Part 2

Forgive me in delaying Sloane’s story. I’ve realized so much of this is still so raw along with the fear and anxiety because of what we walked through with her and continue to walk through. Let me be VERY clear we are the lucky ones because there are many others that aren’t here to write a story as beautiful as ours. I tell the story because it’s painful, raw, full of fear, full of emotions, and in truth it’s real life. As I’ve gotten older I’ve realized everyone has a story worth hearing, but many of us don’t bother in finding out. Instead we are so wrapped up in our own lives we don’t even notice the person next to us who is struggling with addiction, who’s child is sick, or their spouse lost a job that they desperately needed. Instead we focus on our own problems never seeking out how to help a friend in need. I’ve also learned that sometime lending an ear, hand, or shoulder, makes our very own pain or struggle seem so much less painful. Why is that, maybe because we allow the focus not to be on us for once. Through Sloane’s story I’m pulling back the VERY layers that left me crippled in fear for years. Without facing them, walking through it, or understanding that purpose comes through our pain I wouldn’t be writing these words. So without further ado and I do hope I am much better this month in continuing our medically complex journey but if life gets in the way and I find myself enjoying the moments I’m going to do that to. Enjoy the moments because life is fleeting and when I’m hopefully old and grey I can look back and remember all the smiles, despite the anxiety, remember the laughter that filled my house despite the worry of the next scan, and say I pushed past all of that and I enjoyed the everyday moments that make up a lifetime of memories.

Waking up the day after our initial scan was a blur. I remember thinking everything that happened the pervious day was a terrible nightmare. A nightmare that I realized I couldn’t escape. Looking back it was like living in someone else’s reality. As much as I wanted to stay in bed and process what happened, life keeps moving. Graham needed to get to school, we both had work because we had bills to pay, and we had NO idea what was next so we needed to work while we could. I was working from home a little bit by that point and knew going into an office wasn’t going to work in fear of having an emotional breakdown while on a conference call. I also couldn’t be alone in my house with my thoughts, so I went to my parents. They lived 10 minutes away at the time and I knew I needed to be with someone.

So I packed Graham up for school, my work bag, and headed over to my parents to work. I seriously worked like nothing was happening, in between calls/meetings I would sob to my parents trying to understand what was happening. I think we were all in shock. We left the doctors office without knowing much. Of course we started googling and we honestly didn’t know what we wanted her diagnose to be. At first I was hopeful it was just a mis-diagnosis but as I started to replay the words and search on the internet what it could possible be - we were still at a loss. We knew we were waiting to hear from the MFM doctor when my MRI would be in hopes that it would tell us more. We also went in to to see my doctor and started to talk through what this could be.

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There were sooo many conversations that led up to us leaving Charlotte but the jist of it was - no doctor in Charlotte knew what they were dealing with. After looking at the scans, my doctors said we would try and do a c-section and meet with a brain surgeon here. He made one comment that stuck with us and probably helped direct our path. In the midst of our googling, we found children hospitals all over, Philly, Cincinnati, Boston, and Duke. He said don’t bother with the small ones if you’re going to leave - you either “GO BIG OR GO HOME”. That was it. As much as we wanted to stay in Charlotte to be close to our home, we left it up to God to decide our path and this is what’s crazy. He confirmed everything that we were thinking in one phone call. In between the googling, trying to decide what to do next, scheduling a c-section in Charlotte, meeting with a brain surgeon here in hopes they knew what they were doing. We started to read about Exit Procedures, we mentioned it to my doctor and he never heard of it. There were 3-4 hospitals that did this and it was known to save the unborn’s baby’s lives. I won’t go into the details but here’s a link about the procedure. https://www.chop.edu/treatments/ex-utero-intrapartum-treatment-exit-procedure

