Changing Hands

Chapter Two: A Normal Child

As a young girl, I thought the things I experienced were completely normal. I would go outside in the snow during Winter with my cousins to play. I had my gloves, heavy-duty jacket, long socks, boots, and a hat on ready to play in the snow. I remember only playing for a few minutes throwing snowballs and my hands would ache and become stiff. My feet would cramp and I felt so much pain that I would cry. I would look around and see that everyone else was fine. I thought that they felt the same thing so I managed to ignore it. I ignored the pain until I couldn't take it anymore.

I ran into the house with pain increasing with every step I took. My mom saw my tears and asked what was wrong. I could barely speak for my lips were frozen too.

"mom I'm cold!"

She went to take my gloves off and I flinched and yelled in pain. It hurt for anything to touch my hands or feet. It took five to ten minutes at least for her to take my gloves, shoes, and socks off. My feet had turned blue and my hands were almost purple. I remember seeing the concerned look on her face. I placed my hands over the heater and stood next to it. It took at least an hour to get warm. Once I was warm, I got dressed and went back outside to do it all over again. The second time, my attack came quicker and was worse. My mom and aunt called everyone in for dinner. I warmed up and went to wash my hands. I ignored the pain that continued to linger and stuck my hands in the hot water. My hands felt as if they were on fire! I kept the scream to myself and dried my hands to go and eat. I struggled to hold my fork and cup. I looked at my feet and they are completely white and turning blue again.

All through my childhood, I ignored the symptoms and signs. I didn't know that it wasn't normal.

Some days I remember touching my family members, especially my mom and dad.

They would jump and say "SHAY! You're so cold!"

I remember my dad and I loved to go on walks in the winter to look at the snow. I realized that soon had to come to an end. Luckily my dad found other ways we could still have fun without going outside in the winter. My mom, dad and I would stay in the house and okay board games, watch movies, and cook. Those are some of the best memories I have to this day.

I am thankful for my parents and other family members who have helped along the way. My parents would do all they could to make sure I was okay.

I tried gloves, washing them in hot water but nothing seemed to work. I slowly began to accept the fact that I was not normal. Especially my hands and feet. They were changing, but why?

I accepted the fact that I was nowhere near a normal child. A normal child can play in the snow without pain, wash their hands and not scream, take a shower and not feel like their feet are on fire. A normal child doesn't have fingers that peel and toenails that spontaneously come off whenever they want.

I began to think that my fingers and toes were ugly. For some reason, I thought it was my fault. In the summertime, I would wear flip flops and pretty sandals, only to be laughed at for how my toes looked. I began to hide. I stopped wearing sandals. I came home and threw them all away and vowed to myself that no one would ever see my feet. I told myself that I would hide my ugly, dark fingernails with nail polish and still tuck my hands in my pockets or under a book or in gloves to hide the hideous things I called hands. I remember thinking why me? A child should not have to experience pain this deep.