Blogging. Stella. Me me me!

Feeling anxious. It keeps being said in the media and whatnot (on blogs, probably) that blogging is extremely narcissistic. I’m worried that I’m not measuring up because this blog is only somewhat narcissistic so far.

You see, I need to write about things in addition to vision therapy but I’ve been afraid to. So I apologize to my optometrist and vision therapist readers in advance.

Obviously, it doesn’t get much more “niche” than this blog. I may not reach too many people but some of the ones who do come here find stuff that is very, very directly helpful or interesting to them or their child. I need to figure out a way to organize the site into clear sections so my three different audiences of subscribers (of roughly ten people each whom I ADORE) can find the niches (great word) that they’re looking for. Or maybe I’ll keep Stella and motherhood stuff going here and start a new blog for other stuff. We’ll see. Deep breaths, everyone. It’s going to be okay.

The three current subject areas are broken down as follows:

  1. our feeding tube weaning journey and associated learning (a ton of my traffic comes here for this)
  2. strabismus, amblyopia and vision therapy experiences, information and associated amazing breakthroughs and fearful frustrations (more and more of my traffic is being generated by this)
  3. random crap that I find interesting or amusing as a mom or writer or wife or human being (no one comes here for this stuff–even my humor is a niche)

I’ll try to figure out how to enable you to opt in only to posts about Stella’s eyes, or tube weaning (once in a while I still find tube weaning information and stories that I’d like to share here!), or random (entertaining, maybe, I hope?) crap. That way you won’t have to deal with the rest showing up in your inbox. Here’s a good example of something you may like to skip. I took it from my Facebook page but find it amusing enough to post here:

Navy Hibiscus Sundress on Zulily

Navy Hibiscus Sundress / Unicorn Butterfly Bait

I am considering this summer dress for Stella, but the product copy is just too cute! I’m too busy rolling my eyes to make the purchase. Am I just jaded? Here it is: “A just-right cotton poplin dress like this one has magical properties, inviting colorful butterflies to land on her nose in between twirls. And after that, maybe a strawberry ice cream cone appears in her hand.” Yeah, and after that, maybe a unicorn craps cupcakes in our backyard.

I love Stella. And I want to continue to share the oh-my-god discoveries (like prism goggles, thanks to Dr. T) that have made such a difference–first for her gastrointestinal tract, and now for her eyeballs. But frankly, she’s really thriving and therefore is not giving me enough material. So I’d like to share other stories involving Stella, but not too many because I want to protect her privacy, and non-Stella-related topics. I don’t really know what to write about at this point or how to do it but I will get there, damn it! I’m a copywriter by trade but want to do other types of writing again (I’ve flirted with “real” writing before). I need to write! About stuff! That I care about! As a whole person! Though I don’t think I’ve been 100% “whole” since those two months when I had to give up cheese in 2008. A small part of me died due to deliciousness deprivation.

The last thing I write will be typed through awkwardly teary eyes. Thank you so much for reading my blog. We (and by that I mostly mean me/I) had some dark times amid the wonderful ones these last couple of years, and sometimes, just knowing that people were reading our story and relating to it or cheering us on or somehow benefiting or even laughing at my desperate attempts at humor–it saved me from really plummeting. This story could’ve gone a lot differently. And the comments. Oh my gawd the comments. Soul-soothing and life-affirming, just like cheese! I’m making a really ugly crying face right now. I wish you could see it so you’d know how much I mean this. Okay maybe not. Phew.

And with that I’m going to go collect a cupcake from our backyard. I ordered the dress from one of those anxiety-inducing daily deal sites–and it’s already working its magic.

Thank you

So many times, comments from visitors have made me cry. Made me feel like it’s all worthwhile, and that life is just wonderful. You give me hope. You give me faith in the world. Thank you to “CJ’s mommy,” whose comment I pasted below, and to all the other amazing parents who’ve taken time out of a crazy, stressful time in your life to leave a comment here. This is not meant as a pat on the back to myself, which is how I worry it will come across, because while this is a message of gratitude to me, I am even more grateful. I am in awe of some of the stories that I’m seeing here in comments. This is good for my soul and I feel it in a very real way. You have no idea how much your words mean to me! Much love to you all. Again, I say, “Thank YOU!”

