1 Out Of 2,000

Blogging Friends.... This post is a "work in progress". Of the sorts. I feel ready to write this, however, I'm still dealing with and sorting it out....  

Statistics. They back up factual information. Serve as significant tools when learning about a subject. Significant tools. Such as 75% of canines which enter shelters nationwide are mutts. Beautifully Unique mixed breeds. Canines like Rose, my "Mystery Dog". A potentially random-bred Beagle/German Shepherd cross. My mutt. My Heart Dog!! I happen to love statistics!! As a "journalist at heart", an artist who "paints with words", they fascinate me. Immensely. Several months ago, in June, I wrote a Blog post about how Tony Stark's line from "The Avengers" ("You know, I've got a cluster of shrapnel, trying every second to crawl its way into my heart.
[Stark points at the mini-arc reactor in his chest]
This stops it. This little circle of light. It's part of me now, not just armor. It's a... terrible privilege.") has left this lasting impact on my life as somebody who lives with an unwanted learning disability. A lasting impact. Especially those final three words. "A terrible privilege". Because. My learning disability--being born different--is, in fact, "a terrible privilege". This has since become more than just some movie line. More than just a quote by Tony Stark. Yeah. It has evolved into something far more beautiful than that!! Far more beautiful. "A terrible privilege" is now some mantra of mine, this silent chant which I repeat whenever I'm feeling sorry for myself. Throwing yet another pity party, wishing I were "normal". How motivational those three words!! "A terrible privilege." They resurface within my mind, like some fish's little head in water, at the most appropriate moments!! Every time!! Such was the case several days ago. I threw myself a pity party. They come on quite suddenly, those pity parties, like some surprise enemy ambush. And I am rendered defenseless. There were tears, mood swings, excessive hours of low self-esteem. Because I am different. My "baby sister" is much more capable than me. Why am I not "normal"? Blah, blah, blah. "'A terrible privilege". 'A terrible privilege'. 'A terrible privilege'. 'A terrible privilege'. "A terrible privilege'." I softly chanted to myself. The mantra proved useless. I was still basking in self-pity!! Oh, if only I were not different!! If only I didn't have premature short-term memory loss!! Which, most likely, is resulted from craniosynostosis. Wait. What?! It is a birth defect. Craniosynostosis means I was born sans any soft spot. Twain separate scull operations--one of which he removed bone from my forehead--is probably responsible for any and all "developmental delays". Not that I am blaming our skilled neurosurgeon!! He did save my life, or so I have been told. Our Dad teasingly referred to me as "Frankenbaby" because of sutures that are now scars. Ugly-looking scars which prove as indelible reminders of my unwanted medical past. Dad was not joking!! I have seen pictures. I did look like a Frankenbaby!! Craniosynostosis, according to medical facts 28 years ago, mostly affected boys. Based on some Web site that I recently found, this still stands accurate. And I am, most assuredly, female!! That is a terrible privilege. According to an Internet research study, one out of every 2,000 live births are afflicted with craniosynostosis. I highly doubt that this statistic has changed throughout the course of 28 years!! Statistics are seldom ever altered!! That is a terrible privilege. The cause of craniosynostosis remains unknown. It is, for the most part, sporadic, happening by chance, according to one recently updated Web site. I was "chosen". That is a terrible privilege. So. I suffer from premature short-term memory loss.... And have my entire life. But. I can relate to and easily befriend 40-50-60-70-80-90-something people whose memories have weakened. Older beings with lifelong wisdom--and should my stubborn ears listen--I glean from. That is a terrible privilege.