We’re having trouble labelling our son “special needs.” Aren’t all children special, and don’t they all have needs? That’s why they have us. The parents.
I think Drake’s orthopedic care team has been surprised by both my mild reaction and his. Every cast he has had and even the tendon lengthening “surgery” haven’t phased him. I didn’t break down on them or have a cry.
See, he’s already a survivor. I’m expecting to feel a jolt of reaction to seeing him in the brace for the first time on Tuesday. Like the cast isn’t a permanent fixture in our household, but that brace or some version of it will be around until he’s 4 years old.
The thing that actually makes me sad is the fact that having a cast put on every week doesn’t phase my 14 week old son. He just sucks on his soothie paci a little harder, bearing it. Like he’s born with dignity everything else done to him in his short life.
Nope. I probably won’t cry either seeing that brace go on my baby boy. It represents hope. Hope that his future won’t include long lasting effects of his very low birthweight and prematurity. Hope that he’ll survive and endure.
Hope that I will never again see him limp and lifeless in my husband’s arms as we try to clear his nose and throat from the mucus of a reflux spell.
My son is special. His needs are special to us. But you can take your label of disability and shove it where the sun doesn’t shine.
Tomorrow we go for his hip ultrasound. I just hope it’s clear so he’s not faced with another fight.