Special Needs
By Amy Turn Sharp | March 23rd, 2009 | Category: Amy Turn Sharp, BN Channel Family, Featured 2, Monday 2 | 5 comments
{Originally published on The Big Piece of Cake}
I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before – but my three year old son, Oliver is weird.
I remember several kids like that. They were the ones who ate paste in kindergarten, fell into the pond on the second grade field trip and consistently got in trouble for “touching people” in more or less every grade through middle school. And now, as it turns out, I’ve given birth to one.
Miracles in the Flaws
By sparksfley | February 11th, 2009 | Category: BN Channel Overcoming Adversity, Featured 2, Monday 2 | 1 Comment »
{Originally Published on Lizzie’s Home}
When I was nineteen years old, I found myself taking a front-row seat in an honest-to-God, wish-I-could-bottle-that-feeling miracle.
After a twenty-eight hour labour, an ugly, red, scrawny mess of arms and legs was twisted from my body, four weeks before his due date. The conehead my son sported from his prolonged journey down the birth canal was very pronounced and truly awesome to behold. His Apgar scores were low. He was whisked away for some oxygen.
At that point, I didn’t care where he went, as long as he was being cared for appropriately and I could cover up the bits of my person that in any other circumstance would never be displayed. It is amazing how the most prudish of women can become the most liberal when in the throes of childbirth. There were bits of me that were irreversibly altered by the birthing process but in the end those particular battle scars would fade, and new ones would take their place.
On the second day after his birth, J turned an alarming shade of buttercup yellow which had the doctors scrambling for the big scary humidicrib with fancy lights and cords. You know, the type with holes in the side where distraught parents are permitted to insert only their hands to stroke babies they should, by rights, be cradling in their arms.
My little six-pound-nothing imp modelled a hastily cut blindfold of black vinyl almost every moment of the first week of his life. We were allowed to remove him from the phototherapy unit for feedings and changes only. The rest of the time he was to lay naked and sunbathing, save for his Zorro mask, under special lights designed to speed up the expulsion of the bilirubin from his blood. There’s a reason why babies are meant to be covered up. Meconium poops are legendary, and more so for babies undergoing phototherapy…
Thomas’s Story
By Heather | October 15th, 2008 | Category: BN Channel Overcoming Adversity, Featured 2, Wednesday 2 | No Comments »
{originally published on Because I’m The MOM}
When I started this blog I wanted it to be about my family, one of whom has special needs. What I didn’t want was a Special Needs Blog. I realized though, that to ignore Thomas’s story altogether means that there are things I can’t say because they wouldn’t make sense. So here you go.
When I got pregnant with Thomas I was considered high-risk because I was 36. My ob-gyn suggested that I have the 11-week Nuchal Translucency Test. No problem, I thought, this just goes along with being a little older. I have to say though, that every time someone said “advanced maternal age” within earshot I wanted to smack them sideways and shout “I’m not FIFTY for God’s sake. I’m 36! I’m YOUNG.”
About 2 minutes into the test I saw the sonographer’s face go still and she got very quiet. Not a good thing. She summoned the doctor, a very kind man with a very serious face, and he told me that there was a 50% chance there was something genetically wrong with my baby. Probably something like Down’s Syndrome. My husband and I were devastated, of course, and thus began my running of a veritable gauntlet of tests for the next 24 weeks. The thing is, EVERY SINGLE TEST came back normal. Chorionic Villus Sample? Normal. Multiple in-utero echocardiograms of Thomas’s heart? Normal. Ultrasound after ultrasound? Normal. The doctors were elated, but deep inside I knew there was still something wrong.
What do you owe the public?
By sparksfley | September 25th, 2008 | Category: BN Channel Overcoming Adversity, Featured 1, Thursday 1 | 20 comments {Originally Posted at Mom to the Screaming Masses}
Last week we had our big fishing trip. We took a meal with us, thinking that there might be an eating space nearby. And there was, and so while we set everything up, the kids sat under the gazebo and ate. When the lines were set up and the bait had been (euw!) prepped, we called them out to us and they came running. All except Riley. Often, Riley doesn’t join in, preferring to keep to herself. That’s fine with me. I don’t force her to join in – often, that’s counterproductive to our family enjoyment.
So we were fishing, or, rather the family was fishing and I was watching, because, euw! She strolled from the fishing area to the gazebo, bit her hamburger and walked back. Lather, rinse, repeat. She sang songs to herself and played finger games, stopped to admire some flowers, climbed on the bench and called to me often. When she wasn’t next to me, I kept my eye on her most of the time, flipping from “watch me fish, Mom!” to watching her play. She was satisfied to be alone. In short, it was a time that worked for her. She was content, and that’s a state I strive for. I relaxed, admiring the boats docked in the marina and waving to a woman who walked by with her medium sized dog on a leash.
Until I heard her scream, and scream, and scream – long, ear piercing, heart rending screams that seemed follow each other – as soon as one ended, she began again, without taking a breath.
Sarah Palin and Motherhood
By Liz BrightStars | September 24th, 2008 | Category: BN Channel Politics, Featured 1, Wednesday 1 | 13 comments
{Originally Published on The Dr. Laura Blog}
I am extremely disappointed in the choice of Sarah Palin as the Vice Presidential candidate of the Republican Party. I will still vote for Senator McCain, because I am very concerned about having a fundamental leftist, especially one who is a marvelous orator, as President.
