My Birth Day
I was born on October 19, 1966—three weeks premature. At 3 lbs. 14 oz, I was not expected to live. I was two years younger than my sister and three years younger than my brother. My baby sister, Michele, was born five years later, an unexpected but very welcome addition to our family.
The story goes that I fit in the palm of my father’s strong, callused hand. The doctors had low expectations but my parents hoped for the best as they saw a feisty spirit in me. When the priest came to give me my last rites, my father politely kicked him out.
In an incubator for three weeks, I wasn’t held that entire time as I needed equipment to help me breathe and grow. My mother says that I was never still. I’d shimmy to the top of an incline and the nurses would have to move me back down.
They say your birth and order of birth shape you. I had an iron will to survive because my parents believed in me. Whatever physical problems/ailments I had that stemmed from my premature birth and low birth weight created a stubborn determination. A will to do my best, possibly a competitive streak that has pushed me forward whenever adversity has dared to get in my way.
I think about how that determination and tenacity has served me well. How it has lifted me up from the lowest moments in my life and also has guided me to live a full and joyful life despite those lows.
Every experience I have encountered, every heartache I have endured, every person who has come into my life, every dream I have fulfilled has led me to be the person I am at this very moment.
I am grateful I chose parents who saw that spark and never gave up on me.