When life gives you lemons

When Sonzee was only 10.5 months I wrote a blog post about lemons.  As I read it now I know it was one of those posts that I wrote to try to boost my morale and attempt to be positive.  So much has happened since that blog post, yet there is still the same passionate desire for "her life [to] be easier, less painful, less scary, and less dependent."  I cannot say that these past 3.5 years have brought any of those things, but it certainly was not for the lack of trying.  I know we have made every decision for her based on our desire for her to achieve her best quality of life possible.  I will always wonder if she feels we have been successful or if she wishes we made different choices.  

Last night one of her sisters was at a class at the mall and while I waited I was able to walk around a little.  I have been meaning to get the initial bracelet for her baby brother because my best friend started the tradition when our oldest was born when she sent me the "L".  So when I saw the Alex and Ani store, I walked inside.  After picking up the letter "N", I was taking a look around.  These last few weeks we have been bearing an extremely heavy weight on our shoulders and I wanted to see if anything spoke to me, so when I saw the lemon, my only decision was necklace or bracelet.

I wish I knew what you're supposed to do "when life gives you lemons" because Sam and I don't always agree.  We have tried shelving them, squeezing them, making lemonade, freezing them, throwing them, making margaritas and every other possible alcoholic beverage with them.  Nothing seems to be fulfilling, nothing seems to make me feel like we have done anything correctly, nothing seems to make sense, and nothing seems to have made a damn bit of difference for everything we have done for Sonzee.  The only thing I can say is that we have been doing our absolute best and no matter where this journey goes, there won't ever be regrets.  

So every day I put this necklace around my neck I will remind myself that when life gave us lemons we did everything we could with the information that was given to us, with the support of those who have shared in the ups and downs of this roller coaster ride of a journey, and that really was the best we could do, no matter how short-changed or inadequate it might have felt.

I knew

I knew the day would come.  I thought about it numerous times during her first year of life.  I wondered when exactly the moment would happen, how it would occur, the situation I would find myself in.  I never had a clear image of what exactly would transpire, but I knew after so many encounters that one-day things would be vastly different. I knew there would come a day when the small talk surrounding a run in encounter with a "baby" in a stroller would yield a different response than "how cute", "oh, is she 1?", "what's her name?", "she is so pretty", "what pretty eyes", and/or some other similar but positive and smile exchanging encounter.  I wondered at what point it would occur, always fearful of the day it would happen, but then of course forgetting about the potential on the day that it did.

After all the years of hesitant exchanges standing next to her stroller, eager to just smile along and chuckle at whatever praising remark was made, the one time that I forgot it could occur, is of course when it did.  I knew she wouldn't be a baby forever, I knew she wouldn't be tiny forever, G-d knows she has enough tubes and medical interventions erasing the Failure to Thrive diagnosis as we speak.  I was never naive enough to think that she would always get positive head turns, but in the end, maybe I was.  I knew once she was bigger she would get noticed for her hand stereotypies and her abnormal flexibility.  I knew people would start to realize she wasn't a baby, but in the majority of ways, she really still is, and ironically the phrase "look at the pretty baby" that used to make me grit my teeth because she wasn't a baby, I wish would return.

I knew her growing up would eventually happen, but I didn't expect for the day to occur while walking down 68th Street in New York City.  I knew one day someone would act in a way that hurt me to my core, but I didn't expect it to be a man walking a cute Yorkie named PJ, who (I can only assume) had zero intention to break a mother's heart while he was out walking his friendly dog.  I knew one day it would be completely obvious that the little girl in the stroller with splatter colored framed glasses and a customized pacifier clip was not actually a baby, but I didn't expect the silence after responding to the question about her age to be so deafening and feel like an eternity was passing by.  I knew one day there would be no words to fill the awkwardness that filled the air.  Yet the thing about preparing for the future with a diagnosis like CDKL5 is that there really is no way you can, because no matter how many dress rehearsals you have; when the curtains lift and you find yourself center stage, it is never exactly how you anticipated it to occur.

But I wish...

I was scrolling through my Facebook this week and there was a little girl who is similar in her presentation of CDKL5 as Sonzee, and she is now sitting unassisted.  I was honestly so excited for her and even more so her family.  She has no idea how much that little milestone will mean to them.  It is one of those milestones I have shelved for Sonzee; it is just easier that way.  After I scrolled past I did not keep thinking about her sitting, but then another image of her sitting appeared, and it bothered me that Sonzee never has gotten to experience that sort of independence. 

