seattle children’s hospital

This isn’t healthy.

Posted on by amberhj

I should’ve been asleep an hour ago. Instead of taking care of myself, I spent a bunch of this Friday evening, when Cody and I are supposed to be relaxing and celebrating our wedding anniversary, scouring photos of Stella from the time before her patch, and shots from more recent times. You see, I read somewhere that the little white reflection of the camera’s flash that appears in each eye have identical placement if the eyes are aligned. If the eyes are not aligned, those little bright spots won’t appear in symmetrical fashion. Thus my mission tonight has been to use photographic evidence to determine precisely when her brain started to favor her right eye–or prove that perhaps it never did. Just writing that sentence made my brain deflate like an impaled beach ball.

Underneath it all, I’m scared. During Stella’s feeding aversion and tube days, mistakes were made at Seattle Children’s Hospital. Even before we got there, I had to fight like hell and come to the brink of a nervous breakdown before anyone would help us. I’m terrified that Stella’s vision, and all the many, varied areas of her life that it affects, will suffer greatly if I don’t catch the missteps that seem sure to happen, if they haven’t already. I fear that without my total vigilance, pertinent information will fall through the cracks, bringing her eyesight and quality of life along with it.

Questions about amblyopia, stereovision, and all the other details pertaining to Stella’s eye issues poke at my brain and wrench my heart. I feel helpless because we’re taking steps to address a complex problem I don’t fully understand. I don’t feel confident. I’m not able to trust doctors so easily anymore. Even really good ones like Stella’s current developmental ophthalmologist. Maybe I’m a pain in the ass. Maybe I am crazy. Maybe I shouldn’t question everything.

But I just can’t help it. My love for Stella–it’s so big it makes me clumsy sometimes. Hopefully, I can find the strength to achieve better balance. On one hand there is a relatively objective quest for truly excellent care and solutions based on accurate testing and conclusions, the latest research and best practices from around the world. On the other, a ferocious protectiveness that emerges out of not only my vast love for her, but old trauma and new fears.

Sadly, our past experience taught me that at the end of the appointment-filled day, it’s all on my shoulders. If I’m lucky, there will be supportive voice or two, but no one who can help Stella without me there to champion her cause. No, I was taught that Stella’s outcome can’t be left for others to devise. Can’t be put in the hands of those who don’t see the nuances of her day-to-day visual reality, those who see Stella as another patient or chart and not the owner of the cutest toes ever to touch the surface of this planet.

I’m her mom. I look into her big eyes, the color of blue ocean made softer by partly cloudy skies, a hundred times a day to tell her “no screaming!” “good job!”, “you did it!”, “take turns!” and most often, “I love you!” I’m having a hard time letting go. I’ll never be an expert or an ophthalmologist, but I need more answers and education about Stella’s particular situation. Is it too much to ask to get a solid understanding? I don’t think so. I hope I can go about getting it in a way that builds bridges rather than creates tension with the wonderful people who can help my sweet Stella. And surely after that, with some work, I can let go and simply follow the path laid out for us. Not viewed through a lens of fear, but simply a watchful, hopeful, and much less exhausted eye.

P.S. Today, Stella and I did a good job with our daily home vision therapy exercises. We even had fun. I got an email from the vision therapist in response to my questions that was kind, helpful and with promise of more answers to come from the doctor.

Because we just can’t get enough therapy.

Posted on by amberhj

It’s official. Today, I scheduled Stella for weekly, ongoing vision therapy. I feel victorious! As in, “We’re going to the Super Bowl, baby!” (I probably need to get out more.) You see, our second opinion (the first being Seattle Children’s Hospital, where vision therapy was never mentioned, and the third being our current doctor) told us that Stella was far too young to do vision therapy. (How many times can I say “vision therapy?” Let’s see, shall we?*) Also, as I’ve said a million times lately, I just finished reading Fixing My Gaze, and it got me so pumped up about vision therapy that I felt physically uncomfortable with the knowledge that we weren’t pursuing vision therapy. And not only has Stella been taking off her glasses more, she’s been staring into space and rubbing her eyes frequently, too, as she did before getting glasses. Now I’ll have someone to gauge Stella’s vision regularly, someone I can grill in person and upon whom I can dump all my concerns on a weekly basis. Hooray for vision therapy!

So every Wednesday morning, we’ll be headed out for some mindblowingly fun “eye games” (aka “vision therapy”). That’s my brilliant branding for this new adventure. Wearing an eye patch is currently called, “the eye patch game.” I know, I know. My advertising background is coming through in its full luminescence here, I’m a genius and I put Don Draper to shame. Yes, yes and yes.

Upon confirming our slot, the vision therapy office emailed me a preparatory doc entitled, “VISION THERAPY: What you need to know.” Highlights include:

  • Vision therapy programs are individualized. “Each session consists of 45 minutes of one on one care combined with a program of daily home oriented therapy.”
  • We will be given “vision therapy handouts and supplies for home therapy use that will change periodically.”
  • “The majority of patients in a once a week program are in vision therapy for nine months to one year.”
  • Progress evaluations must be scheduled every three months regardless of the number of vision therapy sessions that have taken place during that time.

I am totally bringing chocolate chips, maybe even a baker’s dozen from Trophy Cupcakes, to each session. Whatever it takes to reward and encourage cooperation! Stella is 24 months old and is going to be asked to “focus” (in one way or another) for 45 minutes straight. I know she can do it. I’ve seen her concentrate intensely on an enormous ice cream cone for at least that long. I know we can make it work and I know this doctor knows what she’s doing and is fully aware that Stella just turned two. I know I know I know. But (shockingly) I’m a little nervous. Kind of like that time I bitched endlessly and fought like hell to get a promotion, then when it was finally handed to me, I freaked out and realized I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. “Idiots! What were they thinking giving me all these new responsibilities! I’m not ready for this! Oh wait…”

But seriously, it’s all coming together. Another bit of encouragement emerged on Monday evening at our PEPS (Program for Early Parent Support) gathering. (PEPS is just a bunch of parents-to-be that get tossed into a group that starts meeting weekly once the babies are born, within a month or so of each other. Basically, for new parents, it’s a way of feeling less insane.) Turns out one of the mothers in our PEPS group had double vision as a child, mainly when tired–fatigue is also what triggers Stella’s eye crossing. She admitted that in an attempt to see clearly, she wound up walking around with one eye closed. Her mother got used to seeing this, and like most young kids she was very good at compensating for the vision problem. As a result, she said her mom pretty much let it go until a friend called her out on it. She was told to wear a patch, but her parents opted for vision therapy instead! My kind of people! She did vision therapy for a year at around age six and that did the proverbial (literal?) trick–it’s just amazing to me. She’s had control of her eyes, and no double vision, since. Her recollection is that the sessions were fun, with engaging activities, but that she felt very tired afterward. And, because apparently she can read minds and intuited my concern about Stella’s age, she mentioned that while she was school age during her vision therapy, kids of all ages could found in the waiting room. (Thank you, PEPS pal.)

