BEING DIFFERENT IS HELL
This Checkpoints episode shares the story of the mark Billy made on my life. Billy, who died during 2008, lived with lymphangioma, the same disease the Elephant Man,” evidenced by rare congenital tumors.
Being different is hell.”
The first time I saw Billy one hot summer day years ago in East Texas at a water well supply store, I cringed and wondered: Why in the world is that guy wearing a Halloween mask this time of year?
When I realized Billy was not wearing a mask, instead of doing as usual when seeing someone unique and introducing myself, I froze.
Half of Billy’s face appeared normal. The right side, however, looked as if it had been melted into a grotesque, monstrous shape. Billy’s right eye was swollen shut, the result of being hit with a baseball bat when younger. At the time, although wanting to speak to Billy, not knowing what to say, I said nothing and tried not to stare.
Later, wanting to meet this stranger and befriend him, I asked the clerk working at the counter about Billy. Initially, the young man refused to relate any information about Billy.
“Why do you want to meet him?” he asked.
“I would like to be his friend,” I said.
The clerk agreed to contact Billy and give him my phone number.
When Billy phoned me the next week, we set up a time to meet. From the moment we met, Billy and I adopted each other as friends. We visited regularly until we both moved to different states, and then sporadically kept in touch with phone calls and letters.
“Being different is hell,” Billy told me. What hurt him most was when someone turned away and refused to acknowledge him. Billy told me that more often than not, when he spoke to a stranger, the person would avert their eyes and look away.
Lymphangioma, the disease that caused Billy’s horrific disfiguration occurs due to rare congenital tumors. “Surgery is the treatment of choice 2”, I learned. In Billy’s case, however, repeated surgeries did not resolve his disfiguration as the tumors grew back even larger after
each surgery. To avoid contact with people, for years, Billy worked offshore on oil rigs. Billy did not have many friends, but he made point to treasure those individuals he shared the bond of friendship with. Simple words in one of my favorite letters from Billy reassured me we were meant to be friends. Billy simply wrote: “Thank you for being my friend. Last fall, after losing contact with Billy for a while, we met again. This time, we met in Billy’s hospital room. For several weeks, Billy had experienced dizzy spells. After falling down one day and appearing disoriented and confused, Billy’s brother phoned 911. Emergency personnel transported Billy to the hospital in Monroe, Georgia, where I saw him the day after he had been admitted.
When I visited Billy, he appeared a bit shaky. His disease, I noticed, had disfigured his face even more than I remembered. His nose had dramatically shifted to the left side of his face. Billy’s spirit, however, was not disfigured. He no longer worked, he told me. He also said it still hurt when others made a point to stare down when he approached them. Other than that, Billy said, he was doing fine.
The week after Billy and I visited in his hospital room, he phoned to tell me he had been scheduled for major surgery to remove a brain tumor. Hopefully, Billy said, this would provide relief from the dizzy spells and excruciating headaches he regularly experienced. Billy and I prayed several times over the phone the next few weeks. I planned to be at the hospital during his surgery scheduled in January 2008.
When my brother became seriously ill, however, I phoned Billy to tell him I would plan to visit with him after surgery. “I’ll be all right,” Billy said. “You stay there with your brother.”
On the day of the surgery, Billy’s brother phoned me with the news: “Billy died during the surgery.”
“If ever anybody deserved to die, it was Billy.” When Daniel, my youngest son, said those words in response to me telling him Billy died during surgery, I did not respond. When I thought about Daniel’s words later, I knew them to be true.
Billy deserved to die more than anybody we both knew. Billy, however, was not dead, but alive in Heaven because he had trusted Jesus as his personal Savior.
I cried, and in a selfish way, I felt sorry Billy died. I would miss my friend.
In my heart, however, I was glad Billy died. Billy, I know, is alive, with a new face, in heaven. As Daniel said when I told him about Billy’s death: “If anyone deserved to die – it was Billy.”
Although Billy’s face was marked with a horrible, disfiguring disease – Billy left a beautiful mark on my world. He never complained, nor said anything negative about others. When I see Billy again one day in heaven, even with his new face, I know I will recognize him. I plan to tell Billy the same words he once wrote me. “Thank you for being my friend.”
1 Thompson, Lester D.R.. Lymphangioma. (Pathology Clinic). Ear, Nose and Throat Journal. Vendome Group LLC. 2006. Retrieved July 14, 2009 from HighBeam Research: http://www.highbeam.com/doc/1G1-141996596.html
