A Tiny Punch

I'm not sure how to start this post.
The story of how my mommy armor recently suffered damage. Damage that still needs some serious repair.

Maybe a little background to begin.
Eslea has not been feeling well for about a week. She has red goopy eyes and is struggling to breathe as her tiny nose stays congested. After almost a week of listening to the poor child snort and gasp, I finally decided to take her to see the doctor. Since I decided at the last minute, I had to unfortunately wait for the walk-in doctor at the pediatric clinic. I have always been grateful that Eslea's doctor is so easily accessible and even more so when I can use the clinic his practice has set up for just such occasions.
Usually, I see the same pediatrician but I knew that there was a chance I would see someone new being that I was going through the walk-in. After waiting an hour, we finally managed to get a coveted examining room and again, waited. When the doctor finally arrived it confirmed that he was someone my Eslea has yet to met.

This man was somewhat older, maybe in his mid to late sixties. I am not sure how long he has been practicing in the United States. I write this because it impacts what comes next and how I reacted.

He underwent the regular checkup routine such as listening to her heart and checking her ears.
Somewhere amongst this evaluation, he looks at me and says....
"She is so alert. She doesn't look very retarded."

I swear my heart skipped a beat. I could feel my blood start to boil.
Somehow though I managed to tell him that "Yes, she is very alert. She is a pretty smart baby."
I had hoped that comment from me would deter any further evaluations on his part.
I was wrong.
He tried again "Well, you know there are different levels of retardation. She doesn't seem to have it very much."
Again, my southern graces and upbringing are trying with all their might to hold back my natural Italian/Irish genes from telling that doctor exactly what I thought about him.
Instead, I just smiled and changed the subject back to her health.

After he and the nurse left the room, I started to cry.
I love Eslea. To me, she is the most beautiful baby I could have ever imagined. She is perfect.

Yet after reading her chart, that doctor made an assumption about my child before he even laid eyes on her.
I know I could have used that opportunity to question his beliefs or challenge him.
But really, what would it have mattered?

I know the definition of the word retarded.
I know the negative uses of the word only have as much power as we allow.
I understand he may actually have been trying to compliment my daughter.
I understand that maybe he has not been practicing in the states for long and may not understand how that word effects people.
I also understand that there was once a time when the word was very common and I myself even used it regularly in the mental health field.

None of that matters. Because when someone uses that word to describe your child who is sitting so snugly cute while smiling and cooing in your arms... it HURTS.

A tiny little punch that made a hole right into my protective mommy armor.
I need stronger armor.

-erin

The Clouds have Lifted (An Eslea Update)

Today is a very special day.
For today marks six weeks since Eslea's open heart surgery.
Can I get a Whoop?!

For those not in the "know", six weeks is the amount of time doctors deem the "don't even think about it" stage. Okay, that's what I named it but you get the point. For six weeks, we had to be extra special careful of her breast bone, so there was very little (if any) tummy time, no picking her up under her arms, so on and so on. Although I'm still leery, I'm also excited at all the new developmental activities she now gets to undertake.

Six weeks. Six weeks since her surgery. I've spent some time reflecting on the moments that led up to that day. The day I allowed a surgical team I had met only briefly stop my precious little one's heart in their quest to save her life. Browsing the words that I wrote on the day the surgery was rescheduled and skimming the pictures of her tiny frail body...well, let's just say I have never felt such relief when the surgery was finally over. I have spent too many days in this short life of mine crying over the health of my sweet child.
Since that surgery, Esleas is growing and thriving. She is starting to become the child I imagined her to be. The very same child I hoped and dreamed over as I rubbed her head as she grew in my belly.
I take that back. She is better. Far better than any child I could have ever imagined. As I watch her, I can see the face of the child she is becoming. The face of the person she is going to be.

Excuse the blurriness, my battery was dying but I just had to show that little face.

Now, let's take pause for a moment to enjoy the mushy feeling that can only be found while gazing upon some sweet little baby pudge...



 Baby. Pudge. Yes. That's right. There is Whoopin' going on all over this house.

Six weeks. Smiling mama here.

We have met with the pediatric cardiologist since the surgery and although the majority of his findings were very good, he did have some bad news for us. Eslea still has a small hole in her heart; the closing of the PDA was not successful. Because of the extent of the leakage she now has through that hole, she will again need to undergo a procedure to close it sometime in the near future. The good part (of the bad news, if there is such a thing) is that she most likely will have a heart catheter used to fix the damage versus another open heart surgery.

