I was born on September 3rd, 1981, one of a set of twin girls delivered via Caesarian to my then-married parents Gretchen and Daniel Fields. I was born with congestive heart failure...basically, I had a hole in my heart. I still technically have one, but it’s pinpoint and of no concern; I have a slightly erratic heartbeat, but it doesn’t affect me much. On top of this, Mom wasn’t given enough drugs when she went under, and awoke during the procedure. She also developed blood infections thanks to the neglectful doctor, whom you will be pleased to know is no longer employed in the medical field, and nearly died. After our birth, he told Mom to her face that we were the first successful delivery of live twins he had ever performed, out of eight or so. This tells you how completely incompetent the guy was. Mom didn’t see me outside of photgraphs until I was a month old. Dan rarely visited and showed little interest in either of us, investing his time in a rather delinquent son from a previous marriage.
In addition to the congestive heart failure, I required a trachaeotomy, and part of my small intestines were removed. I had tubes installed in my neck (both front and side), stomach, elbow, groin, and right foot. Infection in my foot led to necrosing, and I nearly had to have it removed. I was delicate and rarely handled unless IVs were administered. Basically, the only time I was ever touched was to have needles and tubes stuck into me. My stay at the hospital ran to 15 months, during which time Mom slept maybe a few nights every month or so. When I finally did go home, the tubes remained in until I was maybe two years old (which was apparently hard to accomplish, since I kept trying to pull them out. I was always rather feisty).
While all this was going on, Mom found out that Dan was having an affair. Divorce proceedings quickly ensued, with Dan attempting to gain full custody by proving Mom was an incompetent parent, despite the fact that we rarely saw him. He was eventually rewarded partial custody of one weekend a month, but acted on it perhaps three or four times in our lives. Mom was left with us, five hundred dollars, and our pet dog. We moved into our grandparent’s house when we were two and a half. Gramma is a realtor, and helped us find a house, which we still live in. We were about three years old at the time.
As a way of helping us acclimate to the move, Mom decided to let us get our first pet (we had our dog Liz, but she was more the family pet). She’d always had tons of animals growing up--she showed Arabian horses and owned chickens--and didn’t want us to be deprived of the experience. So when we were three, Mom went to me and my sister and asked which we wanted more: a cat or a bird. We both said “Cat”, and about a week later Mom came home with a crate containing a nine-month old calico kitten, which we named Penelope. I could go on about Penelope’s various endearing attributes, but this is supposed to be a brief paper. Details can be found at my website, listed at the end of this paper. :)
Mom always read to us. She was a bit of a writer herself, having written (and attempted to publish) a story about a girl and her pony, so she made sure to instill a love of reading in us. She read to us constantly and in animated terms, and we could read by the time we were two. I don’t just mean traffic signs or ABCs. I mean books, like A House is a House For Me (my sister’s first memory involves reading that book at our grandparent’s house, watching Peter Jennings on TV!), Jerome, and the Beatrix Potter books. We read them independently of anyone else, and I frequently got into my grandmother’s dog and nature books (our family is very big on animals, and Gramma used to breed poodles and dachshunds), reading the captions in Peterson’s Guide to Birds of North America and the like. We accelerated so quickly in our reading that I literally don’t remember very many picture books, because we soon moved on to chapter books at age four (my favorites being Pippi Longstocking and the Oz series).
When we were about four years old, Mom enrolled us in Developmental Kindergarten (basically the 80s PC term for preschool). The day my mom dropped off me and my sister, she informed the teacher that her daughters could read. The teacher, whose after-school activities including selling Avon cosmetics, received this information with a dismissive wave. After all, little four year olds can’t read any more than simple sentences, right? “I see cat, I see hat,” etc. That afternoon, when Mom came to pick us up, the same teacher made a beeline for her and exclaimed in an excited voice, “These girls can READ! Did you know that?” Mom replied rather dryly yes, she was aware that we could read. She’d made darned sure of it, since she read to us practically since we were born. Mom continued reading to us right through our junior high years, only now it was stuff like Jurassic Park and The Catcher In The Rye.
I didn’t like school much. A series of “incidents” with my fellow students assured my dislike. I was frequently picked on, both physically and verbally, for my small stature and slightly odd behaviour. For example, I would meow in class, hide in my desk, stand on or curl up under tables during class, etc. I was an extremely odd child, but no one could deny that I was very, very intelligent. I passed everything with flying colors, despite my anti-scholastic attitude. I would sit in class, completely ignore everything the teacher was explaining, finish the homework in 15 minutes after figuring it out myself, and then sit on the floor for the rest of the day, reading. Most of my memories of school revolve around reading, either in class or in the school library during recess. The other kids would gleefully scamper out into the fresh air and sunshine, while I stayed indoors curled up with a James Howe book or nature encyclopedia, reading as much as possible before I had to go back to class and put in my 15 minutes of work, just so I could read again. I would become very confused and irritable if the teacher tried to steer me towards what the other kids were doing.