In between all the talks with my doctor, our parents, and now waiting on the MRI results we decided that if we needed to go elsewhere we would. As terrible as it would be to leave Graham we felt we needed to give Sloane every opportunity to survive. That was the first part. I had my MRI on a Monday and on Tuesday morning at 8 am the MFM doctor called me with an update. I can’t remember if she confirmed the mass on Sloane’s head was a teratoma but she said I’m sending your scans to the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia to see if they can help because no one in Charlotte has dealt successfully with what we are seeing. I hung up the phone and figured ok, let’s see what happens. I’m not joking, at 8:17 am (17 minutes later) the Fetal Center for Medicine from Philadelphia called my cell phone and said “We just received your scans and you need to get on a plane to Philly today, we can help”. First I was in shock I received a call so fast, second I wasn’t in the mindset to leave so I pushed back and asked for a later appointment saying we have a two year old who needs to be taken care of and the women on the other end was insistent……She said you are in risk of going into labor and if you go into labor your child won’t survive. I hung up the phone, called Jay and told him we had to go, called my mom and told her what happened and while we were on the phone she booked us two flights to Philly that afternoon. We coordinated everything we could in the shortest amount of time and headed to the airport around 3 pm. All we knew was that we had 8 hours of appointments the next day. In between the crying, packing a bag for three days, calling my boss, saying goodbye to Graham and the worry I think I was going through the motions. I just kept praying for whatever was on her head to be gone by the time we showed up. That whatever it was it would be ok. I literally ran to the doctors to get a note that I could fly and he asked me, why were we leaving since it was such a drastic change from trying to make it work in Charlotte. I said at this point when CHOP gave us hope, we had no choice but to hear them out. We owed it to Sloane, to our future family, and to our sanity to at least go somewhere that could tell us something more than, “we will try”. I had no idea when I boarded that plane I wouldn’t return to Charlotte for almost three months.

PTSD

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Parenting with PTSD. I think the easiest way to explain this is having that feeling like you’re constantly looking over your shoulder anticipating something bad is about to happen. So you’re never truly focused on what’s in front of you because you’re constantly turning, waiting, and anticipating those fears all while missing steps in front of you. Not focused behind and not focused in front.

Hopeful for a discharge soon.

Hopeful for a discharge soon.

I never even remotely considered that I might have PTSD until Jay’s cousin explained it to me last Thanksgiving. Almost four years ago I watched Sloane slip into two cardiac arrests after bringing her home from a three week hospital stay. The doctors let us go home because we promised to bring her back the next day to discuss a tracheostomy. We never made it to that appointment. We already spent Christmas and New Years in the hospital so we were thrilled to go home on January 1 with the reassurance from our doctors that we had what we needed at home to care for her. When we brought her home she was on heavy amounts of oxygen and looked pretty bad but we figured we just needed to make it work a few more days to figure out what course of action to take next. Little did we know her tiny body was so tired. She was tired of doctors and nurses trying to figure out what was wrong for three weeks to no avail. She was tired of trying to breath past the tumor in her airway that no one knew was there. While we were worried, we were so excited to be together with Graham. We had to split Christmas day between the hospital and my parents house and that was heartbreaking in itself. I remember slamming the door of my parents house trying to hold back tears of anger, I didn’t want to leave our two year old but I had to. Jay spent Christmas Eve with Sloane and I needed to relieve him so he could spend the day with Graham and get some rest. I was so ANGRY that I had to leave but I had no choice. I couldn’t give up on my daughter and husband. So to say we were happy to be home all together would be an understatement.

The one present I got to see Graham open on Christmas morning

The one present I got to see Graham open on Christmas morning

As soon as the three of us got back to my parents house we set Sloane up on the floor with her oxygen tank and started the madness of opening gifts with everyone which is a HUGE event to our family. After unwrapping gifts, eating, and talking we all went to bed pretty exhausted. Jay and I were planning on taking turns sleeping in Sloane’s room to ensure she was breathing and was safe. Jay took the first shift and was catching up on highlights from the Buckeyes game when her alarm started to go crazy. He ran into Sloane’s room and picked her up: she was losing color, almost a grayish-blue, her skin was clammy, and her little body was lifeless. Her heart rate and oxygen numbers were dangerously low and dropping. He ran to get me and he quickly put her on the floor. I guess survival instinct kicked in and I immediately started CPR compressions while my mom prayed, Jay dialed 911, and my dad paced the hallway praying. As I counted 30 chest compressions along with two breaths there were thousands of thoughts flying. I was watching her numbers drop into the teens, wondering how God could let her die after everything we’ve already been through, that this moment could be the last that I spend with my daughter and this is NOT how I want to remember it. I remember staring into her eyes pleading with God to keep her brain whole if she did live. I remember all of these thoughts racing back and forth but yet I was still focused on what I had to do. With every compression Sloane just stared at me; our eyes were locked the entire time. I remember hearing my mom’s voice over Sloane, “You will not die, you will not die, and praying life over her lifeless body.” I know with every word that she declared it was an answer to prayer. To this day I have absolutely no idea how long this lasted because I’ve rarely talked about it or allowed myself to process the event. I don’t think I wanted to allow myself to remember because the pain and fear of losing her was too much for me to remember. I’ll save the rest of the story for later but watching your child slip away is something no parent should ever have to witness. It breaks you in half and brings you to your knees.

