Last year on April 21st, I had a slight headache after the previous night's coming out party. As I made my coffee, I commented to my husband that I was sure what he was describing had been a fluke, and that after a good night's sleep our son would have forgotten all about having complained of feeling dizzy at bedtime the night before.
It wasn't a fluke.
The six weeks that followed were surreal. My boy's active, healthy trajectory of 11 year old life came to a screeching...pause... and within a few days he was unable to walk on his own, requiring a wheelchair to get around.
It's so strange to think back on that time. We were different then, a part of us changed when we were forced to consider the possibility that something was really wrong, wrong beyond repair. After a night in the hospital and an exhaustive battery of tests, we had a diagnosis, but it was only reached through the process of elimination and could not be confirmed until his symptoms had resolved. Which, thankfully, they did, on June 15th. And he's back. There is still a lingering worry about the fact my boy has yet to be discharged from the care of the pediatric neurologist and will likely have to continue his quarterly regimen of a godforsaken full spinal MRI (with and without contrast, for the record); but his last study was almost flirting with the best result we could have hoped for, so with any luck at all we can soon close up this file and unceremoniously shove it into the vault.
I've been reading all that I wrote during and after those six weeks. I wrote about it a little bit on this blog, here and here. And then I opened up another shop where I could exclusively write about what was going on with my wee drunken sailor, my beloved wobble boy.
It was clear that I was troubled and distracted, yet some of my posts were cheery and hopeful. Eventually, I lost my shit completely. And then, not long after, I hardly even mentioned on this blog what wonders had been reported on the other one. This post still brings me to my knees. And while I'm down there, I take a moment to say thanks. To God or the Universe or science or love or medicine or whatever it was that gave my boy back his balance.
It wasn't a fluke.
The six weeks that followed were surreal. My boy's active, healthy trajectory of 11 year old life came to a screeching...pause... and within a few days he was unable to walk on his own, requiring a wheelchair to get around.
It's so strange to think back on that time. We were different then, a part of us changed when we were forced to consider the possibility that something was really wrong, wrong beyond repair. After a night in the hospital and an exhaustive battery of tests, we had a diagnosis, but it was only reached through the process of elimination and could not be confirmed until his symptoms had resolved. Which, thankfully, they did, on June 15th. And he's back. There is still a lingering worry about the fact my boy has yet to be discharged from the care of the pediatric neurologist and will likely have to continue his quarterly regimen of a godforsaken full spinal MRI (with and without contrast, for the record); but his last study was almost flirting with the best result we could have hoped for, so with any luck at all we can soon close up this file and unceremoniously shove it into the vault.
I've been reading all that I wrote during and after those six weeks. I wrote about it a little bit on this blog, here and here. And then I opened up another shop where I could exclusively write about what was going on with my wee drunken sailor, my beloved wobble boy.
It was clear that I was troubled and distracted, yet some of my posts were cheery and hopeful. Eventually, I lost my shit completely. And then, not long after, I hardly even mentioned on this blog what wonders had been reported on the other one. This post still brings me to my knees. And while I'm down there, I take a moment to say thanks. To God or the Universe or science or love or medicine or whatever it was that gave my boy back his balance.
Aw. I'm down on my knees, too. Looking for my contact. Kidding, kidding!
ReplyDeleteWhat a triumphant moment that was -- those photos of him standing -- standing! -- are a marvel to behold.
He's lucky to have you, you know. You who has to get to the very bottom of the tentacle of the root of the issue, to figure out what can be done. You rock, sistah.
Love you. And love your Non-Wobble (at least physically) Boy, too.
xxEllie
I was just thinking about that long wild ride yesterday.
ReplyDeleteThinking about how everything changed so completely, so quickly. How the old normal was just gone for you and your boy (and the rest of the family too of course). So completely surreal.
You were amazing. I was consistently amazed at what a rock you were. What a support you were for him, and how you left no stone unturned. The healthcare system is a bear, but you my friend, are a mama bear not to be messed with! I know your boy did his part too, but your cheery, distracted, hopeful self kept it all together. And although I may have had runny mascara after reading many a Wobble Boy posts, those posts were amazing, and I'd guess cathartic, and wow, what a legacy you've left for some other family that finds themselves in the same position.
And as a final note, cheers to 2011!
xoxoxoxo,
Beth
I can't believe it's been a year, Jacq. So glad Mr. Wobbles is OK! xoxo
ReplyDeleteWhat a year! Thank God our Jimmy is our Jimmy again - your entire little family was amazing throughout that ordeal. Happy Easter. love, mom
ReplyDelete