US Thalidomide Survivors BLOG
I am sitting right now, looking upward at a glass ceiling right above my head, so close that it concerns me. I can see where I want to go, but I can’t get there.
“Oh my God! Were you a thalidomide baby?”
A gray-haired man stood staring at my disfigured arms and hands; trapped in the aisle, my heart raced.
Before the gathering of US thalidomide survivors, I expected there would be many tears as we told our stories. In the end, there was far more laughter than tears.
For more than 45 years I worked hard to hide my physical differences and associated struggles. Each decade became more difficult until I could no longer hide.
When I was a child, I knew that having birth defects was a source of shame to your family. But the truth about the cause of my defects was deliberately kept from me.