I really do not know how or even if her life would be drastically different if she was able to sit unassisted.  Would she even like it?  It is not as if she would be able to crawl out of sitting, or interact with any toys, so maybe her being unable to sit is saving her from the frustration of being left in the middle of the room to essentially do nothing.  I wonder why I cannot truly accept these limitations her body has on her.  I wonder if it is just because there is an inescapable guilt that comes from not being able to help her achieve these developmental milestones.

I do understand there is not anything I can do more of to help her, it is either something her body is able to do or something it is not.  It has little to do with any choices Sam and I have ever made regarding her medications.  It is not because we do not have her enrolled in 12 hour daily physical therapy sessions.  There was not something we did or did not do to cause her to be unable to sit.  It just simply is not in her DNA.

But oh, how I wish it were.

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Tug of war

We finally toured Sonzee's preschool yesterday.  I say finally, because we have known since she was 2 months old that we wanted to send her to this school.  We have attended the family program on Friday's over the past 2 years, but have never actually set foot on the other side of the double doors.  We have one remaining meeting in 13 days that will make this next step our official reality.  I am filled with mixed emotions as my baby girl is getting ready to enter her first school.  On one hand they are the same emotions that have filled my head and heart as her three older siblings took these same steps, on the other hand, they could not be more different.

I feel like my mind is separated into two sides and there is a rope attached to both sides, for every happy emotion there is one that makes my heart sad, and I am being pulled back and forth between them.  I am so excited that Sonzee will have the ability to flourish in a new environment, but it is not in the same environment where her siblings are.  I am so thankful she will be in a classroom that is tailored to meet her needs, but she will no longer be home with me every day.  Her classroom while likely to be amazing and will provide her with the tools she will need, is not a typical classroom in any manner.  I am so grateful for the opportunities this school will undoubtedly provide for her and to her, but they are not the opportunities parents wish for their children to have to experience when they envision their schooling.

We walked from classroom to classroom, looking through the glass at the children as they learned.  We started by seeing those children who are developmentally the oldest; smiles across their faces, lights bright in the room, sitting around the table enjoying their snacks.  Multiple teachers and aids at their side helping them with their snack time activity.  As we continued our tour the lights in the classes were lower to help with seizure activity, and the centers were slowly replaced with several types of equipment.  Sam joked that there were easily thousands of dollars in equipment in one of the rooms.  My heart bursting at the idea of her getting to experience incredible opportunities that insurance would never allow us to do at home, but simultaneously hurting at the fact that she needs all the several types.

My baby girl is no longer a baby for all intents and purposes, but she will not be walking into her first day of school.  She will not require a teacher to hold her while she kicks and screams begging me not to leave her.  She won't come rushing back to the door or look at me with a face that pleads with me not to leave her with people she hardly knows for the day.  She won't give me kisses or huggies or tell me she loves me, to have a good day, that she will miss me or even say good-bye.  I won't look through the glass window and see her distracted by an activity, so she doesn't realize I am gone.  She won't glance back to see if I have walked away.  All the first days of school experienced since 2015 that brought me tears as I wondered how Sonzee's would go are about to come to fruition, culminating into the biggest game of tug of war.

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Simplicity

On Sunday we take our older children (with Sonzee in tow) to their weekly swim classes.  During their session in the baby pool to the right of the "big kid pool" is the class for babies 2 months to 6 months old.  Little babies that are getting acquainted with the water while bonding with their mom or dad, or both.  Sonzee participated in this class when she was that age.  I have distinct memories of her sleeping the entire half an hour due to having a seizure before entering the pool.  The other parents would all smile and comment about how cute it was that she was able to sleep the entire time, they never knew why.  I enjoyed that class because it was a time when Sonzee was "the same".  It was a time that I could pretend that she was not developmentally behind.  It was a time that her seizures, CDKL5, and our lives were essentially a secret to outsiders.

