Cake Day

Sometimes I find it very difficult to be a heart transplant recipient. This was especially true when I was a kid. I didn’t want to acknowledge it happened. I didn’t want to acknowledge it at all. I just wanted to go back to being me, a normal kid. That never really worked out but I still tried as hard as I could to be exactly who I was before.

One of the main challenges was that everyone and their cousin, and their cousin’s cousin, knew about it. They knew I was this kid who got really sick. Some people thought I was a miracle kid. Some people knew I had a heart transplant. Whatever people knew, it was far too much knowledge for my liking.

While I was at the hospital, everybody knew my name. Every single staff member knew me and would say hello whenever I ran into them. As a super quiet kid, I found this challenging. But I knew I could handle it because it made sense. I was the only kid at the hospital. I stood out and everyone was rooting for me. What I didn’t know is that this would follow me everywhere I went. My hometown, my school, all of my activities. All of these people — worse, all of these adults — suddenly knew me and I had no idea who they were. All I wanted was to be invisible and I was the most visible I had ever been in my entire life.

It got to a point where I stopped recognizing people I actually knew. I had this belief that every time I left my house a stranger would know me and ask me how I was. This may not seem like a big deal, but to someone who wanted to be invisible, it’s a very big deal. It was kind of exhausting. I didn’t consider that I may run into someone I actually knew. I was so used to being seen by so many strangers that it had never crossed my mind that a regular kid from my school would, in the most regular way, want to say hi at the most regular place kids would be.

This is how I remember it. It was almost like an action movie. The edges of the images in my mind are dark. The glow of the bright video store walls was somehow peeking through. It was a busy night. As per my usual M.O. I was looking at something intently so as to avoid acknowledging any of the humans around me. Was I interested in the thing I was looking at? Probably not. I was more likely subtly scanning the store for someone safe; my mom, dad or sister. End of list. Then, to my absolute horror, someone taps me on the shoulder.

“Laura!!”

Was it my mom, dad, or sister? Of course not. They certainly wouldn’t have been that excited to see me either. There would be no need to have used two exclamation points. It would have been a regular interaction about picking a movie or snacks. No, I wasn’t so lucky.

“It’s me!”

Oh no. This is the worst when they do this. It’s me? It’s me, who? At this point I feel like I physically leaned back and could tell that my face was not giving calm, cool, and collected. Nothing in my mind considered that this was not a stranger. I scanned the stranger up and down. I had no idea who this stranger was. The stranger’s face dropped.

“It’s Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth was in no way one of the scary adults I had been trying to hide from. Elizabeth had been my best friend in grade 3. We even had those best friend necklaces. It was the style that was a heart sliced in two and we each had a half. In grade 3, that’s how you know the friendship is legit. While I watched Elizabeth’s face drop, I still had no idea who she was. I tried to be polite but my flight response was kicking in and my body was moving me out of the way of the danger. I fled.

That event probably happened 24 years ago. I was very freshly out of the hospital. I was pretty freaked out by the world. The only place I had ever been sick, or been a heart transplant recipient, was at the hospital. I had never been one out in the real world. Only in the safety of the place where stuff like that is normal. I just wanted to be a normal kid. The kid people ignored, just like before. I still think about that moment when Elizabeth’s face dropped. I still wonder what happened. Why did I freak out so badly? Why was I not able to recognize my own friend? Why did I flee?

Sometimes, I just don’t think I’m cut out for this. I know I really didn’t have any say in the matter. Sometimes, even now, I still want to hide. I still just want to be a normal kid. One that now pays rent, I guess. So much time has passed that I have achieved the level of invisibility that I so longed for when I was young. Now, no one knows, or acknowledges it, unless I bring it up. I have the privilege, in a way, of being a heart transplant recipient publicly, on my own schedule.

In the last year, I’ve been pretty burnt out. Activities have become way harder. Motivation is non-existent. I feel like all I do is work and try to get more sleep while also trying to be healthy while also trying to work in fun activities, make memories, and enjoy life. It’s felt like quite a lot of tiring work. With that tiring work, the interest in being a heart transplant recipient has waned. I’ve wanted to hide.

The only thing is, just like what happened with Elizabeth, my interest in hiding doesn’t always consider the people around me. Every year on the anniversary of my heart transplant, my family wants to get together to celebrate. Luckily, I like cake. I also like being celebrated. So, it’s fairly easy for me to compromise. That wasn’t always the case. When I was younger, I didn’t want to acknowledge the day at all. It wasn’t even a discussion. My family just knew. They wouldn’t bother me about it at all. They would leave me be. Yet, on every October 16^th for over 20 years, a mysterious cake has shown up in our home on that very specific day. And thus, the annual tradition of “Cake Day” came to be.

Do we acknowledge out loud what that cake is for? We still, to this day, do not. Do I pick what takeout we get and the flavour of the cake? Absolutely. Do we plan it ahead of time? No, I just show up. Everyone just happens to show up. October 16^th, for the last 24 years, and for many years to come, will always be “Cake Day” in our household. These are the rules of Cake Day and these are what keep Cake Day sacred.

Whether I want to be a heart transplant recipient or not, Cake Day still happens. It doesn’t matter if I feel embarrassed or weird or want to just hide that part of me. Whether I want to ignore it or not, that day will always be special to those who are around me. That’s what that cake represents. It’s not a celebration of the awful thing I went through. It’s an appreciation that I faced it and that I got through. It’s an appreciation for who I truly am. It’s a reminder that no matter how weird, embarrassing, or weak I feel, I’m none of those things to the people who care about me and to the people who were there too.

I may never find a purpose in this; something about me that makes me the best candidate for the job of heart transplant recipient. I may never feel like the best advocate, the healthiest recipient, the most positive patient. To be honest, most of the time I feel like a complete mess. Luckily, how I feel doesn’t change who I am. If I want to hide one day and be a loud and proud recipient the next, I can. I will. I will keep trying to do my best and keep trying to figure it all out as I go. And no matter what, no matter how I’m feeling, one thing I will forever be able to rely on is that there will always be cake!