Christmas Day 2014 in the PICU

Christmas Day 2014 in the PICU

I know for myself, I avoided processing the trauma of administering CPR to my 4 month old for three years. It was easier to ignore these feelings rather than process them because of the hurt and fear. I think we can tend to do this in all aspects of our life. It’s easy to say tomorrow, I’ll do it tomorrow rather than do the hard stuff today. Whether that’s changing our diet, working out, communicating our feelings, or facing your fears head on. All it took for me was one person explaining that I experienced a trauma and “it’s ok not to be ok.” I replayed that conversation over and over and started to dissect how trauma was affecting my everyday life. I realized I was parenting Sloane totally different than I parent Graham. I was making my decisions out of heightened anxiety and fear of losing her again because I almost did. This goes back to my helicopter post. I had to acknowledge it was affecting me and the simple act of acknowledgment was what I needed to face this head on because I didn’t want my kids to be in therapy due to my heightened anxiety or fear of losing them. I wasn’t allowing joy to enter any situation because I was FREAKING out ALL THE TIME. Sometimes I still do but it’s a thousand times better. My therapist explained this so well the other day; when you experience a trauma your brain doesn’t allow you to let your guard down so you’re always on edge. So I decided I had no choice but to work through it.

Parenting little humans in general is already so hard, but throw on medical complications, illness, sickness, or anything else that causes trauma or stress it can potentially throw one into a realm of heightened awareness that probably isn’t good for anyone’s parenting ability. PTSD doesn’t allow us to feel the joy in the moments what we should be savoring. Instead it steals that and takes us down a path of “what ifs.” I know for me, what helped was acknowledging and processing the event itself and the feelings connected to the event and realizing it’s ok to ask for help. Therapy has helped, listening to podcasts has helped, and prayer has helped. I think with a combination of everything it allowed me to start the process of walking towards a new journey of hope without the burdens or anxieties of the what if’s that tend to weigh us down when all we’ve focused on is the trauma. It’s ok to not be ok because when you recognize that, that’t the first step in moving forward.

Waiting to go home

Waiting to go home

Beauty out of Ashes

He makes beauty out of ashes – have you ever sat around to think about what that actually means?  I have, and I know first hand out of our own pain and struggles; there is joy that might not have been found without walking THROUGH it.   I’ve contemplated this space, blog, or whatever you want to call it for a VERY long time. Back in January one of  my best friends told me I should start a blog and run a ½ marathon.  She told me I needed to set goals for myself.  I distinctly remember laughing and saying I hate running and I have nothing to say.  For some reason I’m now doing both.  At points while typing I've asked myself why, but then realized why not.  It may be hard and scary but you know what's worse.  REGRET.  So here I am attempting to be vulnerable and real about raising a medically complex child and walking this unknown path all while still trying to manage being a good wife, present mom, daughter, sister, friend, employee etc.. and let me be honest it’s HARD and lonely at times. 

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More often than not, I have wished there was a road map for our journey, wishing, hoping, and praying for answers.  Four year ago when our lives were turned upside down I remember Googling some of Sloane’s conditions and there wasn’t much to read and the doctors couldn't tell us anything definitive about her future.  Instead we live in 6-month increments, with appointments and therapies in-between MRIs believing everything is stable.  What I’ve started to realize in the midst of these waiting periods, maybe it’s better this way.  I don’t want a diagnosis defining our future of what she can and can’t do.  I want to push her forward to be the best she can be.  I remember telling the doctors that she can do everything everyone else does until she shows us differently.  Guess what, so far she does everything.  We were told she wouldn’t hear out of her right ear.   When I whisper in her ear that is sutured shut and tell her she’s a superhero, she repeats back to me what I've said.  When the doctors told us she wouldn’t be an athlete because of the tumor on her cerebellum, she is starting her first soccer season this fall.   It's incredible to see a child overcome the supposed limits of a diagnosis.  So I say all of that to say this - I hope this will be a space of hope and lots of laugher and learning together how to navigate the everyday challenges or raising medically complex kids but doing it gracefully and with JOY.