Life before 2008 15 Aug 2007 05:30 pm
Sometimes angels wear white.
It’s funny to me sometimes, taking a look at what I’ve been given: on one hand, I’m a home and water birthin’, breastfeeding, homeopathic treatin’ Momma in birks and hair to my waist. On the other hand, I’ve been deeper into the world of medicine than many would ever guess, and I consider a handful of men who wear white doctor’s coats to be some of the most signifcant people who have ever touched my life. And somehow, within my redheaded-and-sometimes-crazy self, the two worlds co-exist.
So regular readers have heard the story before… pregnant with my third baby, we found a broken heart. The doctor who found it was kind and compassionate…somehow understanding my natural inclinations and handling me with care as I made the swift transition into a world of high intervention. Later he would just as compassionately and thoroughly scan my belly during two other pregnancies, knowing that if he found anything, his one sentence could radically alter our lives once more.
Sentences…and those who utter them….this amazes me about life change. Looking back, I think every major change that has happened in my life has spun on the axis of a single sentence.
“I can’t see you anymore.”
“Will you marry me?”
“It’s a boy!”
“You know we only see two chambers here?”
“I’m so sorry.” (said the first time; after that, you’re just numb)
“He hasn’t grown in at all since he was 4 months old.”
“Come to Tennessee!”
There are others of course, both sentences and life-changing doctors. Dr. Kantor fixed my little girl’s heart so that she lived. Dr. Cuadrado held my little girl’s heart as she died. A few years later, a seemingly endless parade of lab coats looked at my little boy, inexplicably starving to death…those luminous and huge blue eyes staring up and almost never crying, and gave up. They had no ideas. They didn’t know what was wrong. And we were running out of time.
I had to go to an evaluation that would get us to a therapist who thought she could try to help. I played and prayed; they watched on the other side of the dark glass. Someone was watching and he wore a white coat too.
And so we met Dr. Perszyk. He’d seen this before, he knew what to do. I won’t go into the long story but this is a doctor who called me at home. He met us in the ER and got us right back. He worked with solutions until we found the right one. Ultimately, he saved Wheaton’s life.
Four years later and things have looked very good. No one looking at him now would know how sick he once was. I’ve been more on the natural side of life than the medical end, save for a little visit here or there. Wheaton himself has been very healthy since our move. And as cute as his comment about viruses and computers was the other day, there’s a lingering dark cloud around stomach pain and I know better than to be naive.
And maybe we stay here, maybe we don’t. Life with children who’ve faced critical illness has this tightrope constantly woven through it. You deal with what is given. Only today I got to remember how grateful I am for the awesome doctors we’ve come across along the way. Out of state? No problem…he’ll call. Can’t remember the med that worked two years ago? No problem…he’ll talk to the new doctor and ease the transition. That alone will probably save us from another foray into tests that aren’t necessary but are standard protocol…unless one has someone in white watching out for them. I’m sure we have many; and with some of them, I know their names.
on 15 Aug 2007 at 9:05 pm 1.SmallWorld said …
Beautiful post, Tia. Wondering what brought this on?
on 16 Aug 2007 at 9:31 am 2.bannergranny said …
Boy did that touch some memories…having walked those roads with you….yes indeed…you have been very blessed by angels in white coats.
on 16 Aug 2007 at 9:42 am 3.jayedee said …
as a 3 time NICU mom, i so identified with this post. it gives truth to the song….there ARE angels among us. thank you for sharing.
on 16 Aug 2007 at 10:18 am 4.Pea said …
Tia: God Bless you and yours. E
on 16 Aug 2007 at 1:52 pm 5.Susanna a.k.a. Cheap Like Me said …
That is beautiful, and I hope some doctors will see it and have their day brightened for all the good they do — and I hope a few others will be inspired to do more.
on 21 Aug 2007 at 1:38 pm 6.Living Deliberately » Turning on a Dime said …
[...] other day I wrote about life changing with the turn of a single sentence. Yesterday it happened [...]
on 05 Oct 2007 at 10:13 pm 7.lissa slade said …
I feel the same way about Dr. Perszak, He is a angel in some way. He is one of the few real and caring Dr.’s I have run into. Reading your story has been a answer to the questions about our son under his careful watch DR. P. Thank you and may all Gods promises be yours for your entire family. Lissa
on 01 Nov 2007 at 9:43 am 8.Ralette said …
Hi,
Your hope and pain run together.
Our first born was crying almost non-stop for 13 months. He got the worst from both sides of our families: digestive disorders and sensitive liver from mine and not able to assimilate minerals and vitamins to a huge extent from my husband’s side. That meant: he could not make muscles.
After 13 months (and I thought he would not see his first birthday the extent to which he screamed with pain daily) with doctors not knowing what to do and not investigating the matter other than telling me to give him indigestion medicine and painkillers and fever breakers, I had some food intolerance tests done privately. I adjusted our diets in line with these findings. I realised all food could be either good or bad for one, no matter HOW organic or HOW healthy according to the media, because it depends on what sense your actual body makes of what you put in it.
The food intolerance specialist gave me the name of a homoeopathic doctor who realised it was an assimilation problem. At 13 months he could not crawl nor carry his own body-weight and would scream with pain and frustration, because his mind was in good shape, but the body was unwilling. He stopped making sounds after his 3 sets of innoculations at 3, 4, and 5 months. This made things considerably worse.
From when he was 13 months we have had one person after another put on our paths to help step by step as if angels took charge indeed: kinesiology, chiropractic, continued homoeopathy, healing of various kinds.
Now our son is 9 and though some motor-skills will always be impaired to some extent, he leads a fulfilling life. He walks and runs, though one could detect he is different physically if you looked for it, like a personal trainer would be able to tell when he runs that he struggles somewhat.
He is skinny and smaller for his age, but he has an iron-will.
He happens to be clairvoyant too, which makes him even more different (brings yet more challenges) but helps him to protect himself in life as he learns how to utilise it.
I wish you and your family such beautiful things and I hope the joy you could experience furthermore would balance out the pain and sorrow evident in your lives so far.
Cheers.
Ralette.
on 01 Nov 2007 at 9:46 am 9.Ralette said …
Hi,
Your hope and pain run together.
I wish you and your family such beautiful things and I hope the joy you could experience furthermore would balance out the pain and sorrow evident in your lives so far.
Cheers.
Ralette.