This sort of discovery keeps happening! Stella’s glasses and patch have been the gateway to all kinds of stories about patching and eye crossing and visual whatnot from just about everyone we know, and even some we don’t. It’s news to us but apparently everyone has a sibling or close relative who faced the same type of vision issues in childhood. I should’ve known! In Fixing My Gaze, neurobiologist extraordinaire Susan Barry points out that about one in 25 children has strabismus or a binocular vision problem. That’s roughly one in every classroom. It’s become clear that Stella is in good company, and it all feels so normal now. Which blows my mind. Normal and I aren’t close but I’ve always wanted to get to know him. Some say he’s boring but I find him absolutely fascinating!

One other bit of insight I took away from that vision therapy handout: This shit is going to be expensive. Did I mention I’m looking for freelance writing gigs? Go ahead and picture me, out on the internet highway, holding a shabby virtual sign that reads, “WILL WRITE FOR VISION THERAPY.” See? Completely normal.

P.S. Found this at covd.org, a “World Health News Today” segment on vision therapy for children.

* Tally: 19 “vision therapy” mentions. 20 if you count that one. I can totally do better. Vision therapy! 21.

Free webinar by Susan Barry: How the system lets down children with vision problems

Posted on by amberhj

Here we go again. Like tube feeding, vision is an area in which children aren’t getting the care and solutions they need and deserve. Stella just started patching, because her brain was starting to favor her right (strong) eye. And it’s already become clear (fun with puns!) that without extra effort and research on my part, her outcome, even though we are patching as directed, would be far less than optimal. Thankfully, I have the time and ability and insurance coverage to make it all happen. But I keep wondering, what about the many parents of children with vision and feeding tubes and other health issues who don’t?

Luckily for us anyway, three recent and perfectly timed events have made me feel that I’m on the right track in terms of how to approach Stella’s treatment…

1.) We recently chose a new eye doctor for Stella (our third opinion became our number one choice!) who emphasizes vision therapy in treating eye issues like Stella’s (conditions like strabismus, accommodative esotropia, ambylopia, etc. etc.). She was vastly superior to the others in terms of her attentiveness to Stella as a human being, her ability to do vision therapy with the very young (our second opinion did vision therapy, but said Stella wouldn’t be eligible for years), and her support and tips on how to patch successfully. Seattle Children’s Hospital? They just handed me some adhesive patches to stick on Stella’s almost-two-year-old eyes, with almost no explanation or and certainly no acknowledgement of how big a deal it was, noting only that patching is “not that bad.” Bullshit.

2.) I’m currently reading a ray of hope in paperback form, Fixing My Gaze by neuroscientist Susan Barry. She couldn’t see in 3D until her late 40’s (she had strabismus from early on, like Stella). The ability to see in three dimensions affects life in a myriad of ways, including the abilities to read, drive and play most sports. The book is as much about neuroplasticity as it is about vision, and I have found most of it fascinating (some of it a bit dense and technical and hard to follow). It has opened my eyes (the puns are too easy to resist here, sorry) in so many ways.

3.) Yesterday, I received an email from Stella’s new eye doctor telling me (and all her patients) about a free webinar being given by Barry, author of Fixing My Gaze, on Thursday. I was thrilled! The email, besides letting me in on a great opportunity to learn from a true knowledge leader in the field, confirmed that we’d found one of the rare doctors who can help Stella achieve her own personal best in terms of vision.

The meeting’s name pretty much says it all: “School Crossings: A Neurobiologist’s View of How Our System Fails Children With Vision Problems.” I was so thrilled to find out about this, and again, to get assurance that we’d found a wonderful doctor for Stella. One of the rare few who are truly informed about vision therapy, the kind that helped Barry see the world in full, volumous beauty.

I have only a basic understanding at this point, though it’s growing all the time. But most opthalmologists (including the one we saw at Seattle Children’s) and optometrists seem to heavily rely on patching (often alone) to address situations where the brain is favoring one eye, as is beginning to happen with Stella. When the vision imbalance is left untreated, blindness in the weak eye is likely. However, patching is not a real solution or adequate treatment for many, as upon completion of occlusion, the brain slowly reverts to favoring the same eye. Both eyes are strong after months or years of patching, or have equalized (sometimes the strong eye deteriorates due its suppression) but the brain has not learned to use the eyes together. Vision therapy is needed to get the formerly weak  (“lazy” or ambylopic) eye to coordinate with the  strong eye and create a complete, stereopic view of the world. Proper therapy often results in a long-term cure, enabling 3D vision and other vast improvements. So many children are having to settle for significant, even quality-of-life-reducing vision impairment when in fact, they could see major improvement or perhaps complete resolution of their issues.

Many doctors still believe that there is a small window in early childhood during which eye problems must be addressed, lest be rendered irreversible. Barry’s research and personal experience shatter this falsehood. For the benefit of children like Stella, Barry is shouting her discoveries from the mountaintop, and I am extremely grateful. On the other hand, as we recently embarked on the patching journey, which I was not expecting at all–I was truly blindsided (ugh, another pun?), the book has scared me and made me cry. It’s made me realize the full scope of how Stella’s vision and life experience could be impacted if she is not properly supported. Seriously, I’ve been listening to Celine Dion’s “That’s the Way It Is” and bawling, about once a day. And I’m not a Celine Dion type of person. I’m a Neko Case fanatic. But, “it’s an uphill climb and I’m feeling sorry, but I know it will come to you, yeah” kind of hits the nail on the proverbial, three-dimensional head. I’m working hard and it feels like, once again, there’s a lot on the line and if I don’t stay vigilant and question everything every doctor tells me, Stella will suffer.

