HEALTH
In Celebration of Vascular Birthmarks
May 15th is Vascular Birthmark Awareness Day. I assume you all had a party and brought cake? No? Well, now you have 11 months notice to plan one for 2022. You are welcome.
I was in the 10% of babies to be born with some kind of vascular birthmark. Mine is a ‘haemangioma’ or, more adorably, a ‘strawberry naevus’.
skinsupport.org.uk says:
The cause [of strawberry naevi] is not fully understood. They are a benign overgrowth of blood vessels in the skin, and are made up of cells that usually form the inner lining of blood vessels (endothelial cells). They are thought to occur as a result of a localised imbalance in factors controlling the development of blood vessels.
My strawberry grew alarmingly quickly under my left eye during the first couple of years of my life, but eventually chilled out and settled down enough for me to have its remains nipped and tucked by a plastic surgeon, who also took care of my humongous bat ears in a (slightly slapdash) 2-for-1 NHS op when I was 10.
My mum and dad treated my birthmark with nothing but love and celebration of its unique beauty. They did a great job of shielding me from terrible comments and reactions from strangers. ‘Eurgh, how horrible!’, ‘She would be so pretty otherwise’, old women leaning to look into my pram and screaming etc etc. This unfortunately included my own grandmother, who felt it necessary to frequently express ‘what a shame’ it was about my face.
Barring one (extremely gory) accident with a spiky straw hat in the back of a Ford Escort, my birthmark has actually caused me very few problems. I was an adenoidal, bookish only child with eccentric older parents — school was always going to be a challenge. But I was lucky, I rarely had to deal with mean comments about my birthmark — my tragic pageboy haircuts and anachronistic cultural references were far more fertile grounds for ridicule.
I posted a version of this piece on my social media
So tonight I will raise a glass to everyone with vascular birthmarks on their faces. They are beautiful and interesting and unusual. And no, it’s not the same if it isn’t on your face, sorry. May we always be granted the presence of mind to find witty retorts to thoughtful questions such as ‘O what happened to your face?’ and may we all have families who love and kiss and delight in our differences.
