to remember flying back in my chair as though struck, looking up at the ceiling, and needing air.

I didn’t have the language for trauma then, but my body understood.

It took a minute to regroup and open my ears to what else he had said.

The diagnosis of Ollier’s explained why my legs were not the same length, why I had trouble running — but ultimately, it sounded like I would be okay. I would need annual scans and appointments and maybe some corrective surgeries.

I am so desperately sorry for anyone who must take in those words and not know if…
Do whatever you can to catch your breath.

I am so sorry for parents who need to take these calls for their children.

As a mother now, I can barely think of anything worse.

At least if the call is for Ollier’s, there is reason to believe it will be okay.

Why?

Well, I’m in my 40s now, happily married, with two healthy children.

Growing up, I was well enough to get an education, form friendships, have boatloads of fun, etc. At this age, I can still swim, work, dance, clean (grudgingly! 😄), and take long walks.

I’ve made it through surgeries, and I’m on the other side of malignant degeneration. It is possible that things can turn out just fine.

I’m not trying to gloat, but to stand as a small testament.
I also know for a fact I am not the only one — so clearly, it’s possible. 🙂

Absurd or not, life can still turn out beautifully.

xMJ