Anywho, I’ve signed up for the webinar and encourage other parents of children facing visual challenges to do the same! Virtual “seating” is limited. I will blog about the talk here, in case you miss it. The details, from the original email announcement from the College of Optometrists in Vision Development (COVD):

School Crossings: A Neurobiologist’s View of How Our System Fails Children With Vision Problems
 
Hear Dr. Susan Barry answer questions about difficult school experiences that resulted from her vision problems; how, for example, she was mislabeled as a low aptitude student and assigned to a special problems class, and what her mother did to help her child succeed. And more….. including what you can do to help your child succeed!

TO REGISTER FOR THE MEETING:  Go to www.joinawebinar.com, fill in the meeting ID number 547-423-251 and your email address, click on “CONTINUE,” then fill out the brief form that comes up next and at the bottom of that screen be sure to click on “REGISTER.” 
If you have ANY difficulty registering or any problems during the webinar, contact TECH support for gotowebinar.com at 800-263-6317.

Click here to read the full press release, including more information about Susan Barry (aka “Stereo Sue”).

Taking a stand against tube-feeding crimes and negligence

Posted on by amberhj

Someone needs to say it: tube-fed children and their families are being neglected and often outright abused by a dehumanizing, misguided health “care” system.

If you don’t believe me, read on. Or at the very least, get a glimpse of a far superior alternative by viewing this tube weaning lecture delivered at Seattle Children’s Hospital by weaning expert Markus Wilken, during his visit from Germany. This video is an invaluable resource, which I highly endorse, as you’ll see at the closing of this overdue rant.

Our tube feeding days are far behind us, yet memories haunt us. Like the time I inserted Stella’s nasogatric (NG) tube into her nose, only to have it come out her mouth, instead of going down to the base of her esophagus as planned. Of waking up every two hours to feed her at night, fumbling in the dark with a stethoscope and large plastic syringe in order to confirm correct placement of the tube before setting up the pump to run for 45 minutes–desperately trying to stay awake while it ran, so as to be able to respond in the event of a pump malfunction or choking incident. The blood that, after the first month of tube feeding, consistently encrusted the tube in her tiny nostril. And, in soul-crushing fashion, the bottles of outrageously expensive Elecare, not covered by insurance, that Stella triumphantly downed on occasion, only to re-emerge in projectile fashion thanks to tube-triggered gagging.

Crazily enough, none of these incidents were the turning point for me. None of them woke me up to the immediate need for the tube’s removal. Though I did often wonder how long this would go on, as there was no plan for weaning. I was doing what I was told because it was supposedly medically and therapeutically necessary. I have another mother to thank for my awakening–a mother who didn’t see such a need and whose child paid a huge price.

Back when Stella’s little baby face was accessorized by medical tape securing a thin but lengthy yellow NG tube, we made one of many trips to Seattle Children’s Hospital. This time for an abdominal ultrasound. In the waiting room, two women struck up conversations with me about, what else, Stella’s tube. “She looks so healthy,” said one, whose child also had feeding issues and was headed toward a tube. Then she asked the inevitable question: “Why does she have a tube?” I explained, and we commiserated about the misery of trying to feed a child who simply does not want to eat. The other, with empty eyes and a tired smile for Stella, commented along the lines of, “My son had an NG tube until he was five. Good luck. She looks great. I hope you get her off of it.” Suddenly, my stomach felt as though it were full of rocks. In that moment, I sank to a very dark place. But while down there, I resolved to never, ever let that happen to Stella. I decided to fight.

So, just to make this astounding fact clear, I’ll repeat it: I met a woman whose son lived with a nasogastric feeding tube until he was five years old. Five years of a thick tube through his nose (no doubt causing nasal ulceration), his esophagus irritated, the sphincters held open (encouraging reflux), food administered on some dietian’s strict schedule and chart regardless of what he thought or felt. It’s a perfect illustration of why I’m so angry. Really, really angry. I have been for a while.

I’m outraged at the treatment that many tube-fed children and babies are receiving from doctors and therapists. G tubes, the next step after NG tubes (if eating does not progress) and a much kinder solution in cases of long-term feeding, are not without problems. They require surgery, which when not done properly can cause extreme suffering and even when correctly inserted can contribute to excessive vomiting. I believe that there are many children with G tubes that do not actually need them, and that if physically able but still unwilling to eat, they should be given a chance to wean before surgery is considered. At the very least,  thoughtful, individualized approach should be taken by an interdisciplinary team of doctors, as opposed to the reckless, disorganized decision-making that is now widespread.

Based on my experience with Stella, I’m particularly concerned about those with long-term NG tubes, tubes meant only for short-term use. It’s not okay. Scientific evidence (which I will present in a later post) and common sense tell us that NG tubes cause extreme discomfort and difficulty (slowing of) swallowing. The frequent removal and reinsertion of this tube is traumatic and damaging for child and parent. No matter what kind of tube is used, a complete disconnect with hunger and extinguishing of the desire to eat is practically inevitable. The tube itself fuels eating refusal and aversion, long after the initial issues prompting the tube’s insertion have been addressed. (This is very different from children for whom tube weaning is not an option at all and long-term tube feeding a clear life-saver.) Families are plunged into despair, their lives shrunk down by the oppression of tube feeding (though, sadly, this comes to feel normal for many families), the incessant vomiting, the stunted growth that the tube was supposed to prevent, and the hopelessness that arises due an absence of a weaning plan. Or any plan for that matter. For most of these children, there is no way out. This is, with no exaggeration, a crime.

And then there is the so-called “therapy” provided to these children. When I hear stories of children being force fed, and there are a lot of them, I literally become sick to my stomach. It’s wrong. It’s a disgrace. Yet it’s happening at leading clinics and children’s hospitals across the country. One of the barbaric techniques used: Puree is shoved aggressively into toddlers’ unwilling mouths, which are then held shut for as long as it takes. As long as it takes for them to swallow–and it can take a very long time to swallow when you are terrified of food. What horror! Stella’s occupational therapist noted that some “graduates” of such programs later have to be desensitized after enduring such trauma, the process of learning to enjoy rather than fear food begins again but on even shakier ground. How can a brute-force approach possibly help a scared child discover the joy of eating? It can’t. If the child does eat, it’s not because they want to. It’s because they have no choice and no other way to make the torment stop. The children are sometimes called “obstinate” by therapists and parents who buy into the crazy, unbelievably misguided belief that kids are refusing to eat because they are, essentially, being manipulative little jerks. The children are blamed, their trauma and autonomy completely disregarded. Parents are pitted against children, forced to play coercive games. This is absolute insanity.

