Post by Sasha on Aug 3, 2007 16:05:02 GMT -7
The Hole.
There’s a hole in my chest, and I’m not sure how it got there. It’s not huge, but large enough so that someone can poke their hand into one end and out the other. The hole is between my breasts but up a little, near my collarbone. I can’t wear low-necked shirts or bathing suits without collars anymore because it frightens people. My family is used to it, and for awhile people at school were scared but less so now.
I found it on the first day of my first-ever P.E. class while changing. It was the first time I ever looked at myself topless in a mirror, and it didn’t scare me like it should have. When I saw it, I put on my P.E. uniform and went to the teacher. She screamed horribly and fainted when I pulled down my shirt collar to show it to her. An older girl took me by the arm and picked me up, rushing me to the nurse’s office. The nurse screamed too, alerting everyone in the main office, and everyone there screamed when they saw the hole. The principal called an ambulance, and I was driven to the hospital.
“Well, it’s not bleeding,” the doctor said, and asked if it caused me any pain. I said no, I hadn’t even noticed it until today. He laughed and told my parents not to worry; it was just a mutation of some sort.
That’s what they call it today, a mutation. They want me to call it my ‘mutation’ instead of my ‘hole’, because it makes people look at me strangely which is the exact thing they do if I said my ‘mutation’, so I argue that they don’t look at me differently. My father says it makes people feel sorry for me if I say ‘my mutation is bothering me’ instead of ‘my hole is bothering me.’ My sister says ‘hole’ makes me sound like a sleeper, and I suppose it does; but only if people are nasty enough to think of it that way.
My friends never really minded it, and I never minded it. I get teased at school, but otherwise no one seems to think of it as such a bad thing anymore. I visit the doctor’s office regularly, but usually for nothing serious. The nurse calls me in to check on how it’s doing, which is good for me since she likes hearing about my first encounter with the hole, and it gets me out of class for at least twenty to thirty minutes.
The first time I wore a bathing suit with the hole in my chest, a lot of people moved away from us, fainted, and screamed for the lifeguard. I had forgotten that it was just my school that was used to it, and not the world, so I wrapped up in my towel and didn’t move the entire time.
Whenever I want to go to the beach now, my parents, sister, and I all go to a ‘secret’ beach no one seems to go to. It is clean, nice, and pretty. My sister recently told me it is owned by my father’s company, and I wouldn’t be surprised. It’s the only place I’d ever wear a normal bathing suit, otherwise I have to wear a wet-suit. One year, our school went to a water park. I felt like an outcast in my wet-suit, but my friends forced me to have some fun, no matter how strange I might have looked.
For awhile I tried to ignore the hole in my chest, but it was hard to do. Now I don’t ignore it, I just try to hide it from people who aren’t used to it. I’ve learned to live with it, like my sister has learned to live with her twin attached to her side.
Personally, I’d rather have the hole.
There’s a hole in my chest, and I’m not sure how it got there. It’s not huge, but large enough so that someone can poke their hand into one end and out the other. The hole is between my breasts but up a little, near my collarbone. I can’t wear low-necked shirts or bathing suits without collars anymore because it frightens people. My family is used to it, and for awhile people at school were scared but less so now.
I found it on the first day of my first-ever P.E. class while changing. It was the first time I ever looked at myself topless in a mirror, and it didn’t scare me like it should have. When I saw it, I put on my P.E. uniform and went to the teacher. She screamed horribly and fainted when I pulled down my shirt collar to show it to her. An older girl took me by the arm and picked me up, rushing me to the nurse’s office. The nurse screamed too, alerting everyone in the main office, and everyone there screamed when they saw the hole. The principal called an ambulance, and I was driven to the hospital.
“Well, it’s not bleeding,” the doctor said, and asked if it caused me any pain. I said no, I hadn’t even noticed it until today. He laughed and told my parents not to worry; it was just a mutation of some sort.
That’s what they call it today, a mutation. They want me to call it my ‘mutation’ instead of my ‘hole’, because it makes people look at me strangely which is the exact thing they do if I said my ‘mutation’, so I argue that they don’t look at me differently. My father says it makes people feel sorry for me if I say ‘my mutation is bothering me’ instead of ‘my hole is bothering me.’ My sister says ‘hole’ makes me sound like a sleeper, and I suppose it does; but only if people are nasty enough to think of it that way.
My friends never really minded it, and I never minded it. I get teased at school, but otherwise no one seems to think of it as such a bad thing anymore. I visit the doctor’s office regularly, but usually for nothing serious. The nurse calls me in to check on how it’s doing, which is good for me since she likes hearing about my first encounter with the hole, and it gets me out of class for at least twenty to thirty minutes.
The first time I wore a bathing suit with the hole in my chest, a lot of people moved away from us, fainted, and screamed for the lifeguard. I had forgotten that it was just my school that was used to it, and not the world, so I wrapped up in my towel and didn’t move the entire time.
Whenever I want to go to the beach now, my parents, sister, and I all go to a ‘secret’ beach no one seems to go to. It is clean, nice, and pretty. My sister recently told me it is owned by my father’s company, and I wouldn’t be surprised. It’s the only place I’d ever wear a normal bathing suit, otherwise I have to wear a wet-suit. One year, our school went to a water park. I felt like an outcast in my wet-suit, but my friends forced me to have some fun, no matter how strange I might have looked.
For awhile I tried to ignore the hole in my chest, but it was hard to do. Now I don’t ignore it, I just try to hide it from people who aren’t used to it. I’ve learned to live with it, like my sister has learned to live with her twin attached to her side.
Personally, I’d rather have the hole.