At first, I thought it amusing that McCain picked a pretty, smart, and tough female to counter the racist/sexist accusations going back and forth between parties. I remember how Oprah Winfrey got caught in the cross-fire as she stepped up to the political table to support Obama with pride that a black man could rise to such heights in the USA, only to get slammed by feminists who told her it was gender, not race, that she should back. Understandably, Ms. Winfrey pulled back from it all.
Forget gender and race. I’m frankly and sadly caught in the dilemma of having to balance policy versus example in touting a candidate for the office of the First Family. I was ferociously attacked (what’s new?) when I spoke out strongly against Bill Clinton’s dalliances in the Oval Office. That situation quickly turned into a debate whether “private has anything to do with public.” Nonsense.
Role models are very important. Children and young adults look to those who are visible and successful as a road map of what is acceptable behavior and emulate those actions over the morals and values their parents and churches have taught and tried to reinforce. It’s a tough go these days, when the “bad that men or women do” is used for entertainment purposes without judgment, or is excused because of political or financial considerations.
I’m stunned – couldn’t the Republican Party find one competent female with adult children to run for Vice President with McCain?
To: the hearing impaired me. Love: the deaf me.
By Megan Jordan | August 19th, 2008 | Category: BN Channel Personal | 10 comments
Originally published at Strange Musings of a Distracted Spunk.
browsing around the internet, I found an article I wrote when I was
nine. Fourteen years ago. I remember sitting in a hotel room with my
dad in upstate New York, on our last family vacation before my parents
divorced, patiently editing and revising and writing. Apparently, even
when I couldn’t write well, I still strove to write. Shows how much of
this is innate.
I read through, I laughed at my younger self. Things that didn’t seem
important to me then are now – isn’t that true of everyone? It just
goes to show how much we can change. Then I thought, what would I say?
Because the nine year old me has yet to see so much. In a post McGee wrote about time traveling, she asked what we would say to our past selves. I wrote, …honestly?
There’s nothing I can think of that I would tell myself. Though I
wouldn’t mind hearing from myself in five years and knowing where I am
then. I never really thought much about the future – just knew it was
out there. And someday it will be here.
back, however, while I can’t go back in time, it’s like a little piece
of time caught up with me. So. From the twenty three year old me to the
nine year old me. A little slice of the future. Welcome, darling. It’s
been an interesting ride, and I gather it’s only going to continue
being bumpy.
My name is DS. I am nine years old. I am hearing impaired. I wear
hearing aids. My little sister is also hearing impaired. That is what
this story is about.
Sweetheart.
This is not a story. A story has a beginning, a middle, and an end. Or
some variation thereof. What you wrote? Is purely an article. I gather
for our age, we were rather intelligent. Not that that’s remotely a
surprise, given how intelligent and witty and charming we remain to
this moment, but it may take you a few years and MANY creative writing
classes to really understand what comprises a story.
(click title for more)
Learning to Accept My Autistic Son
By Megan Jordan | July 24th, 2008 | Category: BN Channel Overcoming Adversity | 7 comments
Originally published on Mother of Confusion
My son was born after midnight during the cooler days of May, before the Central Valley could blaze triple-digit temperatures.
The delivery room was packed full of people. The doctor, several
nurses, my husband, my parents and my mother-in-law were in attendance.
As my son emerged into the world, I expected him to gasp and then cry
about the abrupt ejection.
He did not.
Instead he was quiet and blue. The umbilical cord was wrapped around
his slender neck several times. Of course I didn’t know that yet, but
the jubilant faces of the others gave way to peaked, pinched
expressions.
When I asked what was wrong. The response was, “Nothing. Everything’s okay. It’s okay.”
The reassurances scared me. I was only 20-years-old, but already I knew people lied when things were really, really wrong.
(click title for more)
Snotty Sobs
By sparksfley | July 2nd, 2008 | Category: BN Channel Overcoming Adversity | 2 comments
Originally Posted at Mom-O-Matic.
I’m going to try and talk about what’s going down with son because it’s kind of eating me up these days. When I write in this blog I do try to stick to just telling my own stories. That way I’m the only that can get mad when I realize that everyone knows my scene. But the lines between my story and his story are kind of blurry. When I look at my kids it’s like someone put the zoom lens on in my head. I really don’t see anything but their beautiful faces looking up at me. So worrying about son is overshadowing my view of everything. And I can feel it weighting me down into the depths of crappymotherhood. So I’m hoping I can get this off my chest and breathe a little easier, but do so in a way that respects his privacy. Here goes.
Son’s just been having a hard time of it this year. He’s been sporting these big, black shiners under his eyes all the time. He seemed run down and whiny often – but in that way that kids get when they’re sick. I admit we hoped that after his adenoid/tonsil surgery the relief from constant sinus infections would restore him. Bring back our bright and sunny guy. But my mommy gut knew that there was going to be something more going on. However, I told mommygut that she’s often been wrong since she started hanging around with myanxiety and to stuff it.
And at first he seemed to feel so much happier. He was sleeping better and eating more too. But those darn shiners just wouldn’t go away. And I hated them because they look like he hasn’t gotten enough care, or that he was sad. And then he started to say quite often, “I feel sad and I don’t know why.” (Mmm? What’s that sound? Oh that’s just my heart smashing to the floor – let me get a broom and clean that right up.)
(click title fore more)
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