“It has been a couple months since I last wrote, and I just wanted to say how grateful I am to everything you have written about tube weaning. I found so much support from everything you wrote. We have been involved in the Graz program for 6 weeks now and Cason is doing absolutely amazing. I am so thrilled and when I look at him eat and put just about everything in his mouth I can not believe just 6 weeks ago how LOST I was! You gave me hope, thank you!!
Thank you.”

New “tube weaning stories” page

Just a note to say that in this blog’s navigation I’ve replaced the “Stella’s Tube Wean” page with a more broad and helpful “Tube Weaning Stories” page. All of these children’s stories deserved to be more prominent, darn it! I plan to fill this page with links to dozens and dozens of weaning stories (with a brief note about the duration of and reason for tube feeding provided, as you’ll see), but for now you’ll find Stella, Zander, Heath, Frankie, and Diego highlighted there.

If you know of any tube weaning stories that are shared online, regardless of the weaning method or principles used, please let me know! I’d be grateful and will post the link as soon as possible.

Thank you!

More on the risks of NG tubes

A couple of things to share for now: A message I sent in an effort to get support for Stella’s wean, and an AAP study.

Below is the actual text of an email, including excerpts from research that I paid for, that I sent to Stella’s pediatrician and OT on January 4, 2009. The next day, they called to say that a two-week “trial” without the tube would be low risk and to go ahead with it. She never looked back and began eating large amounts at about the three-week mark. She would even have days in which she consumed 1,000 mls of 24-calorie-per-ounce formula. She was about four months old at the time, and before weaning had progressed to taking in 40-50% of her formula orally. But it was stuck there, and feeding her was still quite difficult. I simply don’t know how long tube feeding would’ve persisted otherwise. I’m thankful I was truly heard and that Stella was supported in learning to eat completely on her own.

***

Dear Tom and Robin,

Stella’s eating is regressing. The core issues seem to be reflux and difficulty swallowing. I strongly believe that the tube is worsening both of these, and that much longer use of the tube will cause more damage than benefit. Stella did not have this type of difficulty swallowing before the tube, I know that for sure. Her swallowing has gotten progressively worse over the last couple of months, during which time the tube has gone in and out many times. Her reflux is also still a problem and I strongly suspect that the tube is part of that. I found research which supports my intuition. See below. The cited papers are also attached.

*

From paper entitled, “Infants with swallowing problems” by Helen Cockerill, from Pediatrics and Child Health 18:12 (2008):

“The presence of a nasogastric tube may provide negative stimulation and impact on respiratory support for oral feeding. Long-term use has been associated with the development of later feeding aversion.”

From paper entitled, “Effects of Nasogastric Tubes on the Young, Normal Swallowing Mechanism” by Phillipa Sarah Huggins, MSc, Seppo Kalervo Tuomi, PhD and Christopher Young, MBBS, FRCS, FFRad(D)(SA), from Dysphagia 14:157–161 (1999):

“However, there are several disadvantages to nasogastric feeding, including nasal ulceration, laryngeal injury, and pharyngeal discomfort [5]. Nasogastric tubes may also precipitate gastroesophageal reflux, which can lead to aspiration [6]. Nasogastric tubes are frequently self-extubated, especially in elderly or restless patients. Reintubation is labor intensive and distressing for the patient [4].”

“Nasogastric tubes slow swallowing in young normal adults.” (My own thought on this: It seems logical that if it affects adults this way, babies would be as affected if not more so. Slowing of swallowing seems to be exactly what is happening to Stella–she is clearly uncomfortable swallowing now in many of her feeds.)

“Sensory accommodation to the tube may counteract the earlier pharyngeal response triggering seen in this study, whereas prolonged accommodation of the tube may delay triggering of the pharyngeal swallow. This may hinder recovery of normal swallowing patterns in people with swallowing impairments and increase the likelihood of aspiration.”

*

We are doing all we can to put weight on Stella to put us in a better position to go without the tube to see how she does. Are there any alternatives to the tube? Can we try cup feeding? Can we explore any other avenues (not including a G-tube which is not a route we are willing to go)? I believe that we treated her initial problems but that new problems may have arisen DUE in large part to the tube. Thank you for hearing me out and helping us resolve Stella’s feeding issue. You both have been so helpful.

