I didn't want my disabilities to define me. I don't often write about my disabilities and the problems they cause. Not because I am ashamed to admit I am disabled, I just think nobody would be interested in reading about my declining health. However, several people have asked me to write about my condition, so here is the opening of my story. I may put this into a book later on. My story starts in my days at school when my friends told me that I was an excellent storyteller. At that time, I didn't realise my genetic heritage, who considers their genetics? Most people have no idea what lies hidden with their genes, why would they? Long ago, I realised something was wrong because when I cut myself I scar badly and my skin doesn't heal as it should, nobody told me what was wrong if they knew. I think my mother had some idea what lay ahead for me, her eldest sister, Joan, has the same condition I have. Whether it was a choice not to tell me, or my mother
