Parenthood – Page 2 – Patrick Hoopes

The end of another school year

Patrick woke up crying this morning at 6. Not just a little “I’m sleepy” cry. Out and out sobbing. When I asked him what was wrong, he replied “Push!!” “Push what?” I asked. “Push TAMMY!” He answered.

And I understood exactly what he meant.

“Push Tammy” is code for “I fought with my classmates at school again.” This time it was a dream. But it hits on a really real fear and a very big problem that I’ve been so baffled and busy with that it’s kept me away from this blog for quite some time.

This has been a hard school year for Patrick. My sweet, friendly, optimistic little boy has felt stressed and discouraged and just plain rejected. It was bound to happen one day that his medical issues and his developmental delays and his just-plain-awkwardness would catch up to him and cuteness wouldn’t carry him anymore. At least it started in his last year of preschool with a teacher who knows him and is OH SO patient and willing to adapt and help.

Patrick’s frustrations have manifested themselves in a lot of hitting, pushing, and kicking. Usually it’s subtle and small. Sometimes it’s angry. Some would say we’re lucky that he’s perfecting the art of the tantrum this late in life. The problem is that at age 5, it’s a whole lot more frowned upon. And it certainly is costing him friendships.

So, if you’re wondering what I’ve been doing since I wrote about the IEP meeting last fall.. I’ve been volunteering in Patrick’s classroom, advocating for a behavior plan and better support for him at school, trying to find a good psychologist and then trying to implement what she’s trying to teach me to do.

I’ve also been being humbled a lot as I realize how far I need to go still in developing patience, self-control, long-suffering, flexibility.. and on and on…

Oh, and watching a lot of Mister Rogers and Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood. Because they teach lessons both Patrick and I need to learn.

Now – why am I telling you this? Well, because I am really hoping that I can spend the summer blogging about how Patrick and I are having wonderfully fun adventures together as we explore the alphabet. Patrick’s got just a few days left in preschool.

So if I tell you now about this struggle, maybe I’ll stop worrying about how to tell you about this struggle and can get on with writing about our lives, imperfections and all.

The rest of today didn’t exactly pan out much better. Patrick’s nap got delayed because of our kitchen remodel (subject for another post soon).. and then I had to wake him early for speech therapy. And he was so tired that he fell asleep in the car for the first time in a year. And the he wouldn’t talk to his speech therapist and threw the flash cards she was using on the floor again. And when that was done, we took him to the zoo to see the new lions. And I’m not sure if he had a good time or not, because he was so sleepy he only cared about pushing the stroller (a tendency his psychologist calls a perseveration, which means something he gets stuck on obsessively). And when we would take it away, it just plain made him mad. And he tried tantrums, and we tried not to give in to tantrums… But when I reminded him he needed to calm down, he took a breath and counted to 4, then asked again in a nice voice. That is actually really good progress for him, and for me.

Another IEP meeting behind us.

I feel like a huge weight has been taken off of my chest. Although we have always been very blessed with a caring and cooperative IEP time, hammering out an IEP that meets Patrick’s many needs is no small feat. And this year, with everyone on the IEP team, except the classroom teacher, being brand new to us, I was especially worried.

So I got dressed in my best “I’m competent” clothes, a change from my usual “I’m a special needs mom and you’re lucky I am dressed” wardrobe. I even put on makeup and did my hair. I packed a bag of toys for Patrick and brought along a stack of supporting documents for me. I stopped at the store and picked up some new puzzles for Patrick, even. Then went to Dunkin’ Donuts for goodies since the meeting was at lunch time and I wondered how at least the classroom teacher was going to manage to eat.

Then, as I was sitting waiting for Brian to meet me, I noticed that I’d mixed up my brand new jeans with an old pair of jeans with a hole in the crotch that I’d worn gardening last week. And I crossed my legs and shook it off because I couldn’t let that throw me today.

It seemed like this year’s IEP was all the more important than years past. Before, we were just making goals to help move forward his academic and developmental progress. This time we were dealing with new and worsening behavior problems as Patrick has become aware of his limitations. He wants with all his heart to fit in and make friends, and he just doesn’t have the skills and savvy to do it right. And so he’s taken to hitting, kicking, and pulling hair when he feels frustrated instead.

I had a feeling stress was building. But, I’ll be honest, I’ve been surprised and quite devastated that things got this hard this fast.

As the school year ended last year, I knew that impulsivity was getting to be more of a problem the more Patrick could do things for himself, but still couldn’t be independent. I asked his neurologist for help and he referred me to an amazing program designed to help children with developmental delays and behavioral issues.

But when I started down that path, insurance informed me that the program was through a non-contracted provider. They are a non-profit and we could maybe have made things work, but it was going to cost us more out of pocket than I expected. And, to make matters worse, their wait list was months long… all summer long in fact… just to get an evaluation.

