Saturday, March 05, 2005
Sad to hear
The moment you hear that your child is not perfect is a moment you will never forget.
I'm not talking "Your kid can't do trigonometry" or "She was caught speeding" or "She bit another kid at daycare." I'm referring to a biological defect...that blindsides you and sends you reeling.
I recall the pit in my stomach and the pause in my breath as the baby nurse told us, just minutes after Lindsay was born, that one of her ears looked different. Did she say deformed? Malformed? That I can't remember -- the emotion is more clear than the facts. Tears of joy and complete exhiliration then BAM! Hold everything. All is not perfect with our precious, helpless little girl. Gulp.
We are, in a way, still reeling. Today, we learned that Lindsay has at least a moderate hearing loss in her "lucky" left ear -- the one with microtia (God, I wish I still thought that word was some South Pacific territory in Risk). Big picture: no anticipated impact on her speech or development. But the fact remains: right ear -- good, left ear -- not good. We won't know how much hearing remains for six months or so. In the meantime, Lindsay will be referred to a craniofacial team to assess the functionality of the inner ear. And down the road...who knows? Prosthetics? Reconstructive surgery?
I wept when we got the results of the hearing test. Holding Lindsay in my arms, my lips pressed to her precious scalp, I'm not afraid to admit I cried. Cried for the lost dream of a picture perfect child, cried for the struggles she could face ahead because of this defect. All you want to do is protect these little boogers, and there's so much you can't protect them from. Ella was right there with us, and I didn't want to scare her by crying, but showing emotions and dealing with them is part of life. Classic Ella: Nicola explains to her why we are crying -- about Lindsay's ear and hearing, basically -- and Ella says, "Well, she [Lindsay] doesn't seem to mind." I still don't know if Ella understands; I asked her again tonight if she understood why we were crying, and she said no.
Yes, on the grand scheme of things, Lindsay's health issues could be a lot worse. I'm not so myopic as to not realize this or to not be grateful for all the things that did turn out right in the womb and during the delivery. But goddamnit, why my Lindsay? Nicola and I still must mourn this loss in order to accept it. That X Steps to Acceptance is not just psycho-babble bullshit -- I buy it. And accept it and deal with it we will -- there's no reason this has to hold Lindsay back in any way.
But for today...I'm sorry, little Butterbean. And it's OK Nicola...it's not your fault. And it's OK Bill...it's not your fault.
I'm not talking "Your kid can't do trigonometry" or "She was caught speeding" or "She bit another kid at daycare." I'm referring to a biological defect...that blindsides you and sends you reeling.
I recall the pit in my stomach and the pause in my breath as the baby nurse told us, just minutes after Lindsay was born, that one of her ears looked different. Did she say deformed? Malformed? That I can't remember -- the emotion is more clear than the facts. Tears of joy and complete exhiliration then BAM! Hold everything. All is not perfect with our precious, helpless little girl. Gulp.
We are, in a way, still reeling. Today, we learned that Lindsay has at least a moderate hearing loss in her "lucky" left ear -- the one with microtia (God, I wish I still thought that word was some South Pacific territory in Risk). Big picture: no anticipated impact on her speech or development. But the fact remains: right ear -- good, left ear -- not good. We won't know how much hearing remains for six months or so. In the meantime, Lindsay will be referred to a craniofacial team to assess the functionality of the inner ear. And down the road...who knows? Prosthetics? Reconstructive surgery?
I wept when we got the results of the hearing test. Holding Lindsay in my arms, my lips pressed to her precious scalp, I'm not afraid to admit I cried. Cried for the lost dream of a picture perfect child, cried for the struggles she could face ahead because of this defect. All you want to do is protect these little boogers, and there's so much you can't protect them from. Ella was right there with us, and I didn't want to scare her by crying, but showing emotions and dealing with them is part of life. Classic Ella: Nicola explains to her why we are crying -- about Lindsay's ear and hearing, basically -- and Ella says, "Well, she [Lindsay] doesn't seem to mind." I still don't know if Ella understands; I asked her again tonight if she understood why we were crying, and she said no.
Yes, on the grand scheme of things, Lindsay's health issues could be a lot worse. I'm not so myopic as to not realize this or to not be grateful for all the things that did turn out right in the womb and during the delivery. But goddamnit, why my Lindsay? Nicola and I still must mourn this loss in order to accept it. That X Steps to Acceptance is not just psycho-babble bullshit -- I buy it. And accept it and deal with it we will -- there's no reason this has to hold Lindsay back in any way.
But for today...I'm sorry, little Butterbean. And it's OK Nicola...it's not your fault. And it's OK Bill...it's not your fault.
// posted by Bill @ 8:46 PM 