I would like your honest thoughts on Stella’s progress (or lack thereof) and prognosis. We are very scared and want to know what we are up against. It’s starting to feel hopeless. We are doing out best to keep hope alive, but are desperate to seek out other ways of treating her.

Thank you,
Amber

***

This NG tube study, published in PEDIATRICS (The Official Journal of the American Academy of Pediatrics), is very telling, regarding of the distress caused by NG tubes. Some of the wording and terms used in assessing the pain are haunting: “Does Nebulized Lidocaine Reduce the Pain and Distress of Nasogastric Tube Insertion in Young Children? A Randomized, Double-Blind, Placebo-Controlled Trial.”

Taking a stand against tube-feeding crimes and negligence

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

Hooray for Heath, his mom, and inspiring tube weaning success!

Mighty Heath

Meet Heath. Ain't he sweet?

Remember Zander? Well he’s got company. (The tube-free ranks are growing.)

Sadly, I kept putting off this post because the hugeness of the triumph deserves a truly well written, heartfelt description. Which takes time and energy that I’ve been lacking, though I’ve so wanted to muster it! But then I realized that I can’t tell the story any better than Jenny, Heath’s mom, an incredible writer and an amazingly intelligent and unstoppable mother. So I’m just going to give you the highlights and point you toward the blog that documents Heath’s journey: The Crunchy and the Smooth.

Heath is 15 months old and was 100% tube fed until a couple weeks ago. The need for his g-tube (gastrostomy button) was prompted by his difficult birth and the immediate, medically intense aftermath. The fly-by overview, in Jenny’s words: “cord wrapped tight around his neck, Apgars of 0, ambulance transport from a country mouse hospital to a city mouse NICU, diagnosis: hypoxic brain injury.” As the result of many necessary and lifesaving but overwhelming and traumatizing medical procedures that took place in the area of his nose and mouth (mainly intubation and suctioning), Heath developed Posttraumatic Feeding Syndrome. Until recently, to defend himself from further invasions, he batted away any food presented to him. He was scared, and who could blame him? The answer, his parents realized, was to build trust, apply no pressure, and to let him feel hunger and interact with food on his own terms (play picnics, for example).

I want to pause here and clarify, because “brain injury” is vague and doesn’t paint an accurate picture of Heath. While motor areas of Heath’s brain suffered injury during his birth, Jenny explained to me that his brain is repairing itself thanks to the amazing processes enabled by infant neuroplasticity. The ongoing repairs are evident, as I’ve noticed leaps in his development in the short time I’ve known Heath.  Anyone who lays eyes on him can see that he is thriving in every way. He  is one of the happiest, sweetest, most engaged and engaging babies I’ve ever met. He’s got a sense of humor. He communicates and makes friends easily. His weight is great. He’s meeting developmental milestones a little later than most, but he’s getting there–at his own happy pace (just like all babies, really). Of course, his mother has sought out various ways to support him in his physical development, including occupational therapy, movement sessions and even yoga–and he’s way better than me, seriously.

After much research, various forms of therapy, eye-opening revelations, and inspiration from the Graz model, an intensive wean was planned. The journey began on May 9th, with hands-on support from Dr. Markus Wilken, a psychologist with specialized expertise on feeding adversity. He came to the U.S. to help wean Heath as well as two other tube-fed children, who began eating faster than anyone expected! (You can read about Kai and Rosie’s simultaneous weaning successes at The Crunchy and the Smooth, as well.) Over his career, Wilken has helped wean more than 400 children from their feeding tubes.  He leads the tube weaning program at Princess Margaret Hospital in Darmstadt, Germany and together with Martina Jotzo runs The Institute for Psychology and Psychosomatics of Early Childhood.