Because of my physical and social retardation, the school kept trying to hold me back a grade every year until maybe third grade. I was already a year late in attending (my physical health was somewhat in question, so Mom decided to keep me and my sister home an extra year, because I couldn’t go, and she didn’t want Sarah to be a grade ahead of me our entire lives. It wouldn’t be fair), and moreover I was excelling brilliantly at school, so their continual quest to hold me back was a bit puzzling. Mom held frequent meetings with the school board on two subjects: a) Trying to allow me to advance in grades like the rest of the kids and b) Trying to get the school to prevent kids from picking on me, which ended up a futile crusade--the principal literally told her, “Well, boys will be boys.” So the harassment continued. I was a social outcast by third grade, and had no friends outside of a few non-hostile, sympathetic acquaintences who pitied me but didn’t want to be around me all the same. At an age when most kids were being invited to birthday parties and sleepovers, I was isolated from my peers.
My academic success rolled along agreeably until sixth grade. Then everything suddenly became harder, and of course social life became more blurry. My meager social skills couldn’t cope with the vaguaries of junior high. Also, by this time Mom had begun to suspect that maybe there was something wrong with me. I had no friends and spent the vast majority of my time reading or playing with my pet hamsters. I also acted very strangely, partially because I WAS strange, and partially because I had been reading her psychology books (Mom has a Bachelor’s in psych) and was acting out various mental ailments for my own personal amusement (did I mention I was a strange kid?). She had me tested for autism at age 12, and it was then that we discovered my Attention Deficit Disorder. Turns out I had it pretty severe. For a while this reality didn’t really affect me--I was issued the usual twice daily Ritalin, and got a “student aid” to assist me.
Fortunately, in junior high my social skills were SO poor, I was dimly aware of my peers. I literally was not aware of anything resembling a social life, so my lack of one did not disturb me. This prevailing attitude abrubtly changed when I hit high school. I spiralled into a severe depression, which was only exacerbated by my ADD. Since I sometimes literally cannot judge social errors, I was in a state of constant panic over my behaviour. So between 10th up until 12th grade, I cried every single day. I took Prozac for a while, but it was less than a placebo--it did nothing.
Two things saved me: Xena and Kat. When I was fourteen years old, I started watching the television show Xena: Warrior Princess. I became completely enchanted with the mythological setting and the portrayal of a strong female character. Around this same time, I had started to be severely sexually harassed by a boy three grades my senior. I had a lot of anger and frustration building up inside me, and would take to inflicting personal injury on myself to ease the internal pain. I saw an episode of Xena that changed my life. At one point in The Greater Good, Xena dies, which leaves her best friend Gabrielle incredibly out-of-control, and she takes to hitting a tree with her weapon of choice, a staff. This seemed a much better alternative to hurting myself, so after a particularly hard day at school, I took Mom’s broom and beat up a tree until I had no energy left. Afterwards, I felt a lot better...it’s hard to be angry when you’re physically exhausted. So every day I’d go out with the broom or equivalent polearm, and attack the tree. I studied Gabrielle’s movements with her staff, and copied them (sometimes directly while watching the series--I used Mom’s vacuum wand!). I have since graduated to being able to throw knives and hit a tree from fifteen feet.
The other major influence on my life was Kat. I met her approximately in 10th grade, through our mutual friend Gillian. I sat with them at lunch every day, and we hung out together at school. After Kat graduated (she was a grade ahead of me), we all still called each other and made efforts to hang out, although it was occasionally difficult because of schedule interference. Gillian eventually moved to a college several states away, and Kat and I still hung out. She introduced me to many of my “obsessions”: role-playing games, Star Wars, fantasy films like Labyrinth and The Princess Bride, Anita Blake novels...stuff I would have never given a second glance, and the inspiration for many, many of my works, as you will see. Kat has since moved to Canada, but thanks to the internet and the marvel of phone cards, we still remain best friends.
Shortly afterwards, I began to seriously apply myself to my writing. I had always written little stories and poems, but they were few and far between. I slowly built up a back history of fiction and poetry, mostly dreck inspired by Xena. Then my interest in psychology and arguementative nature began to work in my favor. It all began when Kat dragged me to her house to watch a silly little kid’s movie called Labyrinth. I was enthralled, bought the movie, and promptly started what would quickly blossom into an eighty-six page analysis of it. I also bought some wonderful things called Nitpicker’s Guides for the TV series Star Trek (yes, I’m one of THEM), and learned the art of nitpicking and analyzing movies and books. My productivity sprouted nearly overnight. I have now some six or seven pieces of fiction, five analyses (not including book and video game reviews), fifteen essays, and I don’t want to think how many dozens of poems to my credit. I may not produce the Great American Novel at any point in my life, but I’ve certainly improved my enjoyment of living, and it’s been great fun.
Shameless Self-Promotion: By the way, you can find most of my works on my Cozy Poetry Nook at www.angelfire.com/mi2/lorelei. Melts in your mouth, not on your keyboard. Enjoy!