I’m Kathy. With a K not a C. Sometimes I want to say, “K or C. You pick. You could put a M there and I really wouldn’t care except I am definitely not Mathy in a multiplying fractions kind of way.”
My mother says, “I’ll never forget your birth. Goodness, it was terrible.” She says it after my sister gives birth to an eleven pounder born breech and I say, “That’s a whole lot of nope.”
I ask, “How so?”
Mom says, “Something went wrong with the stirrups. That’s all I remember.” Then she laughs nervously.
I think, “You laugh but Miss Possibly Brain Damaged Daughter over here doesn’t think it’s so funny.”
My introduction to my therapist:
“Hi, I’m Kathy. Apparently, something went wrong with the stirrups. Details are sketchy. Also, I used to run behind the mosquito truck in a cloud of Dichlorodiphenyltrichloroethane also known as the endocrine disruptor DDT. Oh and one time I tried riding my bike down the neighbor’s concrete steps. You know what happened? A big ol’ concussion and a visit to the emergency room is what happened. Does this help lay the foundation for why I have felt like an uppercase oddball during my 53 years on the planet?”
For eighteen years I’ve been working as a paralegal for four attorneys who do child abuse work. Unsolicited advice: Don’t do that. Four attorneys is attorney overload. Also, the child abuse gets old after one day. Four thousand six hundred and some days later I’m still doing it. Exhibit A of why I am a crazy person.