“Son, we have talked about this! Do not play with the trash can lid! Come on, lets play with your cars.” As usual, Asher turns around and goes right back to the trash can, and the conversation begins again.
Though my child is much like others in that he continually falls into temptation and fails to resist, he has always seemed a bit different. When all the other kids his age were turning over and trying to crawl, he was perfectly satisfied to lie on the floor and stare at the lights. When his peers began to crawl and pull up, he was content to push with his legs and scoot across the floor on the back of his head. He would not even pull up to a sitting position on his own till he was 12 months. At 14 months, he had gained the ability to scoot across the floor on his booty. He had finally mastered pulling himself to a standing position in his crib.
By his second Christmas, he began to toddle about most uncertainly. At 17 months, he was finally walking. We would silently giggle at his gait, frequently stating he looked like Fred Sanford. It was cute.
Then, the falls started. One big bad one a week causing a monster sized goose egg on his forehead. Same spot every time. His new doctor had consistently commented on his head size. After all of the falling down, strange gait, and overall wobbly walking motion, she scheduled an MRI.
This week, we went in for the test. Of corse, a 19 month old and a MRI machine are not a match made in heaven. For the test, they had to sedate him. I kept telling him it would be ok, and that the drugs they would give him would just make him very sleepy. One mommy, one daddy, and 3 nurses held him down for the IV. He may be a bit behind in some things, but that boy has one serious fighting spirit.
After the test, Asher woke up loopy. It was kind of funny the way he was playing with the nurse’s name badge though she insisted he stop. I held him in my arms and waited until they said it was time to go home.
A couple of days later, I called the doctor to see if they had the results. I was not expecting the news: he has a cyst on his right temporal lobe and a small amount of water on his brain. WHAT???????? This test was supposed to come back NORMAL!! I asked a few questions to the doctor, told her thank you, hung up, and called my husband.
If you have ever been sucker punched in the stomach, you will understand the feeling I had when they told me the results. I wanted to throw up, scream, cry, and pitch a justified fit. However, the only thing I could do was dial my husband’s phone number. I held it together for maybe 3 minutes before the tears came. I called my sister and she kept saying, “Autumn! Calm down! I can’t understand you!” It is all consuming fear. It is just all consuming.
Once I pulled myself together, my husband had gotten home from work. “I’m going to the store to get diapers.” I drove along in a numb state. At the grocery store, I pushed my cart to the familiar aisle, stared at the diapers, and pushed back the tears. “Autumn, do not loose it in the grocery store!! You have to see these people all of the time!! HOLD IT TOGETHER!!”
I left the grocery store, made it home, walked inside, and crumbled to pieces in my husband’s arms. How could my precious little boy have something growing in his brain that should not be there? I wanted to fix it. I wished I had the power to reach into his head and remove that damned cyst and water so he would be ok. But, I couldn’t. All I could do was stand there. “Function, Autumn…YOU HAVE TO FUNCTION!” And, so I did with the added weight of a rock in my gut and a knot in my throat.
At this point, we were uncertain of whether the cyst was benign or malignant. We did not know what it meant as far as his development was concerned. All we knew was the basics, and the basics were just not good enough.
The next morning, my very distressed husband called a friend who is a neurologist. He was so kind. This wonderful doctor actually pulled the MRI results, read them, and called my husband to tell him the cyst was not malignant. Praise God!!! He also stated the water around his brain could be causing the developmental delays, but there wasn’t enough to warrant a stint. However, Asher’s neurologist would have to read the MRI himself to decide. We still have to wait till the end of June to find out.
In the meantime, Asher had a follow-up visit with this primary doctor to check his ears. We talked for a while and made tons of appointments to help out my little man. First one was the ENT. After our visit there, the ENT decides Ash needs tubes. This news seemed like rose petals and bon-fire songs compared to earlier in the week.
So, now, we just push forward with doctors appointments for vision, hearing, early intervention, neurologists, and out patient surgery.
My beautiful, wonderful, sometimes sneaky little boy is the highlight to my life. He is the underscore to my lovely poems. He is the smile on my face, and sometimes, the roll of my eyes. My husband and I will push down the mountains if it means he can live a happy and healthy life. Though we will have to call in the reserves to help us push and call on God to give us the strength and faith to keep going, those damn mountains are coming down! Of this, I am quite certain.
