Showing posts with label OI babies. Show all posts

As one of the lucky ones who managed to wave a red flag with a large question mark while in womb, I probably don't realize how lucky I am (or was). The doctors who caught sight of fractures and healing fractures in an ultrasound were alerted that something was up. From there I imagine a plan was set into place, possibilities were considered, tests were proposed, and above all caution was urged towards its slow plodding momentum. Mere days after I popped into the world that red flag had toned down its alarm, there was now a name for the little piece of land I claimed: Osteogenesis Imperfecta type III.

Having spoken and met with many other O.I.'ers I know that this isn't the experience for many of you. I have read the other blog posts about babies who are taken away from parents accused of child abuse. I've seen the frantic facebook posts in many of the O.I. groups from parents, grandparents, aunts & uncles of those crowd-sourcing for resources to come to a diagnosis faster. Heard from parents about the months their family spent waiting for the results from the battery of tests, realizing that any result would bring some relief. All of this for the sake of a diagnosis, for clarity, for a label, for a definition, for answers that are a little less vague.

When people ask me if it matters whether or not they refer to "the thing that you have" as a condition, disease, illness, syndrome.. I am quick to respond "yes it matters a lot to me." Because of all that my parents went through, because of all that other babies with O.I. have gone through - yes it matters a lot to me.

But now that I am older and have grown out of the confines of those bullet-point symptoms of O.I. type III, I sometimes wonder if the labels only matter a lot to me because those around me have made it matter.
Something tells me that as a day old, or even as a one or two year old infant -- the idea that my upbringing was wrapped tightly around the fingers of a diagnosis was about as important as saying "excuse me" after I was burped. I simply had no clue. O.I. type III was important to my parents, my medical team, my care takers and those who loved me. Why? Because they were the ones who were responsible for my safety and wellbeing. And it probably wasn't until half-way through elementary school that I had some idea of why I should talk to my classmates about my differences. It was important to me because my teachers, classroom aide, and my parents said "this is a good idea for you."

To be totally honest, O.I. type III probably wasn't something I really considered a part of my identity until I began this blog in May of 2011. Up until that point it was just a way to take care of my medical needs. Now? Now I think it's something I'm fiercely over protective of not because I'm afraid of losing it, but because I know there is so much I have yet to learn and I stubbornly want to do it all by myself! (Picture the first time you are baking your family's secret recipe. You've done it so many times with your mom, your dad, or your grandparents -- but this time you demand total control. My family has done enough and all that they possibly can, now it's my turn to finish this off.)

Let's also keep in mind that for me the label O.I. type III and the label "disabled adult" are two very different concepts in my mind, at least for where I am right now! There are distinct values and experiences that define my identity as someone with O.I. type III, and a wholly separate experience that define my identity as someone who is disabled; what's important in this instance is that 90% of both of these identities are shaped by my own experiences, and how I have interpreted them. While there are many areas where these two identities overlap I think there is a lot of personal pride that I'm comfortable enough with myself, finally, to identify strongly with both.

This isn't meant to belittle the value of a medical diagnosis. It also certainly isn't meant to influence anyone in one way or another, this is just me trying to make sense of the jumble that is me inside my own head; and to think that this is only one slice of all there is to me!
But I will say that for the parents and family who are raising the child with O.I., go ahead -- cling to the diagnosis and consider everything that your child's medical team believes is best. Cling to those definitions and labels, do whatever you have to do to come out the other side of tomorrow with your sanity intact... but realize that eventually, if everything goes right, your job will come to an end at some point and the diagnosis won't be up to you to cling to anymore. Instead it'll be your child's decision to cling or mold, or set aside, or even toss it away. I don't know anything about parenting, it's true, but I do know that when that happens you've done something right.

They'll tell you that the great adventure you just began with me took a turn towards the uncertain. They'll tell you raising me is going to be filled with insurmountable challenges and numerous struggles. They'll warn you about the medical bills and costs I'll require. They'll try to explain all the surgeries or therapy I'll need in the coming months and years. They may tell you to not plan too far into my future. They'll tell you that they're so sorry and ask if there's anything they can do for you, or me. They'll tell you that I will consume your life. They'll harp on about the sacrifices you'll have to make (as if they had a clue). They may even take me away from you for awhile. They'll smile in that way that belies their relief that I am not their child.


You'll take it one day at a time with me. You'll feel sad when you watch the other parents with their gurgling and healthy babies. You may feel angry and frustrated because you're always grasping for that "what else can I do..." Your blood may boil when they tell you you're wrong but you just know you're right. You may ask yourself why you continue to do this. You'll doubt yourself more than a few times, more than a hundred times. You'll soon find yourself unwilling to give-up; and you won't know why, or maybe you know exactly why but it's difficult to put all of the emotions and beliefs into words. You might even get fed up with me on more than a few occasions. You may feel guilty for all the reasons 'why' and 'how.'


I'll change your life's priorities. I'll show you what you are capable of before I figure out what I am capable of. I'll invent new dreams for you. I'll teach you how to be patient and push your sense of trust. I'll reconstruct your idea of 'family.' I'll exercise your strength just when you thought you're exhausted. I'll hold you to your stamina and make sure you never waver. I'll push your determination to the point of unrelenting. I'll show you what it means to go to "infinity and beyond!" I'll guide you to be my ears and eyes until I can do it on my own. I'll prove to you why expectations should never be set in stone. I'll make sure you're paying attention to the smallest of things. I'll instill your intuition with an iron-fist confidence. I'll challenge your sense of courage and may change your sense of faith.