The clouds are lifting. Sun shining. Baby Laughing.
Life is Good.

Eslea had her physical therapy evaluation yesterday for the first time. I nervously waited what the therapist would say because I knew how the heart condition has held her back. So much time passed in which Eslea was not allowed to be placed on her tummy that I was afraid of what the outlook might be. The proud mommy in me wants to tell the therapist all the things Eslea does well but I refrained because I want the truth, however it comes.
My mommy pride bubble grew bigger yesterday. Eslea, despite not having tummy time for almost three months now, is on track for her age. Here comes another...Whoop! She is almost sitting unassisted, rolls over when she is in the mood and the best thing is that she is honest to goodness trying to scoot around already. I love watching her little toes as they dig themselves into the floor while at the same time attempting to scoot those newly chubbed arms forward to reach some brightly colored toy in front of her. Man I love that little girl.

Thanks again to everyone who prayed for our little buggie and the good thoughts that were sent into the world.
Six weeks.
Okay, just one more...
Whoop!

-erin

The struggle at work with the word "retard"

Ever since Eslea was born, I began paying closer attention to the language that others use. Not only in reference to Eslea herself, but in regards to the world, situations, items. One of the words that has continued to irritate the depth of my soul is the word "retard". This is a word that not so long ago I myself would so easily throw off the tip of my tongue. Yet now, I find it disheartening how easily the word is tossed around where I work. I know that seems impossible that the word can be used found so freely, but it's true. Because for those that do not know, I work in a high school as a counselor.

As today, "Spread the Word to End the Word" day, edged closer I started thinking more about how that word is impacting my life and how often I hear it. Yesterday I decided to just hear for myself how often the word is used. So as I was walking to visit a teacher's classroom, I took time to listen closely to the conversations of those students around me. What I found was that in the span of just 5 minutes, I heard 3 separate conversations with students that used the word: "Man, you a retard" "That was so retarded" "She's retarded". That was three times in only five minutes, taking place in a very small span of hallway in a large high school of almost 2000 students. Three times. Five minutes.
Each time the word was used, I shuddered just a little bit. I could not help but imagine that they were directly referring to my beautiful Eslea. That whatever they were talking about they found so witless or unintelligent that they felt the need to compare it to a human being. Not just any human being, but one like my daughter. My sweet Eslea.

Now, these are good kids. If I would have approached them and asked them if they realized it was demeaning and hurtful to my daughter, they would have apologized. Because these kids know me and they have seen pictures of Eslea. They would never do anything to hurt her or I intentionally. Yet, they are oblivious to the fact that using that word is as wounding to me as if they said it about Eslea herself.

There are so many words out there that are demeaning. To them this may seem like yet another word we are adding to those that are inappropriate.  How do I address this? How do I stop it? In a school where the students throw out derogatory words as easily as week old milk, how do I get them to understand?

I had some time this morning alone while Eslea slept and I spent that time pondering those questions.
Basically it all boils down to awareness. Being aware of how our words can impact others.
And this is what I have come up with so far...

1. Our school has participated in "Mix it Up" day for the past few years. This year I can talk with the coordinator about making sure to include the Special Needs classrooms in with the lunchroom activities.

2. I can work towards having opportunities where more students can buddy with a student from the special needs classroom. Maybe in the art or PE class times.

3. Taking time to directly address one student at a time is tricky. I would not want to embarrass a student in front of friends by correcting language because this is a sure way to make a student defensive. Instead, I will make an effort to try and speak with several students privately. Of course this way only reaches one student at at time, yet as we all know, information can spread from student to student like wildfire when in the ears and mouths of high school students.

4. I am asking you, all my friends to share this information. If you are one of my work friends, take time to talk to your students about language and how stereotypes swell by the words we chose.

That's it. Those are my ideas. I would love to hear other ideas and know what you would do if you worked around such a large group of students all day. Heck, I would love to hear anything you're doing to make a change to "End the Word". If you blogged about the r-word yourself, make sure to post your blog in the comment sections so all readers can have the chance to read different viewpoints.

And with that, a video...
(scroll down to pause the music)

Thank you for taking the time to make a difference.

Buggie and all our special kiddos are grateful.

-erin