Hospital and Home

Day 5: On your marks, get ready, bake! My form of Xanax. The British Baking Show is about all the intensity I can manage as Davis and I wait for his surgery in the afternoon. I spin the rewind line at the bottom of his SpongeBob show on the iPad because he is down to only three that he wants to see as his frustration mounts and his energy levels wane. The task ahead will be a bronchoscopy and wisdom teeth extraction. The newly emerging wisdom teeth may be a source of infection as we cannot get a tooth brush to that part of his mouth. He will allow all other parts to be brushed after every meal but the back. Surgery later suggests good dental health except for that area. The bronchoscopy shows no foreign matter causing the abscess in lower right lung. The course of treatment is now to manage the pain from the tooth extraction and antibiotics for a month to heal the lungs.

Post op recovery turns out to be the most difficult he has ever been through as the pain is managed as best as can be. The night involves two hours of quiet in between his distress. The next day he settles with the pain regimen and Rick drives to Reno to bring us home. The ride and evening are uneventful. Whew. Until…

At two in the morning Davis is frenetically agitated and in a state I recognize as pain. We had not yet started his oxycodone because he had been so peaceful. We had been using Tylenol. Rick and I debate having him ambulanced to the emergency room for IV pain management when the pain pills seem to kick in an hour after given.

Technically this would all be on Day 6. The reason I even note the days is because they fall into a black hole or vacuum when Davis is in crisis. While the tornado of medical mayhem tears down the structures I crave for peace of mind, after each storm there remains enough foundation to rebuild. I tend to approach my day with more of a sense of what really matters. What best starts me off in a morning, and where does that beautiful sense of peace come from which provides me with deep undisturbed sleep? For Davis I sense he craves his visits to Vons and walks with his care team. His healthy baseline.

This morning as Davis sleeps beneath a blanket of heavy pain management pills, I begin my day identifying the birds around my porch by their songs. Mountain chickadees are easy. Northern Flicker I am learning along with the Brown-headed cowbird. After I note the coo from a Eurasian Collared Dove, it decides to come closer. Birding is another meditative device for me.

Rick and I hang onto our first hug of the day a bit longer. I text Davis’s caretaking team a deeply felt gratitude for helping us provide for our boy the best that we can provide together. I cannot control the manner in which the rest of Day 6 will unfold, but I can soak in what is precious in this moment. A gentle reminder of the rainbow after the storm.

The dove affirms our new peace.

I Fight for Happily Ever Now

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When I hear from others that my life appears to be a challenging one, I smile for I have yet to witness a life without a challenge. The follow-up comment, which never fails to turn my lips downward with discernment is that “they” could not do it, be in my shoes and tend to a family member with special needs.

Nonsense.

Any of us can. At some point most of us do. Accidents happen, diseases loom in the corners, loss occurs (intellectual or physical), parents and spouses age, and children are born who are different and will require more assistance. What I know is that each of us with the responsibility of caretaking can be flawed enough to be embarrassed when we stand out, and strong enough to create a home filled with laughter alongside the tears. We can learn to be flexible when our days go sideways, and to regain our balance when we stumble on ever-shifting terrain. Living with or without challenges is a physically and mentally fragile process. To do it well requires practice, and this starts with today, not tomorrow.

I have learned to forget about happily ever after and fight hard for happily ever now.


 

Compassion

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Train to gain I call it. Be tough enough to cry and silly enough to laugh, eventually, about the same event.  I joke as I maneuver my parents through the most difficult part of their day—being in a world of bustle while they select their items in bulk size at Costco. Humor helps ease anxiety. As I return a the cart to its rack in the parking lot I am asked by a woman if she can hug me. I smile, knowing why. We bumped into each other a few times inside as I guided my  mother with her visual impairment and my father with his lopsided balance through the massive store. Both  parents hung on to the cart like a life boat. My husband pushed the wheelchair ahead of us with our son who was just out of the hospital after five days and his Life-Flight from the Sierra. A silly spectacle, a herd in healing. The woman had helped me load a 30 roll package of toilet paper it will take my parents years to finish, but the savings are important to dad. Happy to validate his needs.

“Bless you,” she said after hugging me.

“I am,” I replied. “And thank you.”

I still have my 93 year old Silver Star dad and my 87 year old PhD mom to call and to visit. Their world, like my son’s, is slow and small. That is not a bad thing. Earlier I watched a mother urge her son to get ahead of us with their cart filled to capacity in order to have her receipt checked first by the person at the door. Her face was fierce, determined. Her son appeared to be trying to please her as he rushed by, uncomfortable in his quest to be first as our eyes connected and I smiled.She gains a minute of life with her speed. Her son misses an opportunity for her to teach him compassion.

 

Good Grief

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“What does he have?” I am asked, usually when my adult child is squawking like an infant or when his diapers poke out above his jeans. Today I can say ‘what he has’ and know that it can be found on the internet. Even in Wikipedia: 22q13 deletion syndrome (spoken as twenty-two q one three, see Locus (genetics)) is a genetic disorder caused by deletions or rearrangements on the q terminal end (long arm) of chromosome 22. The definition goes on, but for most parents new to this information…it takes time to swallow. Proceed slowly. Once in hand, once known, there is no turning back on the New Reality that something is forever shifting away from our original hopes, plans and dreams for our family and for our child.

Before the ‘Knowing’, for me, came Denial dragging along Anger. Naively I assumed this happened elsewhere and to others. Perhaps ignorant, perhaps somewhat entitled, when my landscape shifted beneath me and our family as our child fell farther and farther behind on the developmental milestones, I hoped the delays were caused by his difficult birth and entrance into life. I hoped he would catch up. When my hopes did not manifest, I let the Anger protect me from knowing too much too soon. Anger was also the result of grief and the tremendous sense of loss I slowly acknowledged. Anger protected me from Depression, which was a period of feeling powerless to impact this outcome. The depression sunk me when my bargaining with The Fates, The Divine, with God failed to produce the change I wanted in my experience as a parent. The sweet part of the path came with Acceptance. Once I embraced our garden as bountiful, once I re-organized my definitions of success and once I learned to check in with the neighbors for assistance or to assist them in our weird world, the contentment became the joy in the journey.

The Kubler-Ross five stages of Grief match the phases I experienced as a parent new to the world of special needs. Unlike the Kubler-Ross trajectory, mine has been a spiral circling back on Denial as new limitations or complications continue to come up for our son Davis, the thirty-third child in the world to be diagnosed with The Phelan McDermid Syndrome, a deletion also known as 22q13.3. After twenty-one years alongside my son, I am no expert, just a parent familiar with a path less traveled, one I have written about for years in a manuscript called The Thirty-Third Child.

My advice to any parent new to the Labyrinth of Special Needs would be to settle in fully with each emotion, each reaction, each stage. Not to rush the process because you can’t. If you do not fully grieve the loss of your expectations, this grief will later bite you in the sweet garden of Acceptance because it is a weed left unattended. Personally I liked Denial for its protective shield when I needed it most and even Depression provided respite when I needed a break. The Guilt I could do without, but any parent will have their share of this whether their child is typical or not. I debate Guilt when I can, what do I need to own as my responsibility and what am I taking on because of the way I see others handling their own difficult paths. But it’s the bargaining that eventually empowered me because to bargain is to trust in a higher source. As nauseating as this spiral can be, my ability to trust the process provides me with the capacity to smile as we all continue along in our journey with Davis.