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My Story
In 1960, at Crown Street Hospital in Sydney, another little person was born into the world. Although there was an aunt of mine who had been the first known case within the family the news of my birth still came as a shock to my mother.
At birth, the doctors weren't sure whether my condition was restricted to the growth of my limbs or whether it would also affect my brain development. The first condition is termed achondroplasia and the second is hydrocephalus.
After moving to Brisbane, I was tested to see whether the latter term explained my condition. The testing showed the extent of the condition would only be related to limb growth and that there existed no problem with intelligence.
My mother and father separated about six months after I was born. The move to Brisbane was intended to re establish a home life for me with my mother's three maiden sisters and bachelor brother. My aunts became the chief mother figures because my real mother returned to the workforce.
About a year after living with my aunts, it was discovered that my spine was developing a curvature. It seemed that damage had been done to my spine in the process of instrument birth. So at the ripe old age of 1&1/2 years, I had to wear a brace on my back for some time until the curvature had improved.
At about the age of 3, I went to an orthopaedic specialist because my legs were beginning to show marked bowedness. So it was determined that I should wear callipers or irons on the whole of each leg. My aunts refused to put such things on my legs because they believed it was too cruel to do such a thing to a child.
On advice from the orthopaedic specialist, mother thus placed me in a hospital for crippled children where I would supposedly receive proper care, including their seeing to my wearing of the callipers. What a load of rubbish! I spent two and a half years in that place under the 'tender' care of barbaric institutionalism! The callipers were very painful to wear but were literally forced on me.
The memories of what I experienced there have only surfaced in my mind in the last few years. They are far from pleasant and have left some terrible scars in my life. Within the walls of that place I realised I was a little kid who could do nothing to defend herself, having to endure all that came her way.
So many times I wanted to tell my aunts about how I was treated, but I was actually too frightened for fear of what would happen to me if the nuns and staff found out. I was allowed to go home on the weekends to my aunts, but come Sunday at 5p.m. I was quickly returned to that place.
I remember one incident where one of the staff put leg irons on so tightly and for such a long period that large blisters developed on the inner side of my thighs. When my family inquired into the matter, they were given pathetic excuses for the blisters and were promised that I would be looked after.
There was another incident that happened near the end of my stay at the place that I shall never forget. This time I was a spectator rather than a participant, but the incident clearly reflects the institutional hypocrisy one constantly faced.
Fortunately, I was not the only person to witness the incident for my aunt Pearl also saw it. A nun pushed over a boy on crutches in the process of pushing him out of her way. When the nun realised that my aunt saw what happened she immediately acted as though she had just come upon the scene and was helping him up off the ground rather than being responsible for the whole matter.
Reflecting upon the time I spent in that place, I have been left with a very deep sense of despair and anger. I hope that one day people will learn that institutions are not meant for people particularly not for those who can't defend themselves once they are within the power structure of such a place.
It is also hard to understand why children are put into such places when what they really need most is proper love and not institutionalization. Why is it that children are 'dumped' there? Why is it that such places exist? Is it not because parents are unable to fulfill the responsibilities they have taken on that are in having children? Perhaps it is the parents who have the real handicap! I think that such parents' attitudes would be vastly different if they had to spend a week or two in the position of the child they send off to such places.
At about the age of 5&1/2 I was finally taken out of that hospital for crippled children and returned to 'normal' living with my aunts and my 'dad' Uncle Willie. My mother did not live with us, and I went to stay with her on weekends.
The aunt who was achondroplastic like me had endured a very difficult life. At the time when she was born, people did not know much about her condition. She was believed to have brain damage and so she was raised as if she were mentally disabled.
This of course greatly affected her chances of an education and a general social life. On occasions Marie displays very good intelligence but adverse conditioning has prevented any comprehensive expression of it. So Marie has remained at home with her two sisters, one of whom has a heart condition while the other is a very creative milliner. 'Dad' was a wharfie and took on a wonderful father role in my life. It was with this group of people that I did most of my growing up.
Often the love I was shown by this family was interpreted as spoiling me. People in the neighbourhood were very very jealous of the love and attention I was shown. I think that many of the accusations of my being a spoilt brat were due to an inability to accept someone who was physically different into the normal community. Such people were so concerned about my getting 'more' or 'better' treatment in life that they wanted to deny me the little I did get. I really didn't get any more than anyone else; in fact as you read you will notice that in many instances I actually got less or worse.
