With All Her Heart

by Libbie

It’s about 10:00 in the evening and Tim, Lauren, Leah and I are sitting around watching TV. The hum of Lauren’s oxygen machine can be heard in the laundry room. We stick it in there because the noise makes it hard to hear the TV. I look over at Lauren sitting in a rocker crocheting a blanket for a friend. I wonder what it feels like to have an oxygen tube stuck up your nose 24 hours a day. Does she hate it? I think I would, and yet she sits there as if it is the most normal thing in the world. I know better. It’s not normal for a 30 year old to be stuck to an oxygen machine. But then, Lauren has never been normal.

A few years ago, Lauren had the idea to write her memoirs. I encouraged her to do it. Since she’s disabled and is basically stuck sitting around all day, what could it hurt? I thought it might even help her to express feelings that she has that no one knows about. Then, she had the bright idea to include me, because after all, there were many things that Lauren could not write about, things that happened to her that only I know and remember. And so, I agreed reluctantly to try to fill in the gaps of her early years.

Two years later, I am finally getting around to my part of the bargain. It is highly likely that the things that I am going to write will be very hard for Lauren. She may not want to know the details after all. Sometimes when I look at her or hear her voice on the telephone telling me for the umpteenth time that she is not feeling well, it is more than I can bear. I secretly cry on the inside. I cannot let her hear my weakness. I can’t always be strong though, and there are times when the tears spill out and run in silent rivers down my face. How will she feel when she finds out all the times I cried? How will she feel when she knows all the times she almost died?

So, for any of you who are out there reading this first post from me, I can’t promise anything. I can’t promise that what I say will be good because I’m not a writer. I’m a mother who happens to have a child that was born with heart defects. I’ve lived with a lot of heartache, but I’ve also lived with a lot of joy and my goal is to tell it like it is, or was, or may be someday. Lauren’s story.

by Lauren

This year I’m approaching my 31^st birthday.  Last year I turned thirty and I was really excited about it. This year I’m just as excited to turn 31, even though it’s not a milestone birthday, it’s still a birthday.  I know a lot of people don’t like getting older and don’t like giving their age out. Most people I know dread turning thirty and even more dread turning 40. I can’t wait to turn 40. Those of you who are 40 and older who are reading this are probably shaking your head.

Why am I excited?

Well – I’m still living aren’t I?

Turning 31 is pretty exciting when you consider I wasn’t supposed to live past five years old. The doctors didn’t think I would make it. Then I made it to five. Then they said I wouldn’t make it to age ten. I made it to ten. Then I wasn’t supposed to make it to sixteen.

I made it to sixteen.

Now I’m thirty, almost thirty-one and by now the doctors have stopped trying to figure out how long I have left. I’m stable. My heart is in really good shape, the best it’s been in many years.  I’m not healthy by any means, but I’m alive.

Mom and I decided it was finally a good time to tell my story, to write this memoir. One of my friends asked me once, “Don’t you have to do something important to write a memoir?”

Did she have a point? Well, maybe. I’m not anybody famous. I’m not a famous movie star, rock star, or author (although I’m working on that part) But I’m living.

I beat the odds.

And you know, to me that is pretty special.

That’s enough reason, I say.