My Scar 

By: Christian Bartram 

Unlike most children, I was born with a congenial deformity called club feet. This is a condition where one’s feet appear to be rotated internally at the ankle, producing the effect that the foot is turned backwards. This deformity occurs in 1 in 1000 births and is present in more males than females. The price of being born with club feet has cost me dearly as I was compelled to endure medical attention, it hindered my athletic ability, and it taught me a lesson that I will never forget.  

Because of club feet I had three surgeries before my fourth birthday. This was not a simple obstacle for me to overcome because I was in extreme pain for most of the first year of my life. Long pins were placed in both my feet near my big, toe. My first surgery gave me the scars on the insides of my feet that will remain with me for the rest of my life. The doctors used precision to cut open my feet and  ankles, realigning the bones to straighten them to give the appearance of semi normal feet. I distinctly remember the cold feel of the hospital room as I was eased up onto the table where the surgeries would be performed. The doctors hovering over me, like vultures waiting for their prey to perish. My parents in the back room were quietly crying and praying that everything would go according to plan. The medical team then proceeded to place a small rubber mask over my nose and face. Oddly, I recalled it smelled like cherries. The anesthetic silently flowed from the machine. I thought to myself “Ha, I’ll be able to resist this for a long time.” Before I knew it, I was out cold and dreamy, unaware that when I was to awake the world for me would be changed. 

The medical team, led by an orthopedic surgeon, placed the 6-8 inch pins in my feet. This was done to maintain the bone structure, so that I could walk. Though much of my childhood was a blur, (as is most of ours’) I do remember Doctor Kim removing the pins from my feet. I was surprised, initially thinking the doctor was joking when he told me that I would be conscious as they pulled out the pins. My parents were in the room with me as the doctor slowly withdrew the bloody metal nails from my feet. It was like sliding the shish kabob meat from the skewers .My dad’s face was pale and drawn as if he had just witnessed a murder and could not prevent it. As the last pin was withdrawn and placed on a nearby table, I rested my head on the pillow of the bed, the bright lights beaming down on my face. Little did I know that it was only the beginning of more anguish.