Having this affliction may have originally contributed to my becoming a victim of my primary predator. I'm inclined to believe that he may have assumed that I was mentally as well as physically disabled, for I was frequently despondent, and unusually quiet and shy due to this painful, unrelenting problem. Perhaps he chose me because of this, and therefore, thought I'd never "tell."

Over time, doctors would identify this mysterious growing mass as being a rare type of vascular tumor referred to as a cavernous hemangioma. Apparently, back in the early 1950s and into the 1960s, the medical community had not known very much about this type of tumor, which became entwined with bone, nerves, muscle, and other tissue, thus requiring many exploratory surgeries, or so the doctors and my parents in an effort to help me presumed.

I continue to suffer with acute pain and discomfort as a result of the scar tissue caused from the many surgeries, as well as from the massive entanglement involving the tumor itself.

Cruelty followed me throughout my childhood. Some children, if not taught properly, can be unknowingly unkind. At times schoolmates called me names, referring to my crooked, swollen arm. My classmates did not understand my affliction and suffering, nor did I expect them to. The teasing and name calling continued off and on throughout my early school years, which affected me negatively. I became a loner most of the time. The teasing, along with the fact that my heart held an unbearable secret, only served to increase my innate shyness. I withdrew deeper and deeper into a shell of loneliness and despair.

I do however, recall being invited, along with the other children my age to a few typical childhood events, such as slumber parties, pool parties, and different activities that went on in the neighborhood. I would decline most of them. I had grown very self-conscious and afraid that someone might bump into my arm or hand. My left arm and hand was then, and still is today, very tender, with the slightest touch causing me severe pain.

In contrast, my childhood was not all gloom and doom, for a special summer day comes to mind, of being comforted by a dear sweet boy a bit younger than I, who lived across the street from our house. He strolled over, sat down beside me on my front lawn and began to slowly, and ever so gently caress my sore, deformed left arm and hand. I'd recently had a surgery and removed the ace bandage to scratch around the stitches. He was about 6 years old. I must have been 8 or 9. We sat on the freshly mowed lawn and without a word spoken just smiled at each other. Meditating on his pure, loving gentleness makes me weep. I often think of him today with the greatest affection. Oh how loving, giving, and gentle he was. For him to have just walked across the road to sit down next to me, and try to comfort me in that way was incredible. I will never forget the little angel that visited me on that soft summer day.

I believe with my whole heart that God does not give us more than we are able to bear. I know His word is true, for He has given me the victory through grace to be able to endure this painful affliction for as long as I have.