My sweet insurance case manager felt so bad delivering this news that within a day, she’d called around and found a neuropsychologist who they contracted with who could squeeze Patrick in for some developmental testing. I had to fill out a mountain of paperwork. The questionnaire was over 50 pages long. Plus provide a medical/developmental history. (Another 50 pages at least). Then, Brian and I went in for an interview where we talked about all of the things that concerned us about Patrick’s development and behavior. Then it was Patrick’s turn. 4 hours of alternating standardized testing and play therapy and observation. In the end, we got a 25 page write up describing our child. His strengths. His weaknesses. His learning style.

In the end, Patrick was diagnosed as having many physical and cognitive delays stemming from his brain injury. (No surprise there.) And with ADHD. (Also no surprise, though really nice to give it a name we can work with.) The evaluation also included testing for autism and the doctor and Patrick’s therapists and I had a long drawn out series of conversations in which we discussed the way that Patrick’s brain injury sometimes makes him act like he is autistic (sensory processing disorder, social difficulty, quirky little obsessions).. but in the end decided that that diagnosis would only cloud and confuse things for him as it doesn’t exactly fit.

Armed with new diagnoses and 25 pages about how to help Patrick learn (with very specific examples of areas to teach him in), we supposedly had all the makings of a rockstar IEP.

Hence my anxiety over the past month in trying to get things just right. I’ve been e-mailing and talking to Patrick’s new special education teacher (this is an extra teacher who works with him in a regular classroom). I have felt like the super duper stubborn bad guy with my list of unreasonable demands. I really wondered if they were starting to hate me.

But today’s meeting was yet another IEP success. I feel like Patrick’s got a group of very astute and caring team of people working with him. And, in the end, they found a way to give Patrick just about everything we were asking for for him. In fact, a little bit more, even. Like a motor aid to help him in PE. And picture schedule cards for each type of activity in the class. And a more supportive chair for work table time. The occupational therapist offered to work with him on a sensory diet (meaning physical activities to meet his sensory needs throughout the day), which is virtually unheard of in IEP’s in Utah. And the speech therapist offered to build Patrick social stories with him as the main character on her iPad. And, as icing on the cake, they have a written behavioral plan in place for Patrick and are calling in a psychologist to consult and help Patrick learn to control his temper in class.

Of course, the trick now is finding practical ways to make it all work together.. But it is such a relief to feel like we’ve got our feet pointed in the right direction again.

And a big relief to be done with a crazy month of trying to see all the doctors and all the therapists and gather recommendations and write firm but kind “parent advocate” style e-mails that say what they need to, but then have to be trimmed down because, face it, I’m verbose. It will be a relief to be done rehearsing arguments about the IEP in my head all the time.

At least till next fall. Or maybe spring. Or maybe earlier, if things aren’t going quite as they should.

How can I help?

Yesterday when we were checking into the Ronald McDonald house, our host asked where we were from. When we said Utah, he said, “Oh! Mormon country!”… Then after a pause told us he’d just come back from Utah after helping to settle some kids who’d been through a really rough time. “Mormons really take care of their own.”

We can testify from our own experience that that is true. And yet, our amazing friends, family, and congregation are always asking what more they can do. One of the questions we hear most during these long difficult stretches is “How can I help?”

So, in tribute to all of you, and in answer to the dozens of people who have asked for ways to help over the past few weeks, I thought I’d pass our waiting room time bragging about some of the ways we’ve been helped over the years.

1. Visits.. It doesn’t matter if we’re at home or in the hospital. A new person always lightens and lifts the mood. For example, last hospital stay one of our friends was brought to the hospital for work and found herself with some extra time. She texted and asked if it was a good time to stop by. She came and, because Patrick needed out of the room, we walked down to the playroom. That’s when we discovered his line had broken and we turned around and headed back to the room. She walked with us, and as nurses swarmed the room to help the problem, noticed that the breakfast cart had come. So she went and picked up a muffin and milk for me.

I share this story for two reasons. First, it shows that you might just dive into chaos and wonder if you’re in the way. The truth is that Patrick talks about who visited all day long, whether the visit was at a “good time” or not, whether we actually had time to chat and play or not.

When we got home, another friend came to visit and brought a few new toys and a balloon. (New distractions are always a big help). Patrick’s talking about that visit a week later.

We get lonely. We get sick of each other. We need our days broken up. We may not be great hosts, but just your presence helps.

2. Food. In the Mormon world, bringing food is something we’re exceptional at. And believe it or not, it really helps. On the return from one hospital stay, a friend showed up with a pan of uncooked enchiladas. It was a few days later when we got to cooking them, but it was so nice to have a prepared meal in the fridge. Once we returned home from a trip to find a pizza on the porch. And you may remember when we charged a cookie entrance fee to visit Patrick in the PICU. Those cookies were needed sugar during time when we rarely wanted to leave Patrick’s side, and a lot of fun to share with nurses and other hospital staff and patients as we had so many of them that we couldn’t eat them all.

In the hospital, lunches are especially challenging for me. I often can’t get out of the room to get something to eat. Once, I picked up the phone to order room service to the ER 10 times in an hour and never could stay on the phone long enough to place an order. I often just skip lunch when Patrick is hospitalized. But I’m a grumpy bear when I’m hungry. Food helps me be a better mom.

