Prologue

I always knew I was different than other kids. I would get dizzy during gym class and any temperature above 80° Farenheight. But I never knew why until I saw Dr. Anderson.

Dr. Anderson was a tan guy who wore blue scrubs. I was referred to him when I was 16 and my pediatrician became concerned because I was always pale when I went for my annual physical.

My pediatrician suspected something was wrong with my heart but we never expected this.

Dr. Anderson did an EKG and I was sent home. Mom was called three days later and covered her mouth, gasping. She looked at my, her own face pale while mine was red and my heart beat hard in my chest.

"Yeah, I understand. You're sure? Yeah, yeah. Alright, thanks Dr. Anderson." She hung up the phone.

"Mom? Mom? What's wrong," worry clouded my face as I questioned her about the call that had made her so concerned about me.

"Honey, Victoria, I need you to sit at the table. Please. Dr. Anderson just gave us bad news." She sat at the table and patiently waited for me.

Getting up from the couch, in the living room adjacent to the kitchen, I soon joined Mom, sitting across from her. I searched her face for answers about what was happening. No answers showed.

"Dr. Anderson said you have POTS. Its … honey, your heart works too hard. He recommended you drop out of soccer. He said…"

I didn't hear the rest of what she said. I couldn't. I had lost track of what was going on around me. I knew she was talking but right now my mothers voice sounded too far away for me to decipher her words.

I got up from where I was, not saying a word and dashed out of the house. I needed some time to think. I didn't care if I had left my phone at home. There was only one place I went to when upset.

Though I had never met her and she died in childbirth, whenever I was upset, I went to my biological mothers grave. The cemetery was only half a mile from our house and it was a cool October evening.

Once I got to the all too familiar place, I sat in front of the grave. Emily Richson 1984-2004 Beloved Mother, Wife and Friend. "In Death We will Meet Again". I had read the stone so many times since I had first come here, at age eight, yet couldn't decipher the meaning of the quote.

"I wish I had known you, Emily. Sorry I never call you mom when I come visit. Things are getting weird. I just got diagnosed with something I've only heard of once. But it explains why I get dizzy episodes.

Dad gets released from jail next month. He claimed he wants to see me once a month after he gets released. But I can't stay with Momma once he is. Lisa said I will get placed with a new family even though Momma is my legal guardian and adopted me."

I said and lay beside the stone. Then stared at the sky. Sometimes, when I did this, I would imagine I had known Emily. That I had never been adopted.

Now, with the chronic illness diagnosis, I doubted anybody would ever want me in their foster home. If I fainted or got sick, they wouldn't know how to handle it.

I heard a siren pass by then stop and a car door closed. I jolted upright from my position, my vision blurring and me feeling nauseous as a result.

A police officer walked over, his cuffs and keys jingling and his radio full of static. He spoke into it. "Hey, I found the kid."

More static filled the radio and he said something else before kneeling in front of me. Suddenly, I felt like a little kid. Small and timid.

"Victoria, have you seen your Mom?"

I furrowed my brow. Of course I had seen her! I had just been at home with her.

"Yeah. I don't know how long ago. A doctor called. Dr. Anderson."

Another police car drove up and Dr. Anderson got out of it. "Stop. She's right. Look, Officer Frank, you can't arrest her. She has a debilitating health condition. Juvie would be bad for her. I'll take her. I'll foster her. I have a foster parent license."

I stood up. After the officers and Dr. Anderson spoke for an hour, I got in the second cruiser and we rode to Dr. Andersons house.

I had no idea back then how much my life would change. And not just because of the new diagnosis.