Reminiscence

I learned about fairness during my first lumbar puncture when I was five years old. Yes, there was more than one, unfortunately. The doctors insisted to give me an orange flavored hard candy in exchange for my compliance. I remember knowing the unfairness of such proposal just by looking at the syringe that was openly waiting on top of the table. I refused to take the candy, and to my now adult retrospective surprise, I was emphatic, assertive, completely sure about my reasons for not wanting to accept such absurd and disrespectful offer. After the first lumbar puncture, I was convinced about the unreasonable trade. I do not believe I have ever endured a similar pain. It oscillates between an unbearable deep, silent, invasive sharp feeling and a sudden lack of breath in which you believe you are about to suffocate in your own attempt to breathe. It does not last long, but the memory lasts for a lifetime. Hence, my need to revisit those days in which I gradually lost complete trust in who I was, and in the fairness of what our external world has to offer. I refused to accept the orange flavored hard candy, wrapped in an orange and green glossy plastic wrap. At five years old, I was more aware than I have ever been.

I completely understood that I was far better off than Clara, the girl whose translucent skin color and fragile semi floating way of transiting the long, cold, white hallway, was a mirror of a lifeless magnetic force. We met at the common playroom in which we never played, but in which we became hospital friends. I healed and left. She stayed.

The absurdity of the uneven exchanges continued its presence into the Halloween celebration. The nurse helped me put on my Strawberry Shortcake costume that my mom had left for me, and I timidly and awkwardly walked around the other kids noticing how all of them got the horrible candies, but me. This time, I was not even offered one, and I did not understand why, to my disappointment. I felt left out. It was not about the candy, it was about a 5-year-old girl in a costume, trying to convince the doctors that she was fine, that she had already healed in order to have the unappealing candy and go home to her family.

Those were the loneliest 15 days of my life. It was the time when moms could not spend the night, the time in which all I could do was read or color, and of course imagine thousands of stories. Plus, I got to focus, really focus on healing. Yes, I remember feeling fine and thinking all day long that if I kept thinking that I would be fine and could go home. Those days were the birthplace of recent decisions, recent aha-moments, a recent reconnection with myself, with what matters, and an understanding that intuition, healing and self-awareness have been with me the whole time. I became a different person after I left that hospital. I became extremely shy, doubtful of my abilities and certainly forgot the assertiveness and conviction of what a true fair exchange looks like. No wonder why many times I have found myself doubting when my intuition or inner knowing kick in about someone or something. Those days could also explain why I end up blushing at faculty meetings or feeling guilty for knowing that I should avoid certain foods, places, people or situations. Fortunately, I still remember the days prior to that lumbar puncture, the days in which I was completely sure of who I was, what I could do and what I loved. I understood honesty and fairness with a depth that surprises me while remembering. Today, I look back with compassion and deep love because I know that most of my lifelong challenges started then, when I was faced with a clear situation in which I was not offered what I thought would be a fair exchange. I did not understand why I could only see my mom or dad for a couple of hours a day. It was a moment in life, in which I completely lost track of my inner knowledge, intuition and trust. Recently, as I have started to look deep within, I have learned to trust myself again, I have learned to honor my body, sacred temple I was given in this life, along with the Divine memory that inhabits me and teaches me how to move forward, what steps to take. Today, those two weeks are far gone and the reminiscence of the lumbar puncture is just a point in my early life’s chronology that reminds me of an inner strength that always seems to flourish beautifully as needed.

Image, "Chromatic Dream" (2023) by Andrea Villa Ruiz