There are far better ways to wean children from tubes, to awaken their appetites, hearts, and minds. These methods are infinitely more effective and humane. They are based on respect and compassion, which every child needs and deserves! Beyond that, every child for whom it is safe (mainly, the many tube-fed kids whose initial issues are resolved) deserves to be given a chance to eat. For many families, weaning is never even discussed! Because the child is not eating orally. But why would they? Why would they suddenly enjoy eating when every three hours, formula is pumped directly into their stomach, sometimes only to come back up again due to nausea and rampant overfeeding? When Stella had her tube, our pediatrician said she’d just “turn it around.” As if by magic. That was never, ever going to happen.

I’ve been perusing blogs and boards of parents with tube-fed children and my goal has been to offer support whenever I think my experience with Stella could be relevant. It feels good to provide support and resources, to help bring about positive change based on such a negative experience. But I’m not sure I can do it anymore. There are too many heartbreaking stories of renowned hospitals directing parents to disregard their instincts and squash the dignity of their child. It’s overwhelming. I’ll start to type a reply to certain posts, ones that reveal that a child is being forced to eat in some fashion, only to delete it, because my thoughts are all over the place. My words too angry.  I wonder where to begin. How can I convince someone that the entire medical establishment is harming their child on a root level, rather than helping? There is too much ground to cover, too much fundamental education and changing of minds to do–more than can be conveyed in a comment box. I’m at a loss.

I have such compassion for the parents, yet feel such angst when I see the failure to question the clearly ineffective and detrimental status quo. You have to stand up for your child. No one else will. You have to call bullshit on doctors’ cavalier attitudes toward tube feeding, not to mention their lack of actual knowledge on the subject. You have to challenge therapists whose tactics perpetuate the feeding battle, rather than bringing it to a peaceful end.

But I know. I know these parents are ground down by the stress, loneliness, and sorrow that comes with not being able to nourish your own child—the nightmare that is tube feeding. I know from my own experience that some parents become so desperate that they no longer trust themselves and find themselves willing to follow whatever directions they’re given, perpetuating their own hell, despite the nagging voice inside that tells them it’s all wrong. Or who are tossed back and forth from one expert “opinion” to another, with no one ever offering a real plan for moving towards normalcy and health. Parents are victims of unnecessarily extended tube feeding as well, and the failure to recognize the deep trauma of both parent and child, and how it contributes to disordered feeding, is another gaping hole in the “care” received.

I have by now heard about, and even helped in some small way through this blog to bring about, dozens of successful tube weans. I know some children require tubes for survival. But many others are simply trapped with no visible exit. In particular, I am intimately familiar with three tube weaning success stories: that of my daughter Stella, and those of Zander and Heath, the children of women who have become dear friends. These amazing triumphs were achieved thanks to parental intuition, constant and fearless questioning, and plain old ignoring of bad medical advice, plus exhaustive research and the shaken but intact inner belief that if given a chance, “my child can eat.” These weans required a lot of belief and trust in the child, not the doctors. They required a process of “letting go.” This is hard to do, not only for parents, but for a broken health care system that insists on monitoring and controlling every milliliter pumped through the tube, in order to cover its ass, all while ignoring the impact on quality of life.

Thankfully, there is an alternative, explored in the video below. Upon viewing it, I cried. They weren’t happy tears in response to the wonderful, validating, rare, evidence-based wisdom on tube weaning that the video unveils. I bawled because the speaker, a child psychologist and tube weaning expert from Germany, describes a higher, enlightened quality of care given to children in his country—a standard and mentality that simply does not exist here. Unexpectedly, I was overwhelmed with grief. By and large, Stella did not receive the respectful, mindful, effective and individual care that she deserved. And thousands of children are needlessly suffering right now.

If you’re angry too, looking for a way out of tube feeding, or want to follow your desire to treat your child with more compassion during their feeding journey, please grab a cup of coffee and watch this eye-opening, heartening lecture given by child psychologist Markus Wilken. He has past, direct experience with the Graz method, which he’s incorporated into ongoing weaning and tube management work in hospitals and clinics in Germany. Astoundingly, Markus has successfully weaned a diverse set of over 400 children. Perhaps, within his presentation, you’ll find the encouragement you need to believe in yourself and your child. To live a tube-free life! You can do it. Your child can do it. It’s time to fight.

********************

Here’s the link (some find that removing the “mms” prefix is necessary for successful viewing):

mms://seattlechildrens.wm.internapcdn.net/seattlechildrens_vitalstream_com/Rehab_5-27-10.wmv

No acute abnormalities.

Posted on by amberhj

This is part of a new segment I’m calling “Eye on Stella: Strabismus Watch 2010.” Sorry. I just thought that was kind of funny. And I’m running with any humor I can find these days.

The ER, whose job it is to save lives and not provide conclusive diagnoses, called Stella’s condition “convergence spasms.” A quick google search on this term terrified me (apparently, in some cases it’s brought on by hysteria–Stella’s tantrums aren’t THAT bad), and thankfully led me in another direction. After some research, and due to the nature of what actually happens to Stella’s eyes on occasion, I’m convinced that they’re incorrect. My theory is that Stella has the treatable, relatively common condition known as intermittent strabmismus, known to flare up during times of stress, fatigue, or illness. Of course, last time I checked I was a stay-at-home mom and copywriter–not an ophthalmologist. Though, I did diagnose my husband with photography-induced crazy-eye. Nailed that one.

So, last Friday. It was:

The culmination of a week during which Stella barely ate and lost a whole pound of weight (at least), due to a bastard of a cold entailing massive congestion and a cough that could drown out a chainsaw.

The day Stella may have bumped her head on the window sill in the kitchen. I was making lunch, heard a scream, and only saw what happened out of the corner of my eye.

When her eyes rolled in severely, a total of ten times by 11pm for two to ten minutes per spell. When this happened, she couldn’t see remotely straight.

The evening we headed to her doctor’s office having snagged the last appointment of the day, waited as they paged neurology at Children’s, then headed to the ER, where they awaited our arrival and Stella was not allowed to eat or drink for several hours and underwent a head CT scan that showed “no acute abnormalities.”

Since that day, I’ve been carrying around a feeling that threatens to burst my chest. It ebbs and flows. It makes me cry, sometimes. It makes me think about what-if’s and the meaning of life. It makes me wonder, once again, if I’m strong enough to survive parenthood. But I can’t quite pinpoint it. It’s too vague and all-encompassing to grasp. So I keep wondering what it is. I don’t think it’s as simple as “anxiety” or “fear.” It’s something to do with those. But more do to with love. It is absolutely huge and it is always there, probably in every parent, but right now it’s much too close to the surface. Which makes it hard to function.