Jenny’s blog has all the weaning specifics, but I’ll say that it’s been quite a ride (as in nauseating ups and downs) for Heath and his parents, as most weans are. But, with no doubt, the weaning effort has been successful. The progress Heath has made is staggering. In short, and I am in complete awe though I never doubted he could do it, Heath has become an EATER. He is enjoying a diverse array of foods, with more and more being added to the menu each day. I’m smiling because Heath’s life is forever changed. And because any parent of a tube-fed child who reads this will experience the sensation of their heart doing a back flip within their chest. Brave Heath is going to help so many babies and kids escape from the limitations, pain and decreased quality of life (for the whole family) that comes from extended tube feeding–not just the physical and psychological effects of the tube itself but from the anxiety and helplessness of tube feeding with no end in sight, when your child has (often after much hard work, therapy, recovery) the ability but not the willingness to eat. The parents who stare into a proverbial black hole whenever they ask doctors or wonder to themselves about whether their child will ever be able to eat–they will discover hope in Heath.

To say that Heath’s mom deserves credit is such a vast understatement. The roller coaster ride she (and her wonderful husband) have been on since his birth, when Heath literally had to be brought back to life and the 35 terrifying days in the NICU that followed, is a testament to not only her strength, but her inestimable love and grace. I know why Heath smiles so much.

Practically speaking, this very smart woman is an accomplished journalist. You can tell by the quality of her writing–and the research and outreach to experts across the globe that she executed in her quest to empower Heath with the gift of autonomy and the joy of eating. So, parents of tube-fed children, please check out her Resources Page to hit the jackpot in terms of insights and data and all kinds of valuable, rare informational gems on the topics of tube weaning, tube feeding and associated trauma.

To everyone reading this… I hope you’ll go to The Crunchy and the Smooth and post a few cheerful and supportive words in the comments section. Heath has come a long, long way, but there is still patience and perseverance required by this family as they follow Heath’s lead and adjust to a whole new paradigm.

To Heath, Jenny and the man known as “Peanut”…  big love, loud applause and quiet, awestruck respect from me, Stella and Cody. Enjoy every lick, bite and gulp! (We know you will.)

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

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.)

3 reasons to smile

Stella’s Auntie Corinne (my youngest sister) and Uncle Colin (the duo also known as “C squared”) flew in from Boston for a few days, but now they are gone, and Stella and I are suffering from withdrawal.

Just before C and C’s arrival, Stella’s stranger anxiety went through the roof. As we entered the park a few days ago, we saw a couple approaching from the opposite entrance, all the way across the green expanse. Upon spotting them, Stella retreated to her hiding post behind my knee. She remained there until they passed, which took a while, and eyed them intently the whole time, eliciting a laugh from the two suspicious characters. In light of experiences like that, I was wondering how quickly she’d warm up to our house guests, whom she hadn’t seen since April. Well, five minutes after they arrived, she was doing stuff like this:

Kicking back with C squared

Kicking back with C squared

I think they share some kind of bond. It was a given that Stella would take to Corinne, having spent more time with her in the past. But I was impressed by how she fell in love with Colin. They really connected. But then again, come to think of it, these three have something in common. They are survivors.

At one point during the visit, Uncle Colin carried Stella up our steep front steps, of which there are many. This brought tears to my eyes. In fact, this was never supposed to happen. Colin is lucky to be alive. A couple years ago, he was in a devastating single-car accident. To keep him alive, they had to pump more blood into him than the human body actually holds. He was told he’d never walk again. His spine literally moved sideways within his body, and that was just one of many horrific injuries. From the blog that documented his incredible recovery:  “Colin has endured four very difficult surgeries: one to remove a portion of his lung torn from broken ribs and to stop internal bleeding, two back surgeries to repair the spinal cord and stabilize shattered vertebrae, and a fourth to mend three breaks in his right arm.”

During their visit, Corinne thought back about their natural defiance, their bold assumption that he would indeed walk again–their refusal to accept anything else. After waking up from the surgery on his spine, Colin was asked to move his toes. To everyone’s astonishment, he could. The doctor blew it off as spasms–he told them not to get their hopes up, that Colin would not walk. But C squared knew spasms could not explain this on-command movement. They KNEW he would walk again–in fact, they thought it was obvious. Corinne laughed on recalling it: “We were like, ‘he can move his toes!’ DUH! He’ll totally walk again, no problem!” In hindsight she realized that the leap from slight toe movement to walking again was Grand-Canyon-sized. But the important part of all this is that they had hope. Hope! Hope is huge. Hope is what makes us and keeps us human. Granted, it was a very, very long road. Colin worked his ass off. They fought insurance battles and had about a year’s worth of dark days, but they knew he’d get there. Against all odds, and with the support of the community that rallied around him, he did.

