How I Healed From Childhood Trauma
The Power of Connecting With Your Wounded Inner Child
I was only a few weeks old when my mother realised that there was something seriously wrong. I wouldn’t stop crying, but my non-stop vomiting is what troubled her most. She brought me to the hospital, but the doctors told her it was nothing serious.
“It’s only colic,” they said.
Several hospital visits later, they insisted there was still nothing wrong. But I continued to vomit and grew weaker by the day. That’s when things got serious. With my body becoming limp and floppy, even my cries sounded sick, turning to frail, feeble whimpers as the days passed.
On my final visit to the hospital, my mother told the nurses that my nappy (i.e. diaper) had been bone dry for several days. That’s when alarm bells went off. The nurses snatched me from my mother’s arms and weighed me immediately. I was less than four pounds — half my birth weight — and the soft spot on my head had sunk deep into my skull.
I had a condition known as intestinal malrotation. In layman’s terms, my guts were twisted, and my body was starved of nutrients. The doctors quickly realised they had made a huge mistake. They rushed me to the theatre for emergency surgery where my fight for survival had truly begun.