Today as I was helping Sonzee's twin girl get dressed, I was standing right next to the baby pool.  I could not help but stare at each baby and his/her individual experience.  There were 5 boys and 1 girl in the class.  Mostly dads were present and they all appeared to be on the younger side of the age range.  The mom or dad was taking a cup with holes at the bottom and letting the water fall over each baby's head.  I took note of all the reactions present; surprise, eyes closed with a squirm, and some pure delight.  I could not help but smile.  It has taken me 8 months to feel ready to blog openly that Sonzee is going to become a big sister in the next 6-8 weeks.  I have had so many experiences along this journey that I have wanted to put to paper, but it was not until today when that first baby in the pool gave such a huge smile as his reaction to the water over his head that I knew I could do it.

Chalk it up to fear of opinions, fear of something going wrong, fear of comments, fear in general, or maybe it is just the uncertainty of how our family dynamic is about to change adding another child into the mix.  Whatever the reason, I could not bring myself to "admit" that our world, Sonzee's world is going to change and deep down I know it will be for the best but on the surface, there is an immense amount of fear of the unknown.  What I have missed most about having an atypical child is the simplicity that a typical baby brings.  Yes, there are sleepless nights, there is the typical parent worry, there is the typical unknown, there are the typical challenges a new baby brings to a family, yet after having a Sonzee there is an appreciation for the simplicity that I am praying to occur with this baby.  Fear is deeply etched into this hope of everything working out the way I am so anticipating.  Sometimes the fear is so suffocating it is paralyzing, not that this baby will have CDKL5 (yes, we checked the best we could for those of you whom I know are curious) but of every other rare situation that could possibly occur.  Once you enter the world of rare you realize how not so rare it is.  However, in the recesses of my mind and heart is just pure faith that this baby is exactly what our family needs to pull us all together and keep us grounded in a manner of simplicity I am ready to appreciate in a completely new manner, all thanks to Sonzee.  

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Becoming aware

I prefer to do positive style posts because that is how it's best for me to deal with all things CDKL5.  The past week and a half I have spent each morning deciding which fact I would be sharing about life with CDKL5.  My goal is always trying to balance shedding light on some of our hardships while also putting a semi positive spin.  However, almost two weeks into this CDKL5 awareness month and it's safe to say it makes me more aware of just how tough life with CDKL5 is.

Over the weekend I wanted to share a fun fact or two about CDKL5.  I wanted to capture little bear completing some challenging task that requires her a bit more effort, or her sitting and being happy/content like a lot of other children with CDKL5 mutations.  I just wanted to share a picture of her adorable little smile, or maybe even capture a laugh...but none of those things happened.  So I skipped posting.  It's one thing to go on with our days experiencing each one of them as they come, but it's another to realize that things aren't so great.  I guess I don't give it much thought as a whole, but wanting to write a post makes me have to "accept" what exactly is going on.  

Sadly a typical day for Sonzee begins around 6:30am with her crying.  It takes Sam and I multiple guesses and attempts to calm her before she calms for a bit either in her bouncer, chair, or with some cuddles.  The calmness only last temporarily and then she's back to her cries and screams.  The rest of the day is a gamble of how much she will cry or be miserable.  The majority of days she spends clearly uncomfortable and so we spend the majority of our time trying to figure out what she is telling us so we can fix it.  We usually fail miserably and eventually we give up.  We change her position all day, give her cuddles, the kids attempt to play with her and entertain her- it's usually a major fail.  Eventually it's bedtime and thankfully she sleeps at night or occupies herself quietly in her crib.  Then we get to experience our own real life Groundhog Day on repeat...every day.

It's been challenging to adequately represent CDKL5 for Sonzee and be respectful of what I would think she would want me sharing as far as pictures and her day goes.  I guess this is the whole part of spreading awareness.  Letting others know they aren't alone if their child who has a CDKL5 mutation isn't always smiling and happy and reminding me that it's okay to be angry about the fact that this is the life of our two year old.

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Happy Diagnosis Day?

Happy Diagnosis Day?  I am typically a fan of celebrating every inch stone, milestone, Sonzee-stone, what have you, so it only seems fitting to somehow adorn our house with balloons and give thanks to CDKL5 being placed into our lives two years ago today.  Since I am not quite ready for that after only two years, I suppose the all-out celebration will have to be placed on a brief hold and reconsidered next year (or the year after?).  Regardless, today marks an important day in our family's life, and so today I am going to explain to every person who reads this blog post and for those of you who share the information written on this blog that CDKL5 does NOT mean your child has a worthless, unmeaningful, depressing, insert any negative connotation type of life.

