Smells like Bubblegum Anesthesia and Methadone

What follows is the continuation of, A story of living with CP, of doing everything and more that I was told I would never do, of living through complex trauma, and navigating environments impacted by alcoholism, addiction, religion, and mental health issues.

I did some math recently when I thought about how I sometimes share that I had seven surgeries by the age of twelve. That's true, but even more alarming to me is that I had five of those surgeries by the time I turned seven. 

In my first four years of life, I formed the early memories of the Children's Hospital pre-op waiting room/playroom – cute hospital gowns don't mitigate fear. I hold the smell memory of bubblegum anesthesia – present with me now. I formed the early memories of the play area and security guard at a drug treatment center – I spent time in this building five days a week for many years. I have the readily available smell memory of methadone because of those visits. 

How it started – I had the Craniosynostosis surgeries, the lazy eye surgeries, and a heel cord surgery before I started first grade. My father was by my side for every last one of those five surgeries and I was by his side at the drug treatment center. My dad was a recovering addict. My parents were divorced when I was three and Dad was the primary parent. I saw Mom on Sundays and holidays. 

Where it went – I had a third eye surgery and a second hamstring and heel cord surgery by fifth grade and the age of twelve. When I was fourteen, I learned that my dad had chronic hepatitis and was told it would be what ended his life – it wasn't, but it certainly shaped over two decades for him and our family. My dad would continue his addiction recovery program for many years and at one point he earned the privilege of less frequent visits to the treatment center. Through my teens and twenties, Mom achieved sobriety from alcohol and exchanged it for drug abuse. Between age eighteen and twenty three, I'd have two more surgeries – these were due to injuries. 

How it's going – I can still smell bubblegum anesthesia and methadone on memory recall like it's happening now. I had my tenth surgery a couple of years ago, this time for carpal tunnel. I lost both of my parents before I turned forty. The toll of my dad's addiction, health issues, and self-destructive behaviors dramatically shortened his life. Drugs would ultimately end my mother's life. I'm fully aware today that the intersection between the medical challenges of my physical disabilities and the emotional turmoil of the roads I traveled with my parents are equal parts life-defining. 

In my stories to come, religion will be both a salvation and a condemnation for life with Cerebral Palsy and navigating family addictions. Religion is also the longest constant in my life (at least until next year), next to professional wrestling and live music. Stay tuned.