Genetics. It's a wondrous concept. Genetics is how we become who we are when our parents create us. Two people's disparate genes, all of which were contributed by two other people each, combine to create the wondrous individuals that we become. In my case, somewhere something went horribly, horribly wrong.
Because, you see...I was born with Tourette's Syndrome. Nobody knew what that was at the time; in fact, it would be 23 years before someone officially diagnosed me with the condition.
For anyone who is not familiar with this particular genetic disease, WebMD defines it as follows:
"Tourette's Syndrome is a hereditary neurological movement disorder that is characterized by repetitive motor and vocal tics. Symptoms may include involuntary movements of the extremities, shoulders, and face accompanied by uncontrollable sounds and, in some cases, inappropriate words. Tourette Syndrome is neither a progressive nor degenerative disorder; rather, symptoms tend to be variable and follow a chronic waxing and waning course throughout an otherwise normal life span. The specific symptoms associated with Tourette Syndrome often vary greatly from case to case. The exact cause of Tourette Syndrome is unknown."
For me, the most important two points in the above paragraph appear in the first and last sentences. The first is the fact that the disease is supposedly hereditary; the second is that the cause is unknown. When I was in my early 30's, I decided to do some hardcore research after a conversation with my father. I had already done some basic research, learning that the condition is passed down. I asked him if anyone in either family (his or my mom's) had ever shown any signs of anything like this. He informed me that I was the first. So when I dug deeper, I disovered a couple of interesting facts.
Smoking can be a contributing factor (then again, what does smoking not contribute to?). My dad smoked heavily.
My mother had an at-risk pregnancy with me. My parents were 41 when I was born; in that age this was almost unheard of. In fact I was really fortunate that my mother lived; she almost bled out and they almost lost her. Imagine living with that your entire life...
Anyway...
Here's the one that actually gives me a clue to why I am how I am: Parkinson's Disease is a neurological condition that directly relates to Tourette's Syndrome. Almost every uncle on my mother's side had Parkinson's disease, which means the gene for that obviously runs in my family.
There's a good chance that all of these factors combined and conspired to skew my genetics and create this defect. Lucky me.
So for anyone who was in school with me at any level, you may remember that I was saddled with a particularly nasty "nickname" all through school because of this disease. I put "nickname" in quotations because nicknames are supposed to be an affectionate way of addressing someone, such as "Honeybunch" or "Blue Eyes." The name that I was called (and I refuse to give it credence by putting it in here) was particularly hurtful and nasty, and caused two particular individuals greater pain than what it caused me when their bullying went a bit too far. I retaliated. With great enthusiasm and more than a little force. And those are the only two instances in my entire life where I was forced to use my fists rather than my words. But those are tales for another time.
My first symptoms appeared when I was about five years old, entering Kindergarten. My father, who was not necessarily a person who was tolerant of the idiosyncracies of others (to put a kindly spin on it) said that I was doing the things I was doing because I didn't like my Kindergarten teacher. I was the third child in my family to be in her class; she retired the following year, which was kiddingly attributed to my behavior for years after by my family. Which didn't add to my stress or anxiety over the whole thing at all... :(
The teasing became so bad in Second and Third Grade that I began not going to school. Pretty regularly. To the point where the School Counselor, my teacher and the Principal all had a meeting with my mom, and then with me, to find out what was going on. Unfortunately, not much changed after. And as I got older, it got much worse.
By the time Junior High School rolled around (Onward, Olson), kids had become even more cruel and mean, which tends to happen pretty much in general anyway. But if you've got a condition or something that sticks out and makes you different from everyone else - even more so than the norm - they can turn that up to a whole different level. At least in Junior High I was lucky enough to make some friends, something which had been lacking up until then. There was a group of about five of us, all misfits of one sort or another, and we accepted each other despite our standing out from the norm and being labeled as "nerds" or "geeks" or "different."
In High School, I was able to make a few more friends; at one point there were about ten of us or so that hung out together. And they were all great friends for the most part. To offset this, of course, the torment and teasing got much worse. At least for most of my Freshman year, when I was forced to defend myself (inadvertently beating the holy Hell out of someone in the process, for which I still carry some level of remorse to this day; this is one of the two instances mentioned above).
When I was 23, I was finally diagnosed with Tourette's Syndrome while I was in the US Air Force. A military doctor whom I was seeing for a completely different reason decided to send me to a Neurologist, at which point I finally had my answer. However, it didn't really provide any relief. Later in life, after spending a number of years being medicated (medication which I decided I didn't want to take anymore after my first marriage ended - I quit it cold turkey, just stopped taking it, which in retropect was probably not a very sound decision), I learned how to control the symptoms by force of will. Now when someone meets me for the first time they can't even see the symptoms for the most part, and when I tell people I have Tourette's they are really surprised. The only time my control falters is when I'm really tired or really angry.
The real problem in all of this is that the disease is hereditary. I didn't know this yet when my first son was conceived; of course, in my defense that was before I was diagnosed officially. And that doesn't explain my youngest son...but again, that's a story for another time.
my Pug Mooch and my son Jacob.
Next time...I start to talk about my family.
Your story is an inspiration to many folks, T. It shows folks -especially kids-that there are others who have difficulty dealing with this and survived, and even persevered.
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