If you really want to make my day when we’re in the hospital, show up with a sandwich or some snacks. (Do you know there was once when Patrick ran a fever and wanted me to lay in bed with him for 48 hours and the only food I ate were the snacks friends delivered?)

I love our family who faithfully pack Sunday picnic lunches to eat on the patio? Even though the medflight helicopters blow all of the food away when they take off and land? And I love my mom who often things to bring along things like fresh fruit and vegetables.

3. Play time. You’d have to not be looking to miss that Patrick is a VERY active and playful little boy. He wants to be doing something every moment and if he gets bored can stumble into trouble very quickly. One of the biggest helps for me is when someone will come to play.

For this entire summer, my next door neighbor’s youngest daughter has been coming over to play with Patrick. She has so much more energy than me and is more than happy to push him all around the backyard in his stroller to make him laugh, or to read books, or to do crafts. We’ve even taken a couple of field trips to a nearby splash pad. Because Patrick’s an only child, having another child to play with is an amazing gift for him. And for me? It gives me a short break from being the one who thinks of fun things to do.

Playdates are an amazing help. The patient practice Patrick gets playing with other kids. Often they come at moments where you may wonder why we’re crazy enough to go out, but it offers just the break and distraction we needed.

I’ve had teenagers come to play while I did dishes and another friend come bring the most amazing craft and science projects. I’ve even had friends ride along to doctor’s appointments to play with Patrick in the waiting room. Patrick is so happy to have the company.. And any opportunity to wipe down counters, fold some laundry, load a dishwasher without little helping hands helps me.

4. Help with the chores. That brings me to my next topic. Chores. I always have more things on my to do list than I have done. Especially since conversations with doctors, appointments, hands-on medical care, and quality time with Patrick trump household duties quite often.

My little sister is awesome about this. She often comes by in the afternoon after school or work and helps me put the toys back in the toybox, sweep, prep dinner, iron, etc. If Patrick wakes up while we’re working, she takes him to play and lets me finish.

When Patrick was coming home from the NICU, a “cleaning crew” from our church came and sanitized the house. And one sweet lady took about a dozen shirts from me, ironed them, and brought them back to put away. I’ve had people take home our laundry, wash, and return it. We’ve had neighbors water and mow our lawn, pick up our mail, bring in our garbage cans. And on and on.

It makes a home feel so peaceful when it is clean. And often, helping me clean is easier than helping with Patrick.

5. Help in medical moments. I have to give a special shout out to friends, neighbors, and family who have stepped up and learned to do things they never imagined they’d need. You have prepped TPN, given meds through a g-tube, changed countless central line dressings, restrained Patrick so I could change a button, clamped off broken lines, treated allergic reactions, caught vomit, changed diapers with our crazy diaper cream regimen, sat with a febrile little boy so I could pack a hospital bag, and on and on. And, in what is the one of the smallest and biggest things you do, you have carried Patrick’s backpack while he explored so we could sit down.

We are a part of a very, very lucky and small minority of special-needs, and especially short gut, parents who have not just one but several people we can call on in these moments. Because of you, we still make it to the temple sometimes, catch a hockey game, see a movie, and go on dates. You make it so he can go to Primary at church with the other children. You get me to the dentist. You let me nap.

5. Listen. You read my blog. You follow us on facebook. You help us troubleshoot. (Like the onesie pattern that Brian’s mom and I developed over the years to keep his line and button safe at night… or the countless little issues solved by brainstorming with other short gut families online.) You chat. You call. You stop and give me a hug and let me cry without saying anything at all.

6. Prayer. And, when you can do nothing more, you pray for us. I have felt us lifted up by your prayers. I have felt the peace of your prayers. And I have seen countless medical miracles because of your prayers. Thank you for thinking of us, praying for us, and keeping our names on prayer rolls and in prayer groups and flickering in the flame of sacred candles.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you! How would we have made it this far without you?

And thank you for continuing to offer your help. I hope this brag list helps answer your question of how you can (or already do) help.

The devil you know vs. the devil you don’t

Patrick and I had the most frustrating of mornings yesterday. Got up as usual and started out happy enough, but then it was time to connect his 8 a.m. antibiotic. I went to withdraw the ethanol lock out of his line and it wouldn’t come. Tried to flush. Wouldn’t budge.

So I grabbed a dose of Cathflo (the super declotting agent for central lines that I am learning I am VERY lucky to be allowed to administer by myself at home.) Worked it into the line, which took me almost half an hour. I left it in for half an hour.. drew back and the line drew back beautifully.

Tried to flush, and nothing. Let go, and the syringe filled with blood.

Not good. I tried several more times and just got the same result. The antibiotic was due. The TPN was running. The two can’t go through the same tube at the same time. And I was stuck.

So I called the hospital and asked for the GI on call, but they wouldn’t give them to me because it was almost 9 a.m. and the GI clinic opened at 9. So I called Patrick’s nurse, and she was stumped. She called the department at the hospital that specialized in central line repairs, and they were stumped.

