Pride

“Hi, my name is Shannon, and I’m a were-lion.”

[Group: “Hi, Shannon.”]

All of you are monsters, completely out of control. You don’t deserve to live.

“Sorry, I must have spaced out there for a minute.” She gives a little chuckle.

“ I guess a good place to start is at the beginning. It’s not really something I like to relive, but…

But my therapist thought it might be useful for me to…

[Someone in the crowd lets out a nervous cough]

“Um, anyhow, my symptoms started at an early age. The first time occurred when I was about three years old. My mom took me to the park. I remember it being a really beautiful day and having the feeling that nothing could get any better or worse…you know the way you feel about the world when you’re a kid. My younger sister hadn’t been born yet so I got the kind of undivided attention from my mother that can really spoil a child, ya know? I remember her pushing me on the swing and then I ran up the ladder and flew down the slide until I couldn’t see straight. Then I sort of dizzily hobbled over to the sandbox.

“We had brought a bucket and shovel and I was enjoying filling it with sand and dumping it out again. We had been the only ones at the park. Out of nowhere a little boy, a few years older than me, plopped down near me in the sandbox. The details are a little fuzzy, he must have tried to take the shovel and bucket away from me because I would never have attacked him unprovoked.” She looks around at the group nervously, trying to decipher whether or not they believe her.

“Either I blanked out during the attack or it’s just because it was so long ago and I was pretty young, ‘cause I don’t remember it. Just images really. I remember the screaming, my mother pulling me off a lifeless mass only slightly larger than myself. Probably the clearest picture in my head is the way the sand looked. Kind of like the beach after a rain—pockmarked and wet. Except it was blood, and it was red. And I remember when my mother pulled me away the wet sand stuck to the bottom of her feet, exposing the dry, white sand underneath in the shape of her sandals.

“I was a big accomplishment for my pediatrician. I remember my mother being surprised at my having ALPS and showing symptoms so young. The doctor just gave a nerdy grin and said ‘the force is strong with this one’. After we saw him we stood in a narrow hallway to pay the receptionist and schedule our next appointment. You had to be blind not to notice the pictures of all the doctors in the practice on the wall with plaques underneath championing their medical accomplishments. I used to like to count all the plaques and secretly congratulate the doctors when they got a new one. When we stood in the hallway after our second visit, I noticed our doctor had a new plaque under his picture. My mother said it announced that he was the first and thus far only doctor in the practice to diagnose anyone with ALPS. But after our next visit I noticed it wasn’t there. I found out later they were starting to get complaints. People were afraid to sit in the waiting room. In the eyes of the non-were, any and every kid now had the ability to maul them to pieces. The sudden burst of tears from a child that decided he didn’t want to play with a toy fire truck or found he was scheduled for a shot just unglued everybody. I think they even had a receptionist quit. So they took the plaque down.

[Her posture changes and the faraway look vanishes. She stands taller and looks more confident.]

“In reality they found a good cocktail of drugs for me rather quickly. And with the exception of a few unfortunate incidents in adolescence, I’ve been problem free. I still change, but it’s really very slight—only my husband notices the difference.

“That’s all I have to say. I hope my story has been of some encouragement to you. Just keep trying all the drugs out there until you find the ones that work best for you. And don’t underestimate the power of self-determination. So much can be achieved if you only will yourself to do it.”