"Like any typical kid, I experienced my share of bullying and name calling but none of it compared to what had transpired during the times that "NONAME" was a frequent visitor. In fact, I would argue that the negative interactions I had with the school kids helped me to grow thicker skin and would ultimately lead me down a road of standing up for myself. My mother had always strived for me to have the best and never felt I was limited in my abilities. She was an advocate for me when it came to social interactions and rallied for me to be treated equally among my peers. In the third grade, I was formally diagnosed with hearing impairment and thus the process began to “fix it”. My mother contacted the best specialist and it was ultimately concluded that the impairment was a direct result of my Larsen’s syndrome. In order to repair some of the loss I was experiencing, surgery and hearing aids for both ears were the recommended course of action.
In the summer of 83, I entered Long Island Jewish Hospital for surgery on my left ear. For the first time in as many years, I felt free. The week that I spent in the hospital was filled with laughter, playtime, and doting on by the staff. The food wasn't that great, but I ate every morsel. The only time I felt down was at night when my mother left my bedside. She was the only visitor I can recall. My grandmothers and my aunts and uncles may have visited, but I don’t have any recollection of seeing them. I was in the children’s wing and for the first time in my life I realized that my disabilities paled in comparison to many of the peers I came into contact with. Some were bound to wheelchairs. Some had no hair. Some were unable to move. And some, looked as “normal” as any kid back in my school. I knew that once I left that I would be able to do all of the same things I had done prior to my stay in the hospital. I knew that I would be better than ever and on top of it all, I would be able to hear and not constantly say “huh” or “what”."