Finally, Dr. Jackson’s nurse got word I was calling and called me back. And she was stumped.

It really seemed like the blood was flowing backwards in the line.. out instead of in. Which either meant a slipped placement.. or a line broken under the skin.

Both line killers.

So – while they did their research, I did the only thing I could think. I said a prayer. I put one more dose of TPA in the line. I forwarded our home number to my cell phone. Then, I packed Patrick up and we went to mommy-and-me exercise class. Makes sense, right? We needed some normal, and some distraction. And it was his last guaranteed chance to go to class before school.

Halfway through exercise class, as I was sweating and huffing and puffing… in the middle of the popcorn song where we jump all around the room pretending to be popcorn… my phone rang.

It was Dr. Jackson’s nurse telling me that they’d arranged an admission to the Rapid Treatment Unit. The plan was to evaluate the problem, do an x-ray if possible, have the IV team look at things. And then, she said, it didn’t look good.

I hung up and stayed till the end of exercise class. Why not?

Then we came home, I showered, and I packed a suitcase to see us through a one day hospital stay and a likely surgery.

We rushed up the hospital, lugged our way into the RTU, got vitals, met our nurse…

And then tested the line.

And the 2nd dose of TPA had fixed the problem. Best bet? That the clot was working like a stopper that allowed blood to flow in, but not to flush. Kind of the opposite of usual line function. And that it was blood trapped in the line that was flowing back after attempts to flush… Not the line bleeding as it appeared.

We called it a nurse visit. The doctor came to “not” consult with me, so we wouldn’t be billed for the service. He’s seen us struggle to keep this malfunctioning line going for the past 15 months.

I asked him if he’d give up and replace it yet. Knowing the risks of lost access for Patrick.

He shrugged and told me, “It’s the devil you know versus the devil you don’t.”

How often that is true with Short Gut. How often do we weigh the choice between the familiar but uncomfortable present situation and the risk of an uncertain outcome?

The choice about transplant is certainly that kind of a thing.

It takes a lot of faith and prayer and hope and stepping into the darkness to move along this journey.

And a lot of mornings derailed by emergency hospital admissions that leave dirty dishes and dirty laundry and a mountain of other unfinished tasks while we wrestle with uglier demons.

Brian and I have been doing a lot of pondering and praying to know what is the best choice about this troublesome line.

If you’re praying for us, that would be a good thing to pray for. For us to know whether to keep fighting with this line or take the risk of swapping it out in the hopes of fewer infections and clots and frustrating mornings.

The big slide

I went online to look for pictures from the most recent HopeKids party and found these from the HopeKids birthday party that we attended in November. I just had to share.

This year, the party was at Classic Fun Center in Sandy. This place has two skating rinks, an arcade, ball pits, and best of all, inflatables. I wasn’t sure that Patrick was big enough for inflatables, and was sure his tubes would get in the way. Daddy saw otherwise.

Howie knows Patrick loves slides and so he found one he could carry Patrick up to slide down.

He’d tuck Patrick under his arm, and up they’d go. Up about 15-20 feet… and at least that many little foam steps.

They’d stop at the top to get backpack and tubes situated. This only helped build the anticipation.

And then down they’d come.

Both of them thought this was pretty darn fun.

And so, they’d go again.

They did it again and again until Daddy was so tired from carrying Patrick and his equivalent weight backpack back up the slide that he couldn’t do it anymore. So they sat and had a rest.

We played in one of the calmer inflatables for a bit. Patrick was really scared and frustrated trying to walk until Daddy started bouncing so we’d bounce. That’s how we finally got this smile.

And then, well rested, they went down the slide again. Is it any wonder why Patrick loves his Daddy?

(p.s. THANK YOU HopeKids for a very fun birthday party.)

Adoption memories

We had Patrick’s g-tube study done. (Great results! Nothing wrong. Just a slightly upward angle that makes positioning the tube tricky.) As part of the history, they asked when the gastrostomy (g-tube hole) was created and I realized last night that I could have answered “exactly two years ago.”

Why do I remember that? Well, because exactly two years ago yesterday, the court officially named us as Patrick’s legal guardians. It was the best birthday present I’ve ever gotten.

A friend of mine has been doing something special this month on her blog. Because it’s national adoption awareness month, she’s been posting daily adoption related posts. She invited me to be a guest blogger and, by coincidence, will be running my post today… a very significant 2 year adoption anniversary for us.

So, I thought I’d share with you what I wrote for her. Here goes:

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Ours is not a typical adoption story, because Patrick is not a typical little boy. His life was meant to be something different, something miraculous, and so it required that it start in a very different and miraculous way.

But my part of the story starts the way a lot of others do. We wanted to have children. When that didn’t happen easily, we involved doctors. For years, we went through the ups and downs of charting and temperature taking, tests and medications. Finally, after several years and a minor surgery, our doctor sat us down for “the talk.” He explained that there were several causes of my infertility. The cards were, essentially, stacked against us. He still felt it very possible that we could have children, but only with major medical intervention. We had some big choices to make.

