Less than a week ago I was gearing up for a return to “normal”. Less than a week ago the biggest challenge in my life was the grief I was suffering from not being able to breastfeed. Now that seems like chump change. I don’t mean to minimize breastfeeding struggles, they send me plummeting into the depths of postpartum depression – read more here about how I feel when breastfeeding doesn’t work out. Still, breastfeeding issues seem trivial in comparison to the happenings of recent days in our family..
This past Sunday I returned to church for the first time since Jack entered the world. He was exactly a month old, I had missed attending with my family, I was geared up to teach a lesson in Young Women.
It started out great – Rachel proudly held him for the first part of sacrament meeting, he slept in my arms for the rest, I got to show his sweet face off to everyone who asked. In a timely manner(no sarcasm here), he got hungry during the second hour of church, so I retired to the mother’s room to feed him without distraction and change the inevitable BM that would result from his satisfying meal. All was going according to plan. I began to put Jack in his sling so that I would be hands-free for my third hour lesson. As I began to place the sling between Jack’s legs for support, I heard a pop. Jack instantly began screaming. It was frantic. Inconsolable. Like nothing I’d ever experienced in a newborn. I took off his pants to examine his legs. His left leg was dangling. Between that, the inconsolable crying, and the pop I’d heard, I was confident I had broken(or dislocated) his leg.
I gathered Jack and my things, raced to find Tim and told him we had to go to the ER. I kept my composure as Jack screamed mercilessly while I traversed the hallways of the church. But on our way out I began to lose it. I had broken my newborn son’s leg. I became inconsolable.
On our way to the ER, I held Jack in my arms, trying to support his injured leg while texting a friend whom I was confident would make the appropriate arrangements for my kids and my responsibilities in the Young Women organization, sobbing through every “I’m sorry” and “It’s gonna be okay” I could utter in a weak attempt to console my poor traumatized child. I raced into the emergency room, visibly unglued; they admitted us and I mistakenly hoped they could take away my son’s pain quickly.
Only after a weight check, rectal temperature, heart rate monitor, insertion of an IV and administration of morphine did my sweet baby get any relief. And only a bit, at that. They took xrays of both legs and I was able to cradle him in my arms and finally, FINALLY he stopped wailing…intermittently, at least. Still we sat a couple more hours, enduring Jack’s agonizing outbursts before receiving any news, which was that Jack had, in fact, broken his upper femur and was being admitted to the OR to be fixed and cast. We’d be staying the night in the hospital.
Long story short, our little man was put in a spica cast and given full skeletal x-rays to check for abnormalities in his bones before he was able to return to the pediatrics unit of St. Luke’s where Tim and the girls were waiting to see their baby brother. The following day, we received news that Jack’s xrays revealed two more fractures – one in his upper arm and another in the back of his skull, both of which had healed enough to indicate that they had probably happened during delivery.
As you might expect, multiple fractures on a one-month old aren’t typical of one who has been handled as gently as Jack. We conjectured there was more to it after viewing his leg xrays in the ER showing a clean break. There was NO WAY I exerted enough force to cause something like that, even on a newborn, especially on a newborn, whose bones are supposed to be pliable. As it turns out, after multiple exams by a host of doctors, the most plausible explanation for Jack’s condition is a disease called osteogenesis imperfecta, otherwise known as brittle bone disease. Though we don’t have a formal diagnosis yet, because it would be medically irresponsible to completely rule out other possibilities, all indicators point to that. Despite having any idea which type he has, or how severe it is, we were discharged from the hospital Tuesday night with strict instructions to handle him extremely carefully. Duh. 😉
So now we’re home. It’s far better than the hospital, as I can actually hold, feed and console my baby without being tangled up in wires and IVs. The cast is understandably cumbersome, and it’s difficult to tell if Jack’s cries are the result of pain in his leg, or any of the typical reasons a gassy newborn might fuss. We’re figuring it out. My mom is here and we have received(and continue to receive) countless acts of service from friends and neighbors in the way of meals, cleaning, words of comfort, driving the kids to and from school and activities…the list goes on. I am humbled by the kindness of others and their willingness to lighten our load.
Before I sign off, I feel I should express my gratitude to a loving Heavenly Father, in whose plan I trust. I have seen His hand in our journey thus far and know that the many prayers that have been offered by so many are heard and answered. Here are a just a few ways in which I have felt His love and influence in recent days (and weeks).
First, I count it a blessing that I was at church and in a quiet place when Jack’s leg broke, and that it was me that broke it. If I hadn’t heard a pop, I fear that my(and Tim’s) hesitancy at unnecessary medical intervention may have delayed Jack’s treatment. I also am thankful that, because we were at church, our kids were taken care of and I had only to notify one person of where we were headed and bam! My class was covered, my kids were given rides home, taken care of, and fed dinner by the angels with whom we associate in our ward.
Second, Jack’s suffering was reduced because we traveled straight to the emergency room at St. Luke’s, a decision that was influenced by a. the fact that it was Sunday and there was pretty much no other place to go and b. the fact that when Micron’s health insurance changed and we were given a choice between St. Luke’s and St. Al’s during open enrollment, we chose the St. Luke’s health care plan. As it turns out, St. Luke’s is the only location in the area that was able to treat Jack under the circumstances. One-stop shopping.
Third, we have friends who work at St. Luke’s, one of whom was able to assist Tim in performing a priesthood blessing on Jack’s behalf, a tender experience which strengthened my faith in the blessing that challenges in life can be, if we let them.
Fourth, as I mentioned before, Jack and I couldn’t work out the breastfeeding thing in his early weeks. It was very emotional for me, so I held onto the possibility of pumping so he could at least get the benefits of breastmilk for as long as possible. Over Christmas break, the countless plugged ducts I endured and the time I spent away from my family while tethered to a breast pump convinced me to quit. And quickly. The week before Jack’s injury I had spent in sometimes unbearable pain, going from 7 pumpings to zero. It was not without purpose, however, because pumping around the clock on top of the responsibilities I now face as the caregiver of a fragile newborn in a cast would be almost too much to bear.
Add to that an angel mother who dropped everything to come help out, angel friends who sacrificed their morning to clean my house before I came home from the hospital, and many other tender mercies too numerous to mention. I am humbled by the influence of the Lord in this experience. He is mindful of us and I have faith that this experience will be nothing shy of a blessing in our lives. It’s tough stuff, no mistake about it. But I have faith in the Lord’s plan and know that trials are simply an opportunity to grow and learn and become better than we were before. I will not shirk from that opportunity, difficult as it may be.
Here’s our sweet baby in between wails in the emergency room:
And here he is in his hospital bed, post op:
And finally at home with his crazy cast:
