Archives for posts with tag: sad

IMG-5708Grace was discharged from speech therapy today for reasons that I don’t think are fair. It was disheartening, to say the least. We handled our disappointment I think pretty well and left on positive terms – but I cried. I wanted to just sit down and cry when we left and told Kevin – “I wish there were special needs crying days”. What I meant was a day where no one needed anything from me and I was just able to be sad, process what I was feeling, etc. But I know – and have known for a long time now – that there’s just no such luxury. Reality is I cried myself to work, dried my tears, and went to work. I led some meetings, sat on a conference call, and responded to emails. My coworkers were incredibly kind, or else I hid the crying really well, in the end, no one said anything.

Now I’m home and there are expectations to meet here. Laundry. Supper. Snuggling. Sight words. Cathing. Meds. Laundry. Baths. Bedtime stories. Dishes. Picking woodchips out of Graham’s coat (long story). But I’m taking a break from that to write this. I need to somehow express that I’m sad. That I feel inadequate to advocate for Grace in a world where the rules are veiled in shades of gray. That in my heart of hearts I don’t actually know what to expect from Grace in the area of communication and that I recognize that makes it harder to advocate for her. That having a nonverbal child is challenging on so many levels.   To describe those levels in words doesn’t seem possible.   I can only tell you that Grace’s silence often makes my heart ache – however a smile from Grace, and a long look straight in my eye can make me feel wonderful.

There is value in being able to communicate. There is value in taking the time to figure out how those around you communicate. There is value in listening with not only your ears, but with your mind, heart, and eyes.  Grace’s inability to communicate the “regular” way takes nothing away from the value of what she has to say.   We regularly communicate about Grace with those who speak for her and even have tried to describe in words what we think her communication style is. We do this because it’s important that her voice be consistent. Here’s what we say in Grace’s resume: “If you are serving as my voice my parents think my voice is largely optimistic, shows a sense of humor, is a little stubborn, is reassuring, and gets to the point. They don’t want my voice to be negative, put anyone down, or be disrespectful.”

Grace being nonverbal has been a constant struggle and will continue to be. I wish there were answers. But true to form Grace is Grace. She’s ours and we love her. We love her on crying days and good days. Her presence in our family is no less because of her inability to talk. We will continue in our own way to figure out how to make sure she’s heard.

Joy

Advertisements

img_0007Grace is home. I’m relieved. And as if she wasn’t being watched carefully enough by doctors we’ve added an infectious disease doctor to the mix for the next two weeks or so to make sure she is all clear.   We like him – he’s been amazing to work with. It sounds like we’ve actually been lucky. Only the culture from the ER showed MRSA, the one from Tuesday showed plain old Staph, and from Wednesday on nothing showed up. We caught it early. The seizure on Monday morning that made her fingers start turning blue was a blessing in disguise.

The good news/bad news, depending on how you want to look at – is that the infectious disease doctor is the guy we call if this happens again. The chance is real it could happen again. Sigh.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the book The Velveteen Rabbit this week as we’ve gone through all of this. There’s this scene towards the end of the book where the stuffed rabbit is old and worn and another old and worn toy explains to the rabbit that this is what it means to be real. To be made real by love. He explains that to become real happens over a long time.

I have felt really old and worn out this week.   Incapable of keeping all my stuffing inside. I also recognize it’s because of love that I feel this way. I recounted almost every day of the last week to the nurses taking care of Grace in the hospital that she had a normal birth, that we didn’t know anything was different about her until she started having seizures at about 4 ½ months. That since then we’ve been taking care of her in whatever direction she’d gone. My love for her has had to grow and change as she’s evolved to incorporate advocacy, medical skills, disappointments, risk-taking, research, wonder, and this crazy optimism that comes with special needs parenting. It’s real. Our last few months have shown me over and over how real it is.

It’s not just the love for Grace that’s made me feel that way this week. Graham has struggled. I was the one to give him the news that Grace was back in the hospital. His little face was just so sad. He told me one night this week that he hoped to wake up with germs in the morning so that I could stay with him all day. Killer.

In the midst of all of this, we have had crazy real loving moments.  Grace was complaining one night I was at the hospital with her, I unzipped all the zippers on her bed and climbed in with her. She calmed down immediately – we stayed like that for a good 45 minutes – no one came in to poke her or take her blood pressure – and when I got out to get meds going she was better. I took Graham to VanDees for his last ice cream with eyes for the year. It was chilly that night, so we were the only people there. Three people waited to take our order.   Graham was super nervous to order on his own with all of them looking at him, and so he whispered his order in my ear. Graham whispering is an experience. He puts his mouth so close to your ear you can feel his lips moving on your ear. It’s hushed, fast, so hard to understand, and it tickles. I couldn’t help but grin as he gave me his order. Luckily I know his order. Chocolate and white ice cream (twist) with m&m’s and eyes. Every time.

In the story, once you are real the rabbit learns you can never go back. The same is true with parenting once you become a parent it’s just not the same.

Grace is free to go back to all activities. We are watching her for cues that she’s ready to re-engage. Ready for therapies, school, baseball, dance, church, etc. It’s not just her cues we are watching – we are also dealing with our own readiness to put her back in the world with such a dramatic demonstration of her vulnerability fresh in our minds. Today she’s played some and rested some so far.     She is moving in the right direction. When she’s ready we will let her go back – because we love her. We really do.

Joy

Today I’m sad because it doesn’t make any sense for me to buy an American Girl doll for Grace.  Grace has a few dolls.  She chews on them.  Bonks them in the head.  Flings them around by their feet.  Her brother has shown them much more kindness than Grace ever has.

American Girl sends us a catalog every now and then.  Most of the time I just try and throw it in the recycling bin without even opening it.  Today I opened it because the doll featured on the cover looked perfect for Grace.  She is a blonde-haired, blue-eyed, ballerina.  She’s only available in 2014.  This is the one I could have justified the expense for.  It is sooooo Grace.

Grace and I could have talked about which accessories would be the most fun.  Grace could have had pajamas that matched with the doll.  We could have gone to the store at the Mall of America and picked her up.  We could have done everything girlie associated with that.  I can picture how I would have wanted that to go in my head.  It’s just not that way though.

It’s a similar disappointment to the one I experienced when Grace got off the ketogenic diet.  I could finally paint her little toenails!   I bought a beautiful, shiny, pink for her little feet – but when I sat down to do it… she hated it.  I painted two toes.  It looked like the polish had been spilled she had moved around so much.  I gave up at that point.  My desire was her torture.

When she went to sleep that night I removed the polish.  Until now I don’t think anyone else ever knew it was there.

I know it’s not important in the grand scheme of things.  It’s just not.  There’s so much more to the whole mother/daughter thing.

But it’s a reminder.  This thing that hits you every now then like you somehow forgot that the daughter you have isn’t the daughter you imagined years ago in those first few moments when they said “It’s a girl!”

What’s important is that today – this same day I’m sad- Grace has made me laugh and smile several times.  We took in a show at the Civic Center.  We watched a little My Little Pony, had a snuggle on the couch, and I kissed her goodnight on her cheek before she got tucked in.

I think we are going to buy the books about the doll.  We can read them together and that will be our American Girl experience.    That too I can picture in my head – and I can make it happen.

Jan. 11 2014

Joy