On the other hand, after unthinkable tumors and lesions and brain bleeding were ruled out, I am obviously extremely relieved that the issue appears to be isolated to her eyes–or more specifically the muscles that control her eyes. If I’m right and it’s strabismus, early intervention ensures an excellent prognosis, ideally achieved through vision therapy (eye exercises) and maybe a patch to strengthen the weaker eye (which seems to be her right one). But I’m having a hard time as we navigate the two weeks that separate us from her ophthalmology appointment at Children’s Hospital. Every time she cries or screams in frustration or stares off into space or rubs her eye or refuses to nap or has a tantrum, I feel a contained form of panic rise up and I’m gripped by a question that is more of an all-encompassing mentality: What is wrong? This is a terrible way to live, really. A mode of existence encouraged by the worst-case-scenario culture of the internet, where I spend too much time. It’s a way of being that I am familiar with, as a worrywart by nature and having gone through Stella’s feeding aversion with her, but it’s currently heightened. Maybe there’s a touch of PTSD-like trauma from our tube days. Following Friday’s scare, I jump too quickly to the idea of wrongness. But! There are also times in which I see more clearly and with more appreciation everything that is right. The contrast between the two is sharp. It makes me ache.

I sometimes wonder what is wrong with me, and the way I see–the world and myself. Why is this all so hard for me? Why am I so jumpy around Stella since Friday? Why does it sometimes feel as if I walk on eggshells through life and motherhood?

As I sit here, I’m afraid of the radiation of her CT scan (ugh, do I remember correctly that they had to run it twice? why didn’t they work with us to keep her still in order to get it right on the first try?) and of an admittedly imagined potential for vision loss (could this nebulous eye issue make life harder for Stella?). Since Friday, I’ve seen her right eye drift in very briefly a couple times, and it jolts my entire nervous system like an electrical current. I’m disturbed when I see her eyes misaligned, not because she is any less beautiful or sweet for it, but because it’s a signal that something is likely amiss with my baby–something I don’t understand. What’s causing it? What does it mean? How will it affect her? My mind fills in the blanks, creating scenarios and possibilities with whatever is lying around: fear, anxiety, hope, and love so strong I can hardly bear it sometimes.

Back when Stella wouldn’t eat, I always felt 100% convinced that in the end, she would be just fine. Beneath all the panic was a kernel of certainty. It’s still there.

Three cheers for Zander! Oh yeah, AND HIS MOM.

Posted on by amberhj

Today isn’t just another Tuesday. It’s a very important day. Today, February 9, 2010, is the day Alexander (Zander or Zandy to those who love him) left his G tube behind. For good! I can’t tell you how huge this is.

Due to one of the most severe cases of frank aspiration ever seen at Seattle Children’s Hospital, Zander required a feeding tube for a year and a half (very close to his entire life). Early on, it was discovered that most of the milk he swallowed ended up in his lungs. He started off with an ND tube (like an NG tube that goes further down, indicated only for short-term tube feeding), but it soon became clear that a longer-term J-G tube was needed. At that point, he couldn’t handle a G tube, inserted into the stomach, because food that high up in his system could be regurgitated and cause aspiration. The food had to go directly into his intestines, via G-J tube, to avoid the threat to his lungs. (Much later, though, he transitioned to a G tube.)

Any type of swallowing put sweet Zander in danger. When he got a mere cold, respiratory distress was pretty much inevitable. It was a terrifying journey for the whole family, with a most uncertain destination. They didn’t know where it would lead. They were stuck, in so many ways. Tube feeding has a way of cramping one’s mobility and social life and sanity.

Then it happened. Late last summer, Zander passed a swallow test. Finally. It was his fifth one. He’d failed the four prior, because he was still aspirating. Amazingly, he at last demonstrated the ability to swallow. But could he really EAT? Did he have the willingness? Not at first. He needed to build oral motor skills. He needed to learn to not be afraid of food. He needed to feel hunger, which tube feeding obscures or annihilates. He still had a road ahead of him. So they forged ahead. Unbelievably, there were just two occupational therapy sessions. The work was done at home. They made food “sexy,” conscious of being happy when they ate and letting Zander see them happily eating. They allowed him to touch, and — until he got teeth — gum at flavorful food. They dipped his pacifier into gravy, sauces and juice. Still uncertain, they were hopeful and proactive, even after all they’d been through.

Slowly but surely, Zander began to eat. At first, just a sip from a straw or a bite of a cracker. Breakthroughs seemed to happen when they were behind schedule, when hours had passed since his last tube-fed meal and he was overdue for his next one. On such an occasion, he grabbed his mother’s Jamba Juice and guzzled three ounces in what seemed like mere seconds. Confidence and ability grew in tandem. The percentage of his diet enjoyed orally grew ever so slightly over time, until it hovered at 50%. (That’s as far as Stella ever got, by the way.) That’s when Alexander’s mother, based on research and gut feelings and a few supportive voices, took an incredibly brave but wise leap of faith. She just stopped. She stopped using the tube, and let Zander take flight.

Thirty days later, that would be today, Zander had a check-up with his wonderfully thoughtful, appropriately cautious, yet totally reasonable pediatrician. She saw that since commencement of weaning, he’d gained a bit of weight, and grown taller. She looked at him and saw a happy, healthy, NORMAL boy. And she said that the tube could go. Zander’s mom removed it this afternoon. She still feels a bit dizzy. Makes sense, though. Her world is  spinning, in the best possible way.

Yes, I’ve met Zander’s mom and I liked her instantly. She’s got wisdom and laughter in her eyes. Yep. A killer sense of humor, and a shrewdness that could put any seasoned lawyer to shame. So, as big a day as this is for Zander, I find myself just as happy, if not more so, for her. She got him here. Her strength. Her determination. Her unwillingness to settle. Her ability to take a hit and get back up, in the face of anxiety. Oh, the anxiety. She didn’t let it stop her, and that’s something a lot of parents could learn from these days.

She’s been to hell and back, probably saved her kid’s life more times than she can count, yet she’s got enough energy left to fight for other little ones like Zander. She’s become their much-needed advocate. She’s already inspiring others, and pushing for change. Better care is needed for kids on tubes, a technology that is outpacing our understanding of its impact on children and their development. And, as she and I both learned, there is no end in sight. Kids and babies whose core issues are resolved remain tube-fed for years, because no one knows how to wean them. So few in the medical community are brave enough to at least give them a chance to eat on their own. Well, she’s stepping up to the plate.  But that’s just business as usual for her. I’m going to support her however I can.