We talked about it and we prayed about it. And then, that Sunday, as we sat in church, we received a clear answer that it was time for us to stop medical treatments. Our child would come to us through adoption.

With a path finally before us, we moved forward quickly. I’ve never felt so driven to do anything before in my life. In under a month, we completed the application process, training classes, and were mostly done with our home study.

During our home visit, we had a conversation with our case worker that would play a major part in bringing Patrick into our family. She’d looked at our “preferences checklist” and noted that we seemed more open than most to adopting a child with special needs. We explained that we felt that adoption was a faith process. We believe that Heavenly Father puts families together. We knew we’d never turn away a child born to us with medical problems. So, if God was in charge of adoptions, too, then why would we limit His options? We knew Heavenly Father would help us find our child and that, if the child really belonged in our family, race and health wouldn’t stand in the way.

We decided to adopt in June. Our application was approved in September and we hunkered down for a nice long wait. We figured two years, at the least, was the average we’d heard. And still, by the end of October it felt like far too long. My heart ached for a child it knew was missing.

Then, on a very snowy morning the first week of November, my phone rang. It was my case worker. She started out by saying, “There was a little boy born on Halloween in Michigan.” My heart skipped a beat. I grabbed a pen and a piece of paper and started scribbling notes. She told me he was Korean. And then, she went on to tell me that he’d had a birth defect. His intestines had developed on the outside of his abdomen. The doctors were saying he had a life expectancy of 1 to 2 years. They needed to find an adoptive home quickly because doctors wanted to discharge him from the hospital. All she could tell me about his family that his birth mother wanted him to be able to go to the temple to be sealed to a family.

She said she’d send an e-mail with more information and a picture. She encouraged me to talk to Brian and decide if we’d like to be among those families considered to adopt this little boy, and then to call her and let her know.

As soon as I gathered myself, I called Brian. But he wasn’t at his desk. Meanwhile, two e-mails arrived. One was a short paragraph from the baby’s caseworker in Michigan explaining his medical needs and the unconventional and hurried search for parents. In the other were two photographs of a sweet little Korean boy with great big eyes and an IV in his head.

Since Brian wasn’t at his desk, I called the insurance company to find out if this we even had coverage to pay for this kind of medical problem.

That’s how Brian first found out about the offer. While I was on hold with the insurance company, he called back on my cell phone, so he heard me finish the conversation about “preexisting conditions” and “adoption”.

I gave Brian the information and, after a quick moment of thought, he said he’d come right home.

We had a prayer together, then went to the temple – the perfect setting to make decisions about life and death and eternity.

I knew that families are eternal. I knew that mortality is not the end of life. And yet, I was filled with grief. It was as if I’d just been told I was carrying a child with a terminal illness, but he wasn’t even mine yet. And I was scared. I didn’t know if I was ready to leave the life I knew then.. abandon it all, and become mom to a child who would need so much help, and who had such an uncertain future.

Still, when Brian turned to me and said, “I think we should pursue this,” my heart leapt with joy.

So, we called our caseworker and gave her a list of questions we had. And then we went to visit our parents. We felt we should tell them about the offer, because we knew that whatever happened, we were never going to be the same. And we both wanted father’s blessings. We showed them the little boy with the angel eyes and explained that we didn’t know if he was ours.. But from that moment, all of our families were praying for a little boy whom the e-mail called “Patrick.”

That was Wednesday. Thursday, I sent a copy of our profile. Friday afternoon, as I on my lunch break with Brian, our case worker called my cell phone. The birth family had seen our profile and had chosen us to adopt their baby.

Now, we had a choice to make. Because we’d been selected, we could finally start filling in the gaps in the medical information we were getting. And boy, where there gaps! We called the baby’s caseworker, who referred us to the hospital social worker. Finally, we decided we needed to talk to doctors, and we needed to do it face to face.

I called my mom and told her to take my credit card and buy airplane tickets. Then, I went back to work, explained what had happened, and asked for a leave of absence. After that, we went to the adoption agency where we signed pre-placement paperwork required for us see the baby in the hospital.

Friday night, we tried to get ready. We booked a long-term stay hotel room. We faxed legal documents to Michigan. We make a shopping list of nursery items. And we tried to pack.

I packed my bags that night not knowing what exactly I was packing for. We still didn’t know enough to say if we could take care of this baby. We didn’t know if or when he’d be discharged. We didn’t know how long it would take before we’d be given permission to leave the state again.

And yet, Saturday morning as I sat on a plane to Detroit, 10 rows ahead of my husband, I felt a quiet, happy calm. If nothing else, I knew it would be ok.

We met Patrick, his family, and his doctor Saturday night. It wasn’t what we expected. Due to unforeseen problems, things were tense at the hospital when we arrived. We felt like we knew nothing at all about his condition when we heard the doctor’s account. His case was much more severe than we’d understood, but the immediate prognosis was better.

At last, they led us to his room. My first impression was of how small he was. He was SO tiny! Just a little ball with wires and tubes attached. Without them, you’d have never guessed there was anything wrong.

They let me hold him while we talked. He felt so small and fragile.

