Un-Beautiful… Pennsylvania autumn has always been a beautiful backdrop and a wonderful welcome to the new school year. I was four years old when I attended my first day of “Get Set,” a preschool program that allowed me to have constant supervision, educational instruction, and playtime with other children while my mother worked. She had helped me dress that day in my little orange, red, and yellow tartan plaid dress with a bow in the back, one of my favorites. My yellow lace-trimmed socks peeked out above my red Mary Jane shoes and I knew I was as cute as can be. A crown of curls topped the outfit finished off by barrettes carefully positioned by my Mama. I was so excited to be going to school. I bounced with every step! Going to school was a whole lot of fun and very exciting that day. My older brother “Squeaky” picked me up from school that afternoon and I remember being super talkative on the walk home because I liked my new teacher, all of my classmates, our bright and colorful classroom, recess and learning new things! When we got home, Squeaky went into the kitchen to make me a sandwich, and I raced to sit on the sofa in the living room so I could watch the cartoons he had been watching on the television. Just like a four year old full of energy I jumped on the sofa and flopped my feet on the floor, not realizing that “Sparky” the Doberman that my mom was watching for a friend was beneath me, I don’t know if I startled him or kicked him, but he jumped up on me very quickly narrowly missing my eye and ripped the entire right side of my face between my nose and my ear off! I didn’t feel his teeth rip through my flesh; I actually thought the dog had licked me. After a few minutes I realized something was definitely wrong because Squeaky was hysterical, crying and screaming "Oh my god. Your Face. You’re bleeding. Mommy is going to kill me.”, so I started crying and screaming too because I loved my brother and didn’t want him to die! Why would Mommy kill Him? I wasn’t sure why we were crying but I knew it had to be really bad. One of my Mama’s friends suddenly appeared at the door. “Lord have mercy,” We have to get you to the hospital.”? She called an ambulance and then called Mommy at work. The paramedics arrived and quickly loaded me into an ambulance. The ride was scary. Everyone seemed so horrified and moved so quickly. The paramedics kept trying to cover my face with gauze soaked in an orange liquid, betadine, I later learned. My face felt wet and I sensed the urgency of the moment. It didn’t take long for my mom to arrive in the emergency room. I was so glad to see her. I wanted her to make everything alright. I wanted to talk to her and tell her what happened. But I had been given some kind of sedative and didn’t remember much after that point. I later learned that my mother, who was a police officer, had gone home and shot and killed Sparky before coming to the hospital. That hospital became my home for two months. For weeks prior to and in preparation for the surgery, I had to attend school at the hospital with other children who were sick in the morning. We had playtime and arts and crafts, then lunch and medication. My mom always bought dinner to the hospital after she got off of work and she would eat dinner with me every day and stay with me until I fell asleep, I didn’t like going to bed at the hospital because I was a “Big Girl” and they made me sleep in a baby crib. The dog had done a lot of damage to my small still-developing face. It took a long reconstructive/ cosmetic surgery to repair the damage, But it wasn’t over when I left the hospital. For years I had to endure the cruelty of other children. “Monique is a weirdo, dog bite, scar face!” “Look at that ugly face. It’s scary!” “You are so ugly; you’ll never be beautiful.” One day, however, I finally realized when a little boy at school kept calling me “Dogbite” and “Scarface”, As mean as it was, I remember saying to him “I may have a d --- This episode is sponsored by · Anchor: The easiest way to make a podcast. https://anchor.fm/app --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/monique-monge/message
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