Zander now has two “belly buttons”, the last evidence of his medical journey. It’s a new, tube-free world for this family. A time of joy and nervous transition to an alien concept called “normality.”

The next time your child savors mac and cheese, or any favorite food, take a minute to appreciate it. And raise your glass–hold it extra high–for Zander and his mom!

(Much respect.)

Return trip

Posted on by amberhj

It’s not an emergency. Nothing is really “wrong.” But we’re about to head back to our old stomping ground: Seattle Children’s Hospital. We’re going there to see Robin, Stella’s occupational therapist. Stella isn’t warming up to solids the way all the charts and books say she “should” by now, at the ripe old age of nine months, so we’re looking for some reassurance and perhaps a few tips on how and when to best offer food to Stella–without getting pushy. As we learned with the bottle, pushing only makes her want to eat less.

This morning, a vision from the past won’t leave my brain. I’m not sure why. It brings me back to our first appointment with Robin, before Stella got her tube and back when my entire day was consumed with the struggle to feed Stella. That morning, Robin filled me with hope. She watched Stella scream at the prospect of eating, she watched us spend a half an hour battling with Stella to get her to take three ounces. And then she said, “I’m going to see you through this,” and I suddenly felt a lot less helpless. But that’s not the moment that’s been on my mind.

I remember departing the room where we’d met with Robin, and walking down the hall toward the waiting room with Robin at our side.  Coming toward us at a brisk pace was Robin’s next appointment, a new mother accompanied by her own mother and arduously lugging her baby, left hand gripping the handle of the car seat. She walked with her entire body at an angle, as a counterbalance to the weight of the baby and her seat. She swung the seat forward a bit with each step, lurching along. The baby was peaceful but alert, with an NG tube taped to her right cheek. That terrified me at the time–I didn’t want Stella to wind up with a tube. But it was the mom who got me. There was such determination in her face and in her stride.  She was clearly focused on the task at hand, eager to learn more about how to help her baby. Eyes locked on her destination. Moving awkwardly, but forward. I’ll never forget that mom.

We’re off. I’ll let you know what happens.

At six months, a weight is lifted.

Posted on by amberhj

Welcome to the ERP (Experience Rice cereal Project).

Welcome to the ERP (Experience Rice cereal Project).

Stella has been weighed dozens and dozens and dozens of times during her six months here on earth. More times than the average Orange County housewife–nevermind the average baby. Many more times than a parent can reasonably expect to endure while maintaining his or her sanity. For close to three months, we went to the pediatrician’s office weekly for official weigh-ins. She was weighed every three hours during our four-day stay at Children’s Hospital in November. I’ve weighed her at home, before and after nursing her, on a fancy rented scale that I turned to out of desperation in the the time before the tube when I was trying to figure out how much milk she was getting from me and what the hek was bothering her so much. Lately, every few days, I’ve popped her onto the cheap baby scale I bought when the tube came out. I suppose, technically, she was also weighed before birth, when I stepped on the scale at the start of each prenatal check-up.

At this rate, Stella and I will wind up with a majorly problematic focus on her weight for years to come. (“Stella, what did I tell you? Put down the broccoli and have a cupcake!”) And a weight obsession of any kind is just about the LAST THING I want for my precious girl.

So, it is with much relief and joy-bulation that I announce the good news: Stella Weigh-In Mania (SWIM) is officially over. Today, at Stella’s six-month “well child” check-up, after a full six weeks without the NG tube, she proved that we don’t need to worry anymore. No more weekly weight checks. Our only future appointment is for her nine-month “well child” visit. Hallelujah!

Things are looking up.

Things are looking up.

Needless to say, the appointment went VERY WELL. There was no stand-off between me and Dr. Numrych, as I’d feared might happen if the scale didn’t tip in our favor. She gained more weight than we expected. She’s growing longer (taller?) at a quick clip. And her head is more gigantic than ever. The subject matter at today’s check-up didn’t involve tubes or high-density formulas or other craziness aimed at helping her gain weight. It was refreshingly normal. Topics of discussion revolved around spoon feeding and baby-proofing. Here are her stats, including the dreaded percentiles:

  • 16 pounds, 8.5 ounces (between 50th  and 75th %)
  • 26.5 inches long (75th %)
  • 45.3 cm head circumference (+97th %)

After all we’ve been through, these numbers are worth celebrating. Even the god damned percentiles. Though, I hope that I can think about percentiles as often as I think about, say, checking my car’s oil (every couple of years–sorry, dad, I’ll get on that).

Necessary but not cause for celebration were Stella’s shots. And there were many. She handled FOUR SHOTS (plus an oral rota virus vaccine) like a champ. One was an optional flu shot. Scores of people in my “circles” have been dropped like bad habits by the flu. Otherwise I probably wouldn’t have allowed her to receive so many shots at once. Right after the nurse gave her the three standard shots, Cody realized that they’d forgotten the flu shot. So they had to go tromp through the halls to retrieve it, then come back and inject her again, after she’d calmed down (with the help of a pacifier) from the initial three. Well, oddly enough, when stuck for the fourth time, she didn’t cry. In fact, I am not even sure she noticed the shot at all. Perhaps her chubby little thighs were in shock.

All dressed up in her Wednesday best.

All dressed up in her Wednesday best.

I think Cody and I were in shock upon seeing the number on that scale. We’re always a bit quiet and tense right before a weigh-in. In that moment, I cease breathing and put all emotions on hold. Because it always feels like there’s so much riding on it. Upon entering the doctor’s office, I am mute and/or annoyed until I see or hear that number. Cody and I practically did chest bumps and high fives when we heard “sixteen p0unds eight and a half ounces” announced with appropriate enthusiasm by the nurse. I honestly wanted to bust out with a rendition of Public Enemy’s “Bring the Noise”–something Cody and I do quite well. “Black is back, all in, we’re gonna win, check it out, yeah y’all c’mon, here we go again, turn it up! Bring the noise!” I think Stella would’ve enjoyed it. Maybe next time.

A freakout. A rant. And endless gratitude.

Posted on by amberhj

Don't worry, it's just prunes.

Don't worry, it's just prunes.

Early this afternoon, Stella got upset and took only 100 mls from the bottle. It was really weird. All my fears and worries came rushing back.