I thought that the moment I met my baby, or the moment I held him, that I’d know he was mine. But that isn’t what happened for me. There were too many questions, still and I’d have to wait for that confirmation.

Sunday, we arranged to spend the day with Patrick. The nurses were so kind to let us change his diapers and help with other aspects of his care. I sat for hours singing him lullabies and watching monitors and letting him sleep.

When we arrived, the nurses warned us that he had a reputation as a very irritable little boy. There was even a sign on his door warning not to wake him. He was famous for screaming hysterically if his sleep was interrupted. But that’s not the baby I met. He was just a sweet, tiny little boy who wanted to be held.

I remember singing to him: “I am a child of God, and he has sent me here. Has given me an earthly home with parents kind and dear.” And my voice choked on the words because I knew that right at that moment, Patrick didn’t have that. I couldn’t imagine how any little boy could go through all he’d need to go through alone.

That night, as we looked at pictures from the day, I came across one that showed just his face with a white background. I knew, when I saw that picture, that I loved him.. and I wanted to keep him.

Monday morning, we held a “family conference.” It was a business day so we finally had been able to confirm that there were doctors to take care of him at our hospital at home. Our insurance confirmed that he’d be covered. Brian needed to hop on a plane to go back to work. (He was running a conference that week.) So, knowing we had the resources to provide for his physical needs, we asked Patrick if he’d like to be a part of our family. I swear, he looked up at Brian and smiled.

The case worker rushed to the hospital and by 1, we’d signed paperwork, and I was on my way to the airport with my husband. I was staying behind to start a whole new life.

The next few weeks in Michigan are among the sweetest of my life. With nothing else to do but hold my new baby and learn to care for him, I virtually lived in the NICU. My mom came for a week and shared with me in Patrick’s first feeding, first bath, and first time wearing real clothes. This time was also some of the hardest I’d experienced as I received a trial by fire as a mom of a child with major health problems. Patrick had his second surgery the day Brian flew back to be with us.

Two weeks after we signed papers, on my birthday, the birth parents appeared in court, and we were named as Patrick’s legal guardians. A week later, we had permission to bring him home. At 4 a.m. Thanksgiving day, Patrick and I arrived at Primary Children’s Hospital by air ambulance. He’d spend the next few weeks there as the doctors here got to know him and made arrangements for us to take care of him at home.

Because of his medical needs, the courts granted an early finalization of his adoption and we were able to take Patrick to the temple to be sealed as a forever family in February when he was just 4 months old.

Patrick just turned 2. He is an active, happy toddler who loves cars and music and Elmo. He is a living miracle! Patrick’s birth defect came with a rare complication. As a result, at birth he was missing over 95% of his small intestine. Without intestine, he doesn’t get nutrition by eating. In fact, eating large amounts puts him at risk for dehydration and bowel obstruction. Instead, he is entirely dependent on a form of IV nutrition called TPN. He has a permanent IV tunneled through his chest, into a vein in his chest or neck that runs to his heart.

The TPN leads to complications like infection and liver disease. In his short 2 years of life he has already struggled with both. Patrick’s doctors warned us before we adopted him that we’d become such regulars in the E.R. that we’d be on a first name basis with the staff. We soon found that to be true not just for the E.R. staff, but also the IV team, the infectious disease team, the PICU team, most of the residents, several of the medical students, and the entire gastroenterology department.

At 9 months old, as a result of infection, Patrick’s heart stopped. The fact that he is alive now is nothing short of a miracle. No doctor who hears his story and then meets him can help but confess that he has beaten the odds in countless ways.

Patrick will eventually need an intestinal transplant. He is already running out of places to put new IV’s and each new infection makes him a little more fragile.

Since they don’t do intestinal transplants where we live, we have chosen to have Patrick listed at Seattle Children’s Hospital. Patrick has been on the waiting list since April of 2009. He is status 1A and will have his transplant is soon as a donor match is found.

People try to tell us sometimes what a tremendous thing we did in adopting Patrick. We don’t really feel it’s something we can take credit for. As we told our caseworker when this all started, Heavenly Father puts families together. He knew Patrick needed us. And what’s more, He knew we needed Patrick.

Raising Patrick has taught us more about life than any other experience. We have learned to rely entirely on the Lord. We have learned to live each moment to it’s fullest. We have learned to lean on one another when things are hard and we to trust in hands of friends and strangers when we felt too weak to stand on our own. And we have learned to love like we didn’t know it was possible to love.

Little Heroes

You’ve gotta see this story!

http://www.abc4.com/content/news/top_stories/story/Donor-transplant-brings-two-Utah-families-together/_A0j2PcCfEOkr4N_XWaMmw.cspx.

As you know, Patrick attends a weekly play and music group for children with a variety of health problems. One of my heroes from this group is a little girl named London, or as those who know her call her, Lulu.

Lulu had a liver transplant a year ago. When she first came to our play group, her mom immediately recognized Patrick’s TPN, having been on it herself when she was at her sickest. Lulu is one of the most vibrant, outgoing little girls that I’ve ever met. She and Patrick seemed to have an instant draw to each other.