On returning from the hospital my aunts tried to get me enrolled at the local convent primary school. Before being allowed to begin at the school, the nuns requested that they meet me. This was done to see what type of 'handicap' they were getting. I remember that night in the nuns' parlour room very well. The nuns were quite surprised to see that I could write my own name on the enrolment form. As you can understand, they saw me as being 50 cents in the dollar! But, alas, this was viewed as an isolated phenomenon, and they still considered me to be 'dumb'. Nonetheless, their 'Christianity' pacified my family's incessant want that their handicapped child should be educated like other, normal kids.
The thing I remember most about being at primary school was that I was the only dwarf kid in the place. The other children were most accepting of me.
I can never recall an instance where any of my peers were ever cruel to me, although I can remember instances where kids in either younger or older grades were. The people I do remember as being cruel and very nasty to me were some of the teachers (the nuns in particular). They had it in their minds that I was to receive no preferential treatment. Fair enough! But in their attempt to ensure that the other children weren't treated unfairly, they often failed to treat me fairly.
Instead of being understanding, they expected me to be the same as other kids when it came to doing certain physical activity, much of which was quite painful for me. So instead of receiving better treatment than others, I often received worse!
I began grade 1 half way through the year, and this posed a few problems catching up with work.
Although there had been a school within the grounds of the hospital for crippled children, the level of schooling was very poor, and so on reaching the 'normal' school environment I had several problems adjusting. The nun in charge of my grade allowed another kid to help me. It all sounds very. nice, but it certainly wasn't. When it came to answering a question and I gave the correct answer, I was then reprimanded as being a cheat.At the ripe old age of 5&1/2, I obviously didn't dare question the system.
Sometimes it seemed that primary school was just like an extension of the hospital for crippled children in its injustices. Perhaps it was really just the same problem in people, expressing itself to a lesser degree, since they had less contact with me. The only alternative I had in that classroom situation was not to answer at all, or to answer incorrectly. Understandably, I was thought of as 'a little slow', thereby supporting the stereotyped images that the nuns had about handicapped people.
Physical exercises were a nightmare session during primary school. In the cause of the 'no preferential treatment'. I was made to endure sports etc. My folks requested that I be excused from having to participate, because my legs could not withstand the strain of such activities. Of course, to my folks, the nuns were very charming about the whole matter, but when they were out of sight the nuns rubbed it in that I should be given any special treatment. As you can imagine, this made the whole thing a very humiliating experience, particularly when this was pointed out to me in front of fellow classmates.
There is one very funny event I remember in primary school my First Confession. Like good little Mick kids we were all dragged off in grade 2 to have our preparation for First Confession. The usual procedure was that we would form a line outside the confessional box and that we would go in one after the other to have a practice in going to Confession. The usual thing was that when someone went into the box, the light would go off inside. The light switch was attached to the kneeler, so that when someone knelt on it the light would go off. I had the problem in that, when it was my time to go in, if I knelt I would not be seen by the priest who was in the other part of the box. Being a good little Catholic kid, I knelt down on the kneeler and sure enough there was only a voice heard but no body accompanying it. I was just too low to be seen. I was told to stand up. So I did this and once again stuffed up the procedure. I stood up, but this caused the light to go on and that was not the done thing! So I was told to stand on the kneeler. I did so and once again stuffed up the works I couldn't balance on the kneeler and so kept falling off! My First Confession practice may not have been that holy, but it was something to be remembered!
In 1968, which would have been grade 3 for me, I had to have operations on my legs in order to fix the bowedness. As you can guess, the stay in that hospital for crippled children was absolutely fruitless as far as the use of the callipers was concerned. This operation was designed to straighten the legs by first breaking each leg and then having them reset into a straighter position. There was a very funny instance when the plaster was put on me. The plaster covered each leg and went right up to my hips. Unfortunately they forgot to leave a hole for my back passage in the plaster. So the next day I had to experience the sensations of having an electric saw cruise its way around my bum! At this moment I can look back and have a laugh but believe me when it was actually happening it wasn't so funny I don't think I prayed so hard in my 'hole' life!
The operation happened at the beginning of the year. It meant I was immobile for about six months and then had a period of learning to walk again, which took about three months. It was a very lonely time being hospitalised, and it was also the first time I had experienced surgery. I didn't know what was going to happen, and when it came to learning how to walk again, that was also a frightening experience. I remember the first time I went to try to stand and landed flat on my face or the other place! Sometimes I thought I would never walk again, and often I felt like giving up! Anyway as time passed and my legs got stronger, I eventually gained the ability to walk. During the time I spent in hospital I never did any type of normal schooling to make up for grade 3, so I returned to school in the last few months of the year and stayed back in grade 2. This meant letting go of old friends and getting used to new ones.