CDKL5 has brought many challenges for Sonzee and our family.  The diagnosis made our worst fears become a reality in a matter of seconds.  However, two years in and our daughter is still alive and has not given up, so we will not either.  There are many people who pity the life that Sonzee lives.  There are those who decide that her quality of life is not "quality".  There are those who think she would be or that we would be better off without her here.  Yes, having a CDKL5 mutation is not ideal, no, I would never have chosen for my child to have a CDKL5 mutation, but this is how she was given to us and we love her the way she is.  She may be a little girl trapped inside her body, but she is smart and she is aware and she knows what is going on (it only takes one minute of actually being present with her to know all of this).

I pity people who think that having a disability defines a person.  I actually despise people who think that because a child is nonverbal that means they have no idea what is going on.  I feel sorry for people who do not take the time to get to know the child and learn to communicate with them in a different manner.  Every person has a story to tell and it may not be told verbally, and if you do not give a person the chance to tell it in his/her own way, that is not reflective of their cognitive capabilities.  If you meet a child or a person with CDKL5 I challenge you to spend time really getting to know him/her, not just petting their heads, or looking through their eyes.  I promise you will see the light in their eyes and their individual personality shine through, along with their obvious likes and dislikes made abundantly clear.

Having a CDKL5 diagnosis for Sonzee did not give us the answers we wanted, it did not give us closure and it did not give us any specific path to take.  It continues to give us speedbumps, hurdles, and roadblocks that we must creatively maneuver around.  It brings many nights of tears and a lifetime of fears as a parent.  CDKL5 means a life of challenges for Sonzee and a life of defending her capabilities to others who are too blind and closeminded to see them.  CDKL5 has given me various new perspectives, many great friendships, and an extended family that I will forever be grateful for. 

After only two years, the diagnosis is still too raw for me to embrace with open arms, but the strength, perseverance, and bearlike qualities it has given to Sonzee and honestly every other person in our immediate family is helping me to accept it a little more every day.  

So... I guess happy CDKL5 diagnosis day?

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Unexpected excitement

It does not cease to amaze me that one minute I can be mourning parts of the life we now lead and then a mere 60 seconds later I can be so excited about something I never imagined myself being elated over, such as purchasing new medical equipment.  Maybe it is because in my mind I had always pictured Sonzee in most of the equipment we have already gotten for her, or maybe it is because I always anticipated it would be in her cards.  Whatever the reason I will embrace it and admit aloud how I am extremely excited (and quite ready) to be on the mission of ordering her wheelchair.

I have spent hours online looking at what I felt would be the best fit for her.  I of course want her to have all the bells and whistles and for me I cannot emphasize how excited I am at the prospect of having specific areas to place her rescue medications, feeding supplies, and portable oxygen concentrator.  Those items can be extremely heavy and the stroller does not provide adequate storage opportunities.  I am looking forward to her having an adequate tray for toys while we are on the go and proper support for her body because it has to be frustrating for her when she is tired and her head flops to the side.

I believe we have settled on the R82 Stingray tilt in space and I am so excited!  It looks like a stroller (this might be annoying as she gets older), pushes like a stroller, and as far as features go it has a million.  My favorite is the 180 degree seat turning option so she can face me or face outwards.  It can be taken apart and folded to be stored and will fit in the back of the mini van folded.  I never anticipated this moment to be filled with actual joy and eagerness, maybe that will change when it arrives, but I am pretty sure based on my feelings right now that I am just ready and have accepted this portion of the journey. Now to see what color she chooses!

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"Accept"

I have struggled with the term "acceptance" since we were in the position of learning Sonzee had epilepsy and that it was the result of a CDKL5 mutation.  When you find yourself in this type of situation, your brain and your heart do not always align with one another.  You know deep down what the reality of the situation is, but you think that love or some special power will bring a miracle and the situation will go against all the negative odds.  As you make your way through the journey certain realizations occur that put a halt or just downright stop certain fantasy dreams you might have conjured up, and you start to "accept" that what the situation now is, is in fact, what it is.  A huge problem I have with acceptance is that my brain says, "if you accept this fate, then you have given up", so I find myself constantly torn.