One other thing they have in common is that Lulu’s family, like ours, is trying to raise awareness of the need for organ donors. Both of us have been active in working with Yes Utah, our local organ donation awareness organization, and in sharing our stories to help encourage people to sign up as donors.

Last night, Lulu’s story was featured on the evening news. A transcript of the story has been published here. (Just in case you didn’t click on the link at the top of this page.)

Please read it, and share it. And if you aren’t already registered, please consider registering as an organ donor.. and make sure your family knows of your desire to be an organ donor.

On another note, we never got a call yesterday inviting us to come up to X-ray, so that test will probably happen sometime next week. I’ll admit, I didn’t mind much. Patrick and I were both burned out from the previous two days and it was a rare treat to get to spend the day at home. Chris, his developmental specialist came to play. Patrick adores this man and LOVES their visits. Then his cousins stopped by for a short play time. And then, after dinner, we curled up on the beanbag movie and watched Cars.

I suppose that that’s only a partially true statement. Patrick was all over the room, but he returned regularly to cuddle with me or to tickle or to blow zrbbts on my tummy. This is the first time Patrick’s seen the movie Cars and, as I had predicted, he loved it. He’d return often to just sit with me and watch a scene or two. He got especially excited whenever Mater appeared on the screen.

And then, after Patrick was in bed, Brian finally made it home from Chicago. There is so much comfort just in having him here. And it was so nice to have extra hands when Patrick pulled his usual trick of picking his central line dressing off during the night so we had to change it first thing in the morning.

Today I’m proudly sporting a new Giordano’s t-shirt that Brian brought back for me. In case you don’t know, Giordano’s is the best Chicago-style pizza chain on the planet. And if I can’t have the food (Howie’s trying not to rub in the fact that he had Chicago-style pizza not just once, but twice this week), at least I can wear the schwag.

Childhood Illnesses

In the pre-transplant world, it’s good for Patrick to be building immunity. So, Brian and I have not been overprotective. Even common childhood illnesses can mean extra work with Patrick, though.

Yesterday morning, Patrick wasn’t as interested in breakfast as usual. (Not that he ever eats a lot, but breakfast is the meal he eats best.) Then he opened his mouth wide and I spotted the culprit. His tonsils were bright red and covered with little bumps.

Great. So the first question is “Is this a normal childhood thing? Or is this a complication of Short Gut?” A childhood illness we might be able to keep at home under mom’s care. However, a complication such as acid erosion or varices could mean something much more serious. Where to start?

First, call dad so he’s not caught off guard by a frantic call later. Second, call the pediatrician.

Patrick’s got one of the best pediatricians I know. However, if she’s not around, then finding the right backup doctor can be tricky. Patrick’s not a simple kid so even simple illnesses take some creative treatment. So yesterday, since Patrick’s doctor and her residents were all booked up, the scheduler did some digging and found me a pediatrician in another office.

At noon it was pouring rain. At 12:30 Patrick finally conceded that he needed a nap and fell asleep. At 12:45 I juggled a sleeping Patrick, diaper bag, medical history, and me out the door and into the car. There ought to be awards for moving a sleeping child without waking him – especially in pouring rain. We just made our appointment at 1.

Miraculously, the scheduler had found me a pediatrician with other Short Gut patients. (This is an especial miracle, since she relayed the message to the doctor that Patrick was medically complex because he had “Short Duct Syndrome”.) She put me at ease that what I’d seen was most likely the result of a virus that’s going around our area right now. Then we spent 10 minutes trying to get Patrick to open his mouth wide enough for her to see.

Sure enough, Patrick has Herpangina, a virus caused sore throat with blisters and sores on the throat. There’s no treatment for it, other than to try to relieve symptoms with soft foods. It’ll last about a week.

Of course, childhood illnesses aren’t simple when you’re sick enough to need a transplant.. no matter how healthy you look on the outside.

The bug has upset Patrick’s tummy that doesn’t have enough gut to absorb extra fluid with.. and too much stasis to even pass it through. So about 2, Patrick spit up for the first time. I drained 2 cups of fluid in 10 minutes from his stomach. He seemed to be feeling better eating french fries at a fast food restaurant last night… Until, of course, he ate one two many and it all came back, plus another several cups.

I never dreamed I’d be in a situation where my kid throwing up all over in a restaurant would be, first, not a surprise and second, not a disaster. It was a mess! But I knew it just meant it was time to go home and rest his tummy. Drain first, french fries second.

I’ve been running extra fluids all day to keep up with what he’s losing as I vent his tummy to prevent future episodes. And, I’ve been watching the thermometer.

See, if this illness follow it’s normal course, then Patrick will probably get a fever, too. If it gets high enough, we’ll probably start asking those questions I hate. “Do we call?” “Does he need cultures?” “Do we go to the hospital?” I hate to make him go sit cooped up in a hospital room for a little sore throat virus. But sometimes it’s better to be safe than sorry.

