Chat – 25 July 2019

feellikeme

again

Make-up helps me

Working

with

animalsisa

dreamcome

trueforme

’

11

roundto findmysisterRachel,

35,standingoverme,relieved

to seemeawake.

Butthedoctorshadsome

devastatingnews.

‘Wecouldn’tre-attachyour

nose,’onesaid.

Theyhadn’tbeenableto

getbloodto flowto it.Instead,

they’drepairedmyfaceasbest

theycould.Fixed

mymangledgums,

straightenedmy

brokenteeth.

Myhead

wasswathedin

bandagesand

I couldonlyeat

pureedfood.

It tooka while

formetofully

comprehend

what’dhappened.

Still,I refusedto press

chargesagainstmyfriendwith

thedogs.

InIndiana,thevictimof

a dog-attack

hasthechoice

whetherornot

theytakeaction

againstthedogoritsowner.

Clydewasn’ta baddog,

he’djusthada badmoment–

andI couldn’tbearto seehim

putdown.Hewasgivena

10-dayquarantinebythe

police,thatwasall.

Aftersevendays,I was

discharged– butnotbefore

I sawmyfaceforthefirsttime.

I staredatthe

mirrorinhorror,

shaking.A hole

gapedinthe

centreof myface,

fleshhangingoff.

Shockedand

broken,I burst

intotears.

‘I wish

Clydehadkilled

me!’I sobbed.

Thedoctors

assuredmethat,withseveral

ops,theycouldrepairmyface,

givemebacksomenormality.

Butthatdidn’tstoptheonset

of anxietyand

depression...notto mentionthe

constantpain.

Backhome,I feltwary

aroundmydogsMoandChevy.

Buttheyknewsomething

waswrongandgaveme

constantcuddles.

AsI wasproneto infection,

I hadto cleanthewoundand

replacethemedicalgauze

everyfewhours.

Thepainwasunimaginable.

I barelyleftmyhousefor

sixmonths,exceptto goto

appointmentsandsurgeries.

AndwheneverI didgoout,

peoplewouldstareandmake

cruelcomments.

‘What’swrongwithherface?’

I heardsomeonesay.

‘Whywouldshecomeout

likethat?’saidanother.

Horrible.

But,slowly,I startedto

regainmyconfidence.

I hadintensecounselling,

fivedaysa week,butthebest

therapywasmyanimals.

MydogsMoandChevy,

myparrot...plustheferrets

andhedgehogthatI rescued

duringmyrecovery.

Theyreliedonmeto nurture

andcareforthem– and,in

return,theygavemepurpose.

Sofar,I’vehadseven

facial-reconstructionsurgeries,

takingskinfrommyforehead

andearsto rebuildmynose.

Andthesurgeonshaven’t

finishedyet.

I mayneedsevenmore

ops,dependingonhowmy

recoverygoes.

It’stakingtime,butI’m

startingto looklikemeagain.

I nolongerflinchwhen

I lookinthemirror.

ThisMarch,I gota job

ata petshop,andworking

withanimalsis a dream

cometrueforme.

I sometimesfeela pangof

fearwhena pitbullwalksin.

Butthey’renotbaddogs– it’s

howthey’rebroughtup.

I nolongerspeakto Clyde’s

owner.It’sjusttoohardforme.

But,despiteeverything,

I’mstilla dogloveratheart.

After my

second surgery

• imagine waking
  up like this