“There is hope for your child.”
Don't stop reaching for hope.
“And for your family.”
Before you throw your computer across the room, bear with me for a moment. Because I’ve oft wanted to throw the computer (or throw up…) when people band-aided my heartbreak with platitudes over the years. So I understand.
But today, after another hours-long appointment with the specialist (the 3rd specialist in the past 5 years), things began to happen. Instead of listening to the generic recommendations for how to help my daughter with her condition, the surgeon stopped and said, “I’m not sure what to do. Let’s look again at all my notes in her records.”
I teared up just then. Because it meant my daughter had become a person to this specialist. A little girl who has never been able to live a normal life because she’s been shuffled back and forth to different offices and had a disorganized smattering of tests done without a thought of how to actually help her thrive.
The doctor spent 40 minutes pouring through years of charts, noting that she’d mentioned more defined treatments and procedures to help my girl. But had never followed through. More than once.
Then she took us to scheduling, set up the next few rounds of tests, now well-thought-out – strategic even – and they happen TOMORROW. Not the usual 4-6 months out. Not the “don’t call us, we’ll call you” thing we’ve dealt with despite pleading for decisive intervention.
She even apologized. Twice. This well-respected surgeon. Because she had, like the others, mistaken my daughter’s incontinence for a behavior problem attributable to her history in foster care before she became my own. She apologized for her bias, her assumptions. For the fact that something could have been done long ago to allow my girl to feel ok – confident, even – instead of too timid to stick that back handspring landing she so loves in gymnastics.
Today, the platitude became a precious truth. There really is hope.
So stick with it, whatever “it” is that you’re struggling with in your family, advocating for your child. Struggle, grapple, and hang on to it with all your might.
There is hope for your child.
For your family.
For you.
Where are you with hope today?