Oh, did I mention that Colin’s accident happened five weeks after their wedding? And a several years after a sleeping Corinne rolled out of her third-story dormitory window, cracking her skull and vertebrae, and shattering her arm? She sat in the gutter alongside the building until someone heard her moaning in pain. I remember the moment I got the news about Corinne’s accident and how I could not breathe. I remember flying to Boulder, Colorado to see her, and wishing with all my might that I could trade places with her yet being blown away with how strong she was during the recovery process. And I recall feeling similarly sucker-punched when I got the call about Colin, whose life was dangling by a shredded thread. Those are those frozen moments that stay with you–slaps in the face that keep you from sleeping on the job of life.

While not really comparable to the life-threatening injuries Colin and Corinne endured, Stella went through quite a bit in her first year, the lowlights being a scary feeding aversion, blood in her diaper, and The Tube. So when I saw Colin, Corinne and Stella all together, happy and healthy, I could not help but feel amazed, and overwhelmed with gratitude. Miracles do happen, and my family is proof of that. I could not be more proud.

"Just tell 'em we're survivors!" (I love these three people. And the movie "Cars.")

"Just tell 'em we're survivors!" (I love these three people and, I'll admit it, the movie "Cars.")

P.S. I’m also thankful that we had gorgeous, sunny weather for their visit. “C squared”, being bionic and all, have enough metal in their bodies to shame Wolverine. Their joints get uncomfortable as rainy weather approaches in the distance–nevermind when gloom settles in for days on end. It will surely descend soon, but Colin and Corinne left enough of their light to keep us going for a while.

P.P.S. Corinne and Colin helped Stella embrace her sippy cup. This is also a miracle. Trust me.

Stella Enters Single Digits

Stella turned one on Monday. I should probably say something really profound and eloquent and heartfelt but all I keep thinking to myself is “HOLY SHITBALLS!” Over and over and over.

The birthday girl.

The birthday girl.

Okay, I’ll say that after 12 mind-blowing months, it feels like heaven to see her thriving, running, throwing, walking, laughing, smiling, waving, chowing, bye-bye-ing and doing everything she is “supposed to” and more, especially after all we went through with her feeding issues and the entity referred to as The Tube. Perhaps I appreciate this milestone more–who knows, maybe a lot more–than I otherwise would have. There were days when I didn’t know if she’d grow again. I couldn’t see a way out for us–no light at the end of the tunnel. In fact, it wasn’t a tunnel. It was a deep hole and we were stuck in what seemed like mud but it was too dark to really know. There were nights when terror had me by the throat and I literally had trouble breathing because I loved her so much and that feeding tube was hell and totally unacceptable and the tyrannical, suffocating thought, “WHY WON’T SHE JUST EAT?” robbed me of my own appetite and mental stability (what little I had to begin with). The really sad part, I suppose, is that I know there were stretches of time during which worry over her unwillingness to eat, and knowledge of the pain she was in initially, and the resulting lack of weight gain robbed me of much of the enjoyment of some her early little triumphs–the ones that are actually incredibly huge–and anxiety sometimes prevented me from savoring that fleeting, precious time in her life. That’s what gets to me as I look back.

But now, here we are at one year old. We made it! We kicked some ass. Holy crap. We moved MOUNTAINS, we hit the three-pointer at the buzzer, we saved the world! (Our little corner of it, anyway.) I could not be more proud of her. And you know what? I’m proud of me too. I love where we are now. She is such a happy and active child and so strong and vibrant and resilient. She glows! Everyone sees it. I am tempted to quote Jack Nicholsen here, which seems inappropriate and perfect: “You make me want to be a better man.” Because she has inspired me to let go of what doesn’t matter and to cherish what does. Heck, if she is this awesome (and she really, really is–like when she spots her Cookie Monster doll across the room and lowers her voice several octaves and talks in scruffy baby talk all the way over to him), I must be pretty great. So, to be better, I don’t really have to do much at all, except be kinder and gentler toward myself. That’s the example I want to set for Stella.

