You know that point you get to...

...where you know you've FINALLY mastered this special needs parenting thing?

Nope? Well, me neither! In fact, I think I'm moving further and further AWAY from THAT point...like it occasionally flits a little closer to taunt me and I shakily breathe a 'we've-got-this' sigh of relief and then next thing it hightails away from me and I'm left reeling in a whirlwind aftermath of W.T.F(lip)'s!

It's been a rather busy 3 months...magazine articles, 1 year schooliversary, meds fail, testis hunt, die-hard viral URTI's, flourishing receptive communication and and...

Sam's story is featured this month in a very popular local magazine, although the shoot for the article was done in July already.

The actual shoot was loads of fun, complete with hair and make-up and Sam, who just loves the camera, did really well. The only downside of the morning was Sam's ever-increasing fear of being in a car, as we travelled 45mins to the venue...and then back again. It's something you really have to see to completely comprehend but because holding my phone while Sam is frantically grasping at my neck/hair/face/clothes/arms as if I am about to ease him over the edge of Nanga Parbat's Rupal Face as opposed to over the annoying arm of his booster seat, catching it on video has proven a little tricky. So you will just have to take my word that the lil flappy dude does not do great with cars...eight years on, sometimes up to six or even eight into's and out of's a day and yet each time I open that car door, panic hits him like it's the very first time.

It's this very irrational anxiety which led us to probably one of our worst medication epic fails. With Sam's anxiety levels really affecting his quality of life and with him having been on his current anxiety meds since he was 2 years old, we decided to replace his Faverin with Serdep which, on paper, looked like a better fit (Sam's absent seizures have also increased and the risk of seizures is statistically higher with Faverin), plus the longterm use of the Faverin might have made Sam's system too accustomed to the Fluvoxamine so a change in med seemed like a good idea...until we did it. Said system was not as impressed with the change as we'd hoped and Sam's days became just one emotional turmoil after the other. At the same time, an EEG confirmed that we needed to increase Sam's epilepsy meds AND, for good measure, Sam suddenly sprouted some very adult-looking hair in his nether region indicating that a certain little testis we had presumed lost (and inactive) to the flappy dude's innards was, in fact, not all that inactive after all #gasp!!!

I make light of the situation, but I can assure you that almost every morning for two months I stood clinging to the gate of Sam's school in very-near despair, listening to the amazing team of ladies at Edu-Play Early Learning Centre reassure me that they would cope with Sam's completely over-the-top emotional state and accommodate what behaviours they needed to at that time...and those reassurances and encouragements were, without a doubt, both mine and Sam's saving grace!

I say "were" because Sam is once again back to his version of a "happy place" and our days are no longer filled with unpredictable bouts of emotion, aggression and insanely-pitched  screeching. We switched Sam back to the Faverin after 2 weeks of giving the Serdep fair chance and Sam's system has also now adjusted to the increased dose of Epilum. That darn little testis though...that's a whole other issue (and venting-full post on it's own), but in short, we have to try bring it down again which is not great news as, above spinal cord surgery and thumb reconstruction surgery, Sam's testicle surgeries (this will be the third) always seem to knock him the most. The fact that the little bugger has been hiding out in the inguinal canal for a good 4 or 5 years already means that we aren't doing any more considerable damage by waiting till the beginning of December to do the surgery so that a) Sam has at least had a couple of months to enjoy some (relative) calm before we slap him with another round of trauma and b) he gets to enjoy his Christmas concert and the festivities of the end of the school year.

Thankfully, through all the issues

over the past few months, Sam's

love for school has not been

affected. The fact that some of his

favourite people are there sure

helps. It's crazy to believe that on

18 July he'd been at Edu-Play for 

a full year already!

To close off, there has been a sudden flourish of receptive communication on Sam's part. His receptive language has always been good and we've even noticed him picking up on some Afrikaans words...but more than once now he has reacted to something that was said in a conversation in his presence, but not directed at him. It's been really quite amusing, with a flappy conqueror's twist of course, eg...a few nights ago Sam whacked his head a startling shot on the wooden headboard. Sam has an incredibly high pain tolerance, but still feels the initial pain completely, in other words, he feels the pain...reacts, but then has so (almost sadly) become accustomed to pain that he will continue functioning despite (I believe this is very much an RTS thing). Anyway, he knocked his head but instead of crying momentarily and then moving on as usual, he sobbed for over half-an-hour afterwards and was extremely heartsore. My neurotic, mama-brain went into overdrive of course and imagined all sorts of devastating consequences which might have made this head knocking different to the hundred others #eyeroll. About two days later Sam was rubbing his left eye and I mentioned to his dad (while Sam seemed preoccupied with his iPad) that his eye seemed to have been troubling him ever since he'd knocked his head. Sam (who was on the bed again at the time) calmly put the iPad down and, albeit it very cautiously and in super slow mode, replayed him falling and knocking his head. It was the cutest thing ever because, of course, it came complete with fake tears and the need for more of the same hugs and cuddles as well  💜

  

As the parent of a differently-abled child...

...how hard should you push? How sure can you be that you're allowing enough consideration for health, physiological and emotional wellbeing. How sure can you be that you're not allowing too much consideration? And on which one of those would you most prefer to err?