As I have shared, Sonzee will be turning two in a matter of weeks (2.5 to be more exact) and she is unable to sit on her own, she is unable to walk, she is unable to talk, and she is pretty much unable to do most typical things a child turning two should be able to do.  I have put off the purchase of two "big ticket" items for two reasons, 1. they cost a ridiculous amount of money and 2. buying the item makes me feel like I am giving up on her ever gaining the skill(s) on her own.  For two years my brain has told myself that Sonzee would probably sit unsupported between 3-5 years old and walk after age 7 (if she was able to gain these skills at all).  For those of you who might not be familiar with the deficits of CDKL5, those are the average ages that these skills are mastered within the CDKL5 population, if they are mastered.  While I did not expect Sonzee to gain the skill earlier, I dreamed it would happen.  There are plenty of girls around her age with a CDKL5 mutation who are capable of worlds more than she is, so I grasped at the fantasy it might be in her favor as well.  That has not been our case.

Last night I stared at the computer and decided with her birthday money she was given by both of her grandparents it was time to by the FireFly GoTo Seat.  I bought it in purple, and that is important to note because color choices become significant in these situations as they are what make buying special needs equipment tolerable for me.  This is one of those emotional days on this journey as it breaks my heart that she will be two and is not able to sit on her on.  It is one of those days where I "accept" where she is at and I "accept" that this tool will make her quality of life so much better.  She will now be able to sit in a grocery cart, at the table at a restaurant, and in her siblings’ power wheels cars.  Simultaneously, it is also one of those days where I mourn, yet again, where this mutation has led her life.

In addition to the GoTo Seat, I decided to get the FireFly Upsee so that she can feel what it is like to walk.  This is a device worn by an adult and we strap Sonzee in with a harness and she shares the footpads with the adult walking so her body gets the ability to feel what walking is like.  I felt this was the perfect time because she has good head control and she does not weigh that much.  This of course was bought in pink and I am extremely excited to give her this new experience and a different view of her surroundings.  

Two years ago I did not know that the FireFly website existed.  I was blissfully unaware to what laid ahead on our journey of becoming parents of four kids 5 and under.  Two years ago I never thought about seizures, stomach motility issues or small bowel bacterial overgrowth.  I never knew the names and spellings of the most commonly used seizure medications or thought that I would know more about a medical condition than some in the medical field.  Two years ago the life I dreamed of having had different plans for me and so now I will continue to spend the rest of my years working on "accepting" all of the changes.

Twenty Days

Twenty days, two weeks and 6 days, 480 hours, three different ways to countdown the amount of time remaining until Sonzee turns two.  A birthday I am so grateful to be celebrating, yet anxious about occurring.  Her outfits have been purchased and are sitting in our home, yet I sit here with a lump in my throat as I think about Sonzee as a two-year-old, a toddler; merely a year away from becoming a preschooler.  I know I should focus on the positive, but the fact is I am going to have a toddler who does not roll consistently, does not sit unsupported, does not reach out for me, does not talk, and does not crawl.  I am going to have a toddler who does not eat by mouth and who cannot chew solid foods.  My youngest is going to be a toddler and this is not at all how I imagined it would be.

As Sonzee gets older I must consciously remind myself that she is not actually a baby.  If it were not for the labels in her clothing or the fact that her birth certificate is dated 2015 this would be something I would argue.  I watched her in her bouncer as she was chewing on her hand and all I could do was imagine who she might have been.  I suppose some would say that is not fair, and there are some who are more capable than I am at accepting what they are given, but that is not me, at least not today.  I assumed things in all aspects would get more challenging as she got older, but it is one thing to assume and another to actually live it.  It is the latter that is far more difficult no matter how much mental preparation I try to give myself.

Another year of Sonzee's life is about to be in the story books, and it is one that I never would have imagined writing.  So many chapters were challenging to get through, and there are times I look back and wonder how we all made it to where we are today.  It is when I think of those times that I feel even more blessed of what we are about to celebrate.  Then there are the words that have yet to be written regarding her development, and it leaves my heart feeling weighted.  This is one of those times on this journey where the weight of it all sits heavily on my chest and makes it hard to breathe.  I sit here wondering how is it I will have the strength to continue doing this up and down on the see-saw for years to come.  I am sure as the years pass I will look back and think how naive I was to think that "that time" was the hardest.

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