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October 16, 2002
Chers lecteurs,
BTW, I’m 50% French Canadian, 50% Scottish stock. Did all my schooling in French. Although my mother has only spoken English to me all my life, I only started speaking it by the age of 10. All this to warn you that I tend to write long sentences (French influence) and batter many English expressions. A few years ago, Eric sent me flowers at work after what we had had what I considered a benign argument. I was kind of hoping it was from a secret admirer until I read the little card that said: “Don’t count your chickens goodbye”. I knew it was from him, because he was the only one to witness this merging of two expressions into one. Needless to say, I was tickled pink and a little disappointed at the same time.
The Good
Funny how life is. You can find a justification for every little thing you do or think. Just like when you go out and buy a new pair of shoes when you know you need them like a hole in your head. Just like when you think you’ve got the whole world figured out and then wham you get hit on the head and realize that there’s a whole world out there that you never ever thought of once! This knock came with Victor’s birth.
The BIGGEST hurdle of all when you give birth to a disabled child is acceptance. If you can adapt your expectations, everything falls right into place. Although once in a while I get down because it seems to take Victor forever to reach some milestones, the whole acceptance thing came pretty easily to me.
It dawned on me that it was in society’s best interest to change its attitude towards people with disabilities because they are here to stay and in growing numbers at that. Women are having their children later in life and this means there are more and more pregnancy complications. Ironically, science has been doing everything in its power to eliminate problem pregnancies with all these new tests but at the opposite end of the spectrum is saving more and more babies that would not survive if we let nature run its course!!!
Contrary to what prevailing logic would dictate, we, as in humans, need problems. It’s amazing how many lives are dedicated to problem solving or care giving: researchers, doctors, lawyers, social workers, etc. Disabilities are a fact of life and at the root of great discoveries. More than one intelligent, good looking alpha person needs a source of inspiration to accomplish great deeds. Disabled people offer a source of inspiration and bring out the greatness in people. Have you ever noticed the disproportionate number of great achievers who had to overcome some sort of sickness or disability at one point in their life? It says something, they see the world differently and help us see it differently also.
It has been quite easy to stay positive because we’ve been blessed with 1) an easy disability 2) an easy child. Yes, we have a hectic schedule because of a never ending list of appointments (eye doctor, ear and nose specialist, cardiologist, pediatrician, educator, speech therapist, occupational therapist) but we have not had to change our lifestyle. I consider Victor at 3 ½ like a normal 2 ½ to 3- year old. I think it’s quite impressive considering he was 8 weeks premature (3 lbs 3oz) and underwent open-heart surgery.
Speaking of impressive. Victor, for the first time, asked us to put him on the potty for his pipi!!! He went into the washroom and put his potty on the toilet seat. Luckily, Eric saw this and asked him if he had to go. Victor grinned and let out a chuckle, his way of saying yes.
The Bad
Eric was gone for the week on a business trip to California and I experienced the week from hell. It does not help that obsessive compulsive me decided to finish off the basement and transform it into a playroom. Gyprock, mouldings, wallpaper, paint and border, you name it I did it.
This is how it went:
Sunday evening: Eric explains to Victor that he is leaving for a whole week.
Sunday night: Eric irons shirts for trip to Ca way past bedtime. I’m trying to sleep amid the noise and light. I wish he’d iron in the closet but he refuses to. I’ve tried to get him to switch Victor into the smaller room so we can make a guest bedroom out of the big room for me to sleep in situations like this but for some reason he’s adamant about Victor keeping the big room and rambles on about not touching Victor’s sanctuary. I keep on repeating that Victor is only 3 ½ but he clams up. I even bought the border for the room. It’s still in the trunk of my car. All I need is the green light.
Monday: 1am, 2am, 3am 4am, Victor comes to check up on daddy. Why Eric told him about his trip is beyond me! What was he thinking!!!
Monday: 5am, Eric’s alarm goes off. Rush, rush, rush to get to the airport. The entire household is awake. I just can’t seem to get my act together and get out of the house. I finally drop off Victor. Oops! Too late for the 7:34 am train and can’t park at my regular lot because it’s full by 7:40am so I must drive to the next train station. Lucky me is stuck at the exit waiting for the same light to change 4 times (who on earth synchronizes these lights?). By the time I park I’ve missed the 7:49 train and must wait for the next train. I NEED my coffee. Finally in the office an hour late.
Monday: evening with kids. Olivia is under the weather. I put kids to bed. Great I can work on the basement.
Tuesday: 3 am. I check up on Olivia. She’s burning up. I give her medicine and a sponge bath. I stay awake an hour or so until her fever breaks. She sleeps in my bed.
Tuesday: 5 am. Victor comes to join us. It’s one big party with 360 turns, feet in the face.
Tuesday morning: Quick call to my mother-in-law. She offers to babysit Olivia. Whew!!! Have to wait for her, get to work late once again.
Tuesday evening: evenings with the kids. Put kids to bed. Yaaay!! I can work on the basement again!
The Ugly
Wednesday: 3am. I can hear the pitter patter of little feet. I get up, it’s Victor. “No, no Victor it’s still time for dodos”. I pick him up. What’s this slime on my arm, from my wrist to my elbow? Bring my forearm to my nose. Gag!!! It’s diarrhea!!! “Poor thing. Come on Victor let’s go change this diaper.” I sit him on the changing table. Puke. Oh my, it’s coming out both ends. Stand him up on the floor while I clean the changing table. Frrrrrrrrt. What is that???!!! Meanwhile the floor is covered in liquid poop. I finally sit him on the toilet. Needless to say, he kept on going at both ends every 15 minutes until 6am. My mother-in-law once again was kind enough to come in to babysit both kids for the day. Olivia was still sick.
Thursday evening: “Victor what is this in your diaper? You know very well you’re supposed to do your poo-poos in the toilet.” It’s a pull-up so I’m ripping it apart and I pull. What’s stuck? So I pull once again. What do I see but this perfect oval big production ballistically cutting through the air. It’s like in slow motion and I have absolutely no reflex to catch it. It lands with a big splat into a big blob in exactly the same spot as the day before. Different day, different _____!!! Victor sits up, looks at his production on the floor. I can’t tell if he’s perplexed or amazed and I start laughing so hard it hurts. This is definitely not what I bargained for when I got myself a little family.
Until the next poop or scoop whichever comes first,
Danielle
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