Just after proving that guacamole has a calming effect.

Just after proving that guacamole has a calming effect.

We threw a very small, delightful and heartfelt party on Sunday (yes, it’s true, a party can be heartfelt). My parents were visiting from Boston, which made it all the more fun. I think we were all shocked when Stella refused to eat her cupcake. Wouldn’t even touch it. We got her to lick the candle, an attempt to help her enjoy some of the Trophy Cupcake frosting magic, but it must’ve been too sweet for her, because she reacted as if she’d been force-fed a heaping dollop of Vegemite. (I reacted the same way, when, during a soiree I attended amid my study abroad experience in Melbourne, I loaded up a cracker with what I thought was Nutella. Let’s just say that I’ve never been more wrong about anything in my life.) Total disgust. However, she eagerly ate my mom’s super fantastic guacamole, and had some flaky crust from one of the three types of quiche (crab, broccoli, and bacon-loaded Lorraine–all were superb).

She looked as adorable as ever, but, not at all used to wearing a floofy dress, she tried to undress herself constantly. Also not accustomed to so many people (and all were adults save for one toddler) crammed into our small abode, she got a bit clingy. I have to say I enjoyed that, because she’s usually far too busy sprinting around or doing headstands on the coffee table (trying to, anyway) to be held. Oh my, she WAILED when we sang “Happy Birthday.” It was funny, and got a big laugh (which probably didn’t help matters!) but I really felt for her. Actually, I set her up. I know full well that when you sing to her on your own, she’ll not only be mesmerized, but she’ll often sing along, or more likely try to one up you with her angelic singing voice when you’re done. But don’t you DARE sing with anyone else! Not even one other person! It is absolutely *terrifying* to this otherwise fearless girl. Cody and I learned this a few months ago. I was singing some old Cookie Monster song (that Cody taught me) while feeding Stella, when Cody chimed in. She looked at me with an expression of total horror, then looked at Cody, and back at me. And then, the tears and hysterics began. Sometimes we forget about this and absentmindedly join in if the other is singing and holy cow does our self esteem take a hit when she gives us the biggest and most terrified thumbs down you can imagine.

Cody made a bound hardcover photo album recapping Stella’s first year of life, as a surprise for me. It arrived yesterday, and it’s fabulous. I just love it. (Thank you very much, Cody!) Somewhere toward the middle, there’s a photograph from Christmas day. She’s on her tummy, wearing her green candy cane (striped) PJ’s, with her fists restly cutely under her chin. Her expression is priceless. She is clearly thrilled and her grin could not be any wider, but there is an undeniably devilish glint to her smile. She’s up to something. The tube is there with its horrible, all-too-temporary tape job, but at first, I didn’t even see it. All I saw was her beautiful face. And as I realized this, I was struck with how far we’ve come.

Stella, happy, happy birthday! You are a wonder to behold. We feel so lucky, so incredibly thankful to have you in our lives. I love you so much I would stand on my head all day long just to prove it to you, or even eat a whole tub of Vegemite. May your second year be as triumphant as your first, and even more joyful! We can’t wait to see what you do next.

*Overly dramatic sigh*

I should be blogging often as Stella is giving me tons of Grade A writing material. She took her first steps last week and is getting four new teeth (all at once). But I’m feeling pretty depressed lately, so every time I go to write, I quickly tire and say to myself, “Why bother?” It’s horrible to think that I don’t have the energy or enthusiasm to write about my precious Stella lately. It’s not for a lack of love, that’s for sure.

The truth is, I weaned myself off of my antidepressants about three months ago. Stella was better, eating happily and no longer tube fed, so I thought I was in the clear. Now I am thinking that it was premature to go off the meds. I am down in the dumps much of the time.

I don’t know exactly why I am feeling so sad, but I hope to rebound soon. Even with all of that heaviness on my shoulders, Stella makes me smile and laugh often. Not that she actually has to do anything to lift my spirits. The mere sight of her is a mood enhancer. Her cuteness forces me to say, at least a dozen times a day while hugging her tightly, “I love my munchkin!”

So, I need to devise a plan for feeling better. If only laziness and Facebook weren’t getting in the way…