Granted, she took around 180 before and after that. But what a scare. I was so upset, I yelled at Cody like a maniac. He was holding her because he wanted to try feeding her again, after I told him what had happened and how she didn’t seem to want to eat and was getting fussy about it, but all she did was cry and cry so finally I screamed from the other room, “JUST GIVE HER THE PACIFIER!!!” The idea of trying to feed her when she clearly did not want to sent up an army of angry red flags. Forcing it never works–it makes her want to eat less. Not that he was really forcing it, but he was nearing that old territory in my mind and I could not handle it.

It will take a while for me to really accept that she will not always take what I expect and that this is okay.

In the background, I am feeling nervous about her six-month “well child” visit with her pediatrician. He hasn’t seemed to have fully understood how well she is doing. How huge it was for her to start enjoying eating and to not only not lose weight but to start to gain a decent amount after just three weeks without the tube. I mean, it doesn’t really matter what he thinks. And there is no chance of Stella the Tube Girl II showing in theaters–ever. That sequel will never be made. But still. The last couple of times I’ve left his office feeling pretty crestfallen. Like the feeling of letdown when you go on a great first date, then have a terrible second date. You just feel so deflated. The neurotic me (well, maybe that just is me) is afraid that if Stella doesn’t gain an insane amount of weight, he’ll act all concerned and I’ll get all riled up and strongly disagree with him and stand my ground but then secretly, after we leave, I will worry about everything he said and fall apart and it will be unpleasant for all.

So I weighed her today. It was totally unnecessary and probably counter-productive. But I just had to. She weighed in at 15 pounds, 14.5 ounces. So by our count, she’s gained about 8 ounces in ten days. It’s great! Of course, I hear the doctor’s voice in the background saying how he likes to see an ounce a day. But from what I understand, around this age, the rate of gain slows down naturally. And really, she’s happy and healthy and clearly gaining an appropriate amount of weight so who cares!

She’s a week away from her 6-month birthday and when she hits 16 pounds, and clearly she will surpass it by several ounces, she will be above the 50th percentile curve, I think. She was in the 50th when she was born. I will remind the good doctor of this if need be. Have I told you how much I hate percentiles? They drive me nuts. I think that unless a baby is in trouble, no parent should even know the percentile. What’s the point? There are chubba-butt babies that are completely off the charts and their parents know they are big babies. There are babies that are petite–I have a feeling their parents know they are small having looked at them every moment of every day–and very content in the 3rd percentile. And the vast majority of these babies, all over the spectrum, are healthy. So what’s with the percentile obsession? The growth percentile calculator on BabyCenter says, “See how your child’s growth compares.” So there we go, comparing our babies with their peers right out of the womb based on some number that, for the most part, means nothing. I doubt my parents knew what height/weight percentile my sisters and I were in. And I KNOW they didn’t chart our head circumferences! They just knew we were eating, pooping, sleeping and, overall, happy and healthy. That was enough! And it should be for today’s parents. Rant over.

Yesterday’s occupational therapy appointment went very well. Stella ate beforehand, so Robin didn’t get to see how fabulously she eats, but we were able to discuss her amazing progress, affirm the whole journey, and get some questions answered. We got some great tips on how to encourage her to get more comfortable on her tummy and with rolling and sitting up. We learned that we should definitely proceed with spoon feeding full steam ahead and not worry about it adversely affecting bottle feeding. We have some other decisions to make–like when to switch to 20-calorie-per-ounce formula and whether we want to see if the baby food in the bottle really is making it more appealing or if it was just coincidence. I think Cody and I are reticent to switch anything up just yet, but we probably will at least switch her to 20-calorie-per-ounce concentration, as it is the standard for breast milk and formula and may better allow Stella to regulate her intake.

I gave Robin a “thank you” card and photo to remember Stella by–one in which she is clutching a bottle the way Gollum held the ring. I remember our first meeting with her well. We were so thrilled to be there. To finally be getting the help we needed, from the best of the best. (Robin is a renowned feeding specialist.) I’d been trying so hard to get Stella to eat for at least a month at that point and I was falling apart. No one had been able to figure out what was wrong, and they didn’t see the daily struggle and didn’t have the sense of urgency that was needed to move things forward. I felt so alone and hopeless and worn down. During that appointment Robin said with such confidence, “I’m going to see you through this.” And she did. As I reminded her in the card, she listened to me cry and rant. She calmed me down, educated me and backed me up. I am forever grateful.

And that reminds me of all of the incredible people who helped us weather the storm…

Barbara Hescock, my mother, who stayed with us for almost three whole weeks and spent Thanksgiving cooking for three, two of them severely depressed, in our crappy kitchen instead of her new wonderful one with a crowd of eager company as she’d planned long before… she arrived during our stay at Children’s and got me through the worst days of my life, helped me rise to the challenge of dealing with the difficulties of the tube while feeding me (everything made from SCRATCH–even tomato sauce–with so much love) so I didn’t disappear just as she so graciously did during Stella’s first weeks–she was the hands behind my hands, just what every new mom truly needs–and who even tolerated me snapping at her a couple times without holding it against me

Robin Glass, MS, OTR, IBCLC, occupational therapist, who, as I just mentioned, was our rock and provider of wisdom, sanity and hope!

Devorah Steinecker, MD, cranial osteopath who treated Stella about a dozen times and helped to greatly decrease Stella’s reflux and aversion, who was 100% confident that Stella would get better and became one of our biggest supporters when we removed the tube, a time when we really needed positive voices around us

Sarah Tyack, RN, lactation consultant with whom I met several times who helped identify Stella’s reflux, a major breakthrough, and who saw me at my worst and instead of judging me, connected me with the help I needed to cope and the help Stella needed to recover

Janet Whalley, RN, co-author of Pregnancy, Childbirth, and the Newborn: The Complete Guide and lactation consultant that I met with several times who became a mentor and person to call when I got worried, who was always so understanding and concerned about us and provided any and all ideas and information she had

Ann Keppler, RN, co-author of Pregnancy, Childbirth, and the Newborn: The Complete Guide and very well known in Seattle for her mindblowingly helpful First Weeks seminars, she sent me the most amazingly supportive and helpful email in response to my random, frantic email to her

Judy Herrigel, RN, founder of First Weeks and longtime lactaction consultant to whom I reached and talked to about Stella’s issues and who expressed much compassion and understanding