In the meantime, though, Patrick is being completely endearing and adorable today. He climbs up in my lap and moans his best pitiful moan. Then he grins and snuggles down. It took a conscious effort to not just sit and hold him while he slept today. How can you be frustrated by someone who’s so cute and patient when they’re sick?

In the midst of miracles

This morning as I was laying in bed trying to convince my tired body to get out of bed to greet a happy 7 a.m. Patrick, I was contemplating on just how far my munchkin has come. And all of a sudden I realized that I am living in the midst of miracles right now.

I am a VERY tired mother right now. By about 5 p.m. every day I just want to call it quits and go to bed because the work of taking care of a TPN-dependent, developmentally delayed toddler is exhausting! Patrick is a very active little boy right now. He’s on the brink of walking. He’s finally mastered the skills of carrying things from one room to another, of opening drawers and doors and emptying the contents found therein, and of putting things in places where I sometimes never find them again.

He’s bordering on two with the fully independent attitude that comes with that age – while simultaneously he’s finally getting the strength in his body to explore his world in ways he never has before. My good-natured patient boy has discovered tantrums. And he’s not afraid to use them to tell me when he doesn’t approve of me stopping some unintentionally self-destructive activity.

And, if the exploration weren’t dangerous enough, try attaching IV tubing to this strong-willed child! Even with a 10-foot extension, he manages to get himself wrapped in and around furniture. He knows no limits! If I leave a baby gate open for even a few minutes, you’ll find him at the top of the stairs grinning, waiting to run from me the second I come to catch him before he reaches the end of his line and gets yanked back down.

And this morning as I lay procrastinating getting out of bed I realized just what a miracle my total exhaustion is! This time last year, we’d just come home from the hospital. Patrick was thin and frail, not even able to roll over. Our current battles in physical therapy show that there should have been much more major consequences of his illness and arrest last summer. No one who hears his history ever expects to find normal looking boy smiling up at them.

But right now Patrick has been blessed with exactly what I’ve always wished for him… The strength of both body and spirit to not know boundaries. He may still be limited, but he doesn’t feel limited.

I take it for granted sometimes because they’ve been so common in our lives. But Patrick, Brian and I live in the midst of miracles each and every day. And we do so with full expectation that more miracles lie ahead.

“For behold, I am God; and I am a God of miracles; and I will show unto the world that I am the same yesterday, today and forever” 2 Nephi 27

Mother’s Day

Patrick is feeling much, much better now. The infection has been well treated with the medicines he’s getting. He’s stable, happy, and playing. Doesn’t need monitors. Doesn’t need much attention at all, except giving his medications on time. There’s only one thing keeping us here. . .

Because this is the 2nd time in a very short time that Patrick’s had a yeast infection, they wanted to make good and sure that the bug is dead before they put a new line back in. Right now, Patrick has a good “deep line” in his leg. This means that it is in deep enough that they can draw labwork out of it and give better nutrition through it. However, it doesn’t go all the way to his heart, which means that it’s not as likely to get infected – but it’s also not really the safest for taking him home with. He’ll get a new central line on Tuesday and go home as soon as possible afterwards.

So, we spent Mother’s day in the hospital. It was a good day, though very quiet. We got to visit with both Brian’s mother and mine today. Patrick got to get all dressed up and go to church. (Best dressed patient in the hospital today, I’d bet.)

Being here has been a good opportunity for me to reflect on how grateful I am for the many different types of mothers who play a part in our lives. Mothering Patrick is not the kind of job I could do all by myself.

I’m grateful for a mother and mother-in-law who’ve been willing to step up and step in to learn how to provide Patrick’s medical care so that Brian and I can get the occasional night out or so that when I’m exhausted and at my wits end I have somewhere to turn. You may not know what a rare priviledge that is that you have given to us.

We are grateful for our mothers. You prepared us to be Patrick’s parents and you help us each day to do it. I don’t think it’s possible to count the number of prayers, meals, phone calls, visits, crazy projects, and more that you have offered for our little family.

I’m grateful for sisters and a sister-in-law who are also there to help lighten my load when I need it, to fill the fun aunt roles. They are helping to raise some spectacular children, Patrick’s cousins, and him as well.

I’m grateful this week for nurses and CNA’s who have taught me how to do this job, who’ve sat rocking Patrick in the dark so I can catch a few hours’ sleep, who listen when I need to cry or share in small, although sometimes icky, triumphs and who make my day every time we see them because of how much they love my child.

I’m grateful for Patrick’s birthmother. I have no doubt that she loves and is proud of Patrick. I am impressed by her strength. I’m grateful to his birth grandmothers who trusted in their children and loved Patrick. It’s not easy to support a son or daughter considering adoption when you know it means a grandchild will be far away. We are grateful for the love and trust and support they’ve shown in us. We also owe thanks to Patrick’s aunts who helped offer comfort when needed and still are lovingly watching over him. What a blessing it is that he was born into a family who loved him so much.

This mother’s day, thank you to all of you mothers who are there for us. You come in all shapes and sizes.. friends, neighbors, family, and more. I couldn’t do this without you.