On returning to school I took with me my 'two pet scorpions'. This is the pet name I gave to the scars on my legs. The scars were very long and very distinct. They have never faded and have become an additional object, apart from my height, for people to stare at.
On returning to school I met up , with the problem of having to be involved with sports and other physical activity again. So once again it had to be stressed that I didn't have the physical endurance to participate. I hated sports because of the terrible pain that I had in my legs after such events. I never saw any point in putting people through things which caused pain, just for the sake of the system!
In grade 4 I started to get headaches. At that point I knew nothing about the wedging of bones in my neck and in my spine. I assumed headaches were just another weird aspect of my life and that, like most things, I had to put up with them rather than do anything.
In grade 5, I had a nun for a teacher who seemed to have a distinct dislike for me. I think this attitude came from her inability to cope with my handicap. She seemed always to point out my failings on each chance she had. She tended to have the opinion that people like myself get away with too much, since people feel sorry for us because of our handicaps, so she wanted to make sure that it was not going to be the case with me. One particular incident I remember happened at a swimming class.
I was until that time gaining confidence at swimming but still had some fear when I got into water that was over my head. On that particular day the nun said I should go into the larger pool (which was all right in height for the other kids but was too deep for me). In this incident I put up all possible protests to prevent my having to go into the pool.
As my luck would have it that day, a neighbour was also supervising the swimming class with the nun. The nun and the neighbour were the best of buds. The neighbour, whom my family did not get along with, said to the nun that I was only putting on an act and that I was quite able to swim. Once again, I was in a situation where I could do nothing to defend myself. So like an obedient underdog I went into the pool. Fortunately, my school friends realised how frightened I was, and they came to my rescue by helping me to manage in the pool. Since that day, I have developed a great fear of water greater than my height, which I still have not completely overcome. Here I have lost out, since swimming is one of the best activities I can do, because it takes the weight off my legs and back.
I remember what happened that day on returning to school. At lunchtime I was sent for by the nun and was severely reprimanded for displaying such behaviour at the swimming pool. She did not stop for one minute to try to understand my feelings on the matter. That particular incident once again reminded me of the injustice that screwed up people in authority give out to the powerless ones under their control.
In grade 7, I had once again to have an operation on my legs. This time the operation had a little more creativity in it. Pins were to be inserted in two spots in each leg. The first was at the knee. and the second pair of pins were placed at the ankles. The purpose of this operation was to give my legs support. In achondroplasia, the torso or body section is normal in growth, therefore in my situation I had normal body growth on short, weak legs. The doctor stated that the operation had to be done, otherwise in a few years I would be confined to a wheelchair.
My period of immobilisation was eight months. During that time I continued my schooling by correspondence and was visited by my schoolmates. Although I had visits, it was a lonely time at home because I was missing out on one of the most important events in primary school, at last being in the head class of the school. Although the kids came to visit Me, it wasn't the same as being there.
Unlike the other kids with whom I went to primary school, I went to a different high school. This meant adjusting to a whole new bunch of people. The greatest impact that high school had upon me was that I realised how 'very small' I was in comparison to the other kids there. Like primary school, high school was decked with women in white dragnuns. This time I was not such a surprise to the institution as I was in primary fortunately, in one way the nuns had a better idea of what they were getting. However, that doesn't imply that they were any the wiser in their treatment of me!
For some reason I was viewed as a saintly character if only they could see me now! This 'holiness' implied a sense of maturity. In truth I probably did possess some greater degree of understanding than my peers,although I now realise that I was very narrow minded in a lot of the convictions I held in my so called 'maturity'.
I had always had a very strong religious faith and was a very devout 'little Catholic girl'.
I was raised in a very religious environment at home and in other places of my early childhood. I believe that the 'religious' environment of early childhood did have a lot to do with the feelings I had for all things holy. Although I detested that environment at the hospital, it was the only source of any kind of 'love' expressed to me during the weekdays. There probably existed a kind of hero worship for 'religiosity' which expressed itself in later life.
I had also been conditioned from various sources to believe that my handicap was a sign of God's love for me by allowing me to suffer. There seemed to be a necessity for me to be 'religious', because I had 'been through so much'. I was often told that I had obviously been chosen to bear a cross, my difference, for the greater glory of God. So from the process of conditioning I was led to believe that I was supposedly mature and religious because I was handicapped.
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