Dr. Trish Raymer, one of Seattle’s VERY BEST family practitioners–my doctor and was Stella’s doctor until we switched to Numrych who had instant access to all of Stella’s lab results, appointment info, etc. at Children’s Hospital which made our lives easier–who got Stella in to see Robin and who admitted us to Children’s when she saw that we needed urgent help, and who was always so delighted to see Stella that it warmed my heart even on my soul’s coldest days

Dr. Thomas Numrych, Stella’s current pediatrician, who returns my emails and calls and spent a lot of time talking to me during our toughest days… I have been complaining about him a bit,sure, but I think he’s a good person and good doctor

Dr. Marguerite Dunitz-Scheer, director of the tube weaning clinic in Graz, Austria who always knew that Stella could do this and who helped convince me to let go of at least some of my fear

Kathleen Kendall-Tackett, Ph.D., IBCLC, a breastfeeding expert—whom I’d heard talk about postpartum depression and breastfeeding issues in a podcast and emailed out of the blue–who talked to me for quite a while on the phone trying to troubleshoot our issues and provide encouragement

Dr. Jessica Bloom, cousin who just so happens to be a pediatrician, who talked me down from ledges and watched Stella for a whole day (after all, if you can’t let a relative who is a pediatrician watch your child, then you are hopeless!), when I was really low and about to starve to death from anxiety

Barbara Reilly, a wonderful, funny, compassionate friend who provided much needed food on multiple occasions and insisted on watching Stella, allowing us to get dressed up and go out for five whole hours!

Susie Estok, a fellow writer and kick-ass friend who watched Stella while I got my hair cut then spent the day with us, making me feel a lot less lonely and lot more hopeful

Maureen Devine, a friend and co-worker with the most amazing heart who stepped up to provide nourishment and support

Rocio Carballo, a mom who was in the same boat with the same fears who contacted me through the blog… we were able to relate and helped pick each other up when we were down and I’m so happy to say that her precious Diego is also tube-free and eating like a champ!

Dr. Stephanie Farrell, an engineer and professor that I don’t know at all and emailed out of the blue about her experiences with tube weaning her own daughter and who sent me the most supportive, wonderful reply

Trish Norton, a mom (to whom I was connected through Robin Glass) who went through very similar struggles with her daughter Libby and who took time to talk to me, a complete stranger, honestly and openly about her experiences and how she got through it, making me feel so much more normal and less crazy and alone

I will always think of these people with such fondness and gratitude. When Stella was not gaining weight, before we had any idea of what was bothering her, that growth percentile curve felt like a cliff. We were careening around a narrow corner and about to fall into a deep, dark abyss when one by one, Team Stella stepped into our lives, and gently but firmly pulled us away from the edge.

Yes, these people are Team Stella, forever!

Thank you.

Days 22 through 25: Stella got her groove back

Posted on by amberhj

As Stella’s occupational therapist put it, “Stella has internalized the joy of eating.”

Her feeding aversion is, well, history. A memory. Though not a distant memory, of course. We still get nervous if she goes for a long stretch without eating. We still watch her eating behavior like mama and papa hawks, and breathe a sigh of relief when she finishes a bottle. But mostly, we are in complete awe of Stella’s incredible appetite. Her ability to down six ounces in less than five minutes. It’s nothing short of a miracle. But then, miracles don’t come easy. You have to work for them. You have to be patient. And you have to believe. There were moments when this wonderful outcome didn’t seem possible. But deep down, we always knew she could do it. That the tube had to go. There was no question.

Stella’s intake for the last week has been between 770 to 875 mls a day. Of course, her formula is made at a 20% higher caloric concentration than typical breastmilk or formula. So she’s getting quite a lot of nourishment, which is quite evident in her diapers! The really crazy part, for us, is that she now takes in 160-180 mls at a time. We remember the days of her taking only 20 to 45 mls, and thinking, “Well, that’s good! She’s eating, and we can build on that!” Then we were absolutely thrilled when she showed she could take 100 mls on occasion. We remember her screaming at the sight of the bottle, arching her back and tossing her head back when the bottle was offered. Now she lunges toward the bottle and pulls it to her mouth. She cries UNTIL she sees the bottle. It’s just astounding.

I remember driving one day, during a wind storm that hit at the height of Stella’s eating troubles, listening to Patty Griffin’s “Love Throw a Line” and singing and crying. This was back when I was so sick with worry, and so overwhelmed, that I couldn’t eat or sleep.  I stopped at a light and looked up to see a mighty, towering evergreen tree whipped up into a frenzy by the wind. The trunk was bending and swaying and the bows were being tossed about so vigorously that the tree looked angry, as if it were fighting back at the storm. Yet, it was clear that this tree could handle the winds. In fact, it was designed to withstand such a storm and had lived through hundreds of them. I saw myself in the tree and its wild, fitful dance. In that moment, even though I’d been feeling like I was losing my grip, I knew I could handle it. That I would help Stella recover, and that we would be okay. Even as Stella and I struggled, we were staying strong at the same time. Just like that tree. I’ll always remember it.

Yes, we’ve weathered a storm. That said, during our stay at Seattle Children’s Hospital, I was struck by how incredibly lucky we are to have Stella–a healthy, happy child, who had a temporary, treatable issue with eating. There are so many children and babies just struggling to survive. Babies like Kayleigh Freeman, who was born weighing just one pound and who has defied all the odds, and bounced back after countless surgeries and trials. (We bought bracelets to support her and will wear them with pride when they arrive!) This experience with Stella has truly opened my heart. I already loved all babies and children, but now there is a whole new layer to that love. A compelling urge to help little ones in need. Cody and I already sponsored a child, and recently, I signed us up to sponsor another little girl–her name is Anyi and she lives in Honduras.

We’ve learned and grown so much over the past five months. (Can you believe she is five months old???) We are truly blessed. Stella is thriving and, as always, an absolute joy. I want to help other parents find the same feeling of  happiness and relief that we have experienced. In the coming weeks, I will find a way to put my strengths, talents and passion to work for children who are struggling. If I can make life even just a little bit better for even just one other baby, well, it would make our experiences all the more meaningful.

You know that feeling after a storm has passed? Quiet and calm settles in over everything. There is a striking stillness in things recently battered by what seemed like relentless winds. The scents and colors of the earth are more vibrant thanks to the rain. That’s what it’s like around here now. Brighter and more peaceful. Except for the teething.

Ha! Now we get to focus more on all the “normal” baby challenges and happenings. Every time I bend down to pick up the teether toy that Stella has dropped for the thousandth time, I smile.