May 7, 2010
FOR WHAT IT'S WORTH: The Turtledove Enigma
By Christopher Worth
The year was 1977. Two crying children wrapped in white hospital linens are
transported to a nursery. One of the children is comfortably positioned in an
incubator. The other was shifted into another hallway, moving faster down the
corridor towards a glowing exit sign. When the door flings open, light floods
the creamy white of the hallway. In a strange way, the baby is like the man
emerging from the mythical cave talked about by Plato.
Swishing sound fills the air. Hushed voices climb louder over the mechanical sounds of an awaiting chopper. My life journey takes its second turn in a life that within thirty years has been shaped by unexpected twists and turns. The reason I start here at the very beginning is because I feel compelled to write today about connections.
You see, that brother, my twin, whom I left behind in Bridgeport City Hospital as I was being rushed off to Newington Children's Hospital for emergency surgery on a hernia, has built a life separate from mine even though we had the closest of beginnings that one can biologically have with someone. Our separate lives have been influenced by very different social, economic, and even political variables. He has lived on the street. I have lived in multiple homes. He has been abused and neglected. I too have suffered that…but because I was diagnosed with cerebral palsy, the system has paid a lot of attention to me even if only through labels. My brother has always gotten the scantest of attention, and even that little bit that he has received has been negative.
Now, I've spent years analyzing this, blaming myself, blaming my biological family, and of course blaming the system for our separation and for the extreme differences in our upbringing. I have spent too long trying to find that love I thought we should share and hitting a brick wall. When I hit that wall, I always sought a substitute for my twin.
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FOR WHAT IT'S WORTH: The Turtledove Enigma
By Christopher Worth
The year was 1977. Two crying children wrapped in white hospital linens are
transported to a nursery. One of the children is comfortably positioned in an
incubator. The other was shifted into another hallway, moving faster down the
corridor towards a glowing exit sign. When the door flings open, light floods
the creamy white of the hallway. In a strange way, the baby is like the man
emerging from the mythical cave talked about by Plato.
Swishing sound fills the air. Hushed voices climb louder over the mechanical sounds of an awaiting chopper. My life journey takes its second turn in a life that within thirty years has been shaped by unexpected twists and turns. The reason I start here at the very beginning is because I feel compelled to write today about connections.
You see, that brother, my twin, whom I left behind in Bridgeport City Hospital as I was being rushed off to Newington Children's Hospital for emergency surgery on a hernia, has built a life separate from mine even though we had the closest of beginnings that one can biologically have with someone. Our separate lives have been influenced by very different social, economic, and even political variables. He has lived on the street. I have lived in multiple homes. He has been abused and neglected. I too have suffered that…but because I was diagnosed with cerebral palsy, the system has paid a lot of attention to me even if only through labels. My brother has always gotten the scantest of attention, and even that little bit that he has received has been negative.
Now, I've spent years analyzing this, blaming myself, blaming my biological family, and of course blaming the system for our separation and for the extreme differences in our upbringing. I have spent too long trying to find that love I thought we should share and hitting a brick wall. When I hit that wall, I always sought a substitute for my twin.
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Make HNN Your Homepage (IE Users Only)