A few years ago (and by "few" I mean ten or so...and that's where I'm leaving it), I travelled a fair distance to work each morning making my way into the CBD via either bus or train. Because I cannot pinpoint the exact year, I cannot remember exactly which mode of transport is relevant to this story but as I am leaning towards 1996/1997 (yes, okay...so a little more than ten years maybe) I am inclined to believe it is the bus. Travelling what seemed to be the same route a few times, was a young man who appeared to be roughly the same age and whose constant companion was his remarkable guide dog. So many times I watched the intriguing pair navigate the busy streets along Cape Town's Foreshore and brave the city's public transport (which was a courageous enough task for even the sighted) and could not help but stare intensely at the young man, hoping for the slightest sign of sight because my heart broke a little each time I saw him, at the thought of his having to encounter such formidable challenges each and every day...alone.  While my memory is a little sketchy about the minor details (like whether we were travelling by bus or train, what with them being so similar and all) after all my "intense staring", it would be fair to say that I'd have recognised his face anywhere!

A week ago our NPO held a fundraising event and the guest speaker was a gentleman by the name of Hein Wagner - A blind man with vision. Hein, who now lives predominantly in Sweden with his lovely wife and daughter, hails from South Africa and had travelled to his country of birth alone to speak at our function. I had read his biography a hundred times by then, had copied it into several media documents...but had never thought to look at any pictures. Hein's lifetime accomplishments read like something out of an incredible feel-good movie. Few sighted men could achieve all that he has, so to say I was excited and very nearly intimidated to meet him would be fair. Hein entered the venue on the arm of a colleague and my heart stopped. Yes it had been about...ahem...ten years (give or take another ten) but that face was all too familiar. His presentation was profound! Amongst other things, Hein spoke about how grateful he was to his parents for insisting he learn to become independent, placing him in a boarding school for visually-impaired students 100km away at just five years old! While I have no plans to ship Sam off to boarding school (although this is a traditional punishment I have threatened all of my children with), Hein's message inspired me to rethink the way in which I approach Sam's challenges and, in turn, the attitude I instil within him to approach those challenges.

Having done several rounds with many of the obstacles Sam struggles with the most already, I thought it was worthwhile revisiting the more fundamental tasks which, although perhaps appearing "basic" to many, would make a significant difference to our daily lives. So first up was independent feeding - with the complex puzzle which makes up the lil flappy dude's brain, one of his trickiest challenges is fine and gross motor planning leaving eating independently as something we have not yet been able to master. This weekend seemed as good a time as any to try again...

Sam's movements lately seem to be hindered by an increasing amount of tremors and shakiness, but after a few more tries he really seemed to get the hang of manipulating the spoon which also seemed to ease the flow of his movements a little. A change in utensils (I foresee mountains of dirty dishes in my future while we figure this out) and Sam was not only more comfortable with the process, but was even scooping up stray food from his chin!

We will of course spend some time on this new goal before we move on to something else (and right now I can't even imagine what that something else would be) but, as with any form of progress for a child with specific needs, the joy of seeing how impressed Sam was with himself and the encouragement of what a little perseverance and motivation can do, was pretty darn awesome!

And so...did I ever find out if Hein is in fact the young man who I witnessed so many years ago? I'll never know!! My lacking self-confidence and social awkwardness prevented me from asking him outright, despite him being very friendly and approachable. I have considered indulging in some Facebook creeping (because once you've been an intense starer there's little else more inappropriate) to see if I might come across a photo of him at around twenty years of age but the thought of finding him with a short, trendy hairstyle then like he wears now as opposed to the long, almost shoulder-length bob I remember the young man having then, would be strangely disappointing. So, for now, I fancy the idea that Hein Wagner is in fact the blind, young man upon whom my senseless sorrow was wasted as while I thought he was out feeling overwhelmed and vulnerable, he was in fact out conquering and overcoming 💜

Does he know...

...that he is different? I've wondered about this often before but could never really come to a solid conclusion and, honestly, wasn't sure it mattered much. About a month ago we sat in the ENT's office...I say "sat" but mean "flapped, whinged and occasionally shrieked"...with Sam becoming increasingly agitated as our wait ticked past an hour. The younger, more mobile patients (all 'typical') provided Sam with a momentary distraction as they played on the mat, hopped around, etc. but once that moment had gone (all 5 seconds of it) Sam resorted to taking occasional swipes at them, especially whenever one sprightly young kiddo entered his personal space...which personal space, with about 4x4m² being shared by four other children, had had to become remarkably conservative!

The doorbell rang and I cringed inwardly at the thought of having to tap into even more adept ninja moves, intercepting Sam's frustrated swipes at now FIVE moving (and thankfully, blissfully unaware) targets. A youngster of about 12 quietly entered the room with his adult companion. With my back being to the door and my neck currently alternating between despairing states of immobility or excruciating pain (but Yay! for still half-gracefully being able to carry 30kg's of flappy dude around right?) I had a limited view and decided a not-too-welcomed bear hug was needed by Sam at the very moment the newly-arrived patient had to brush by our chair into the room.

Surprisingly, no swipe...no smack...just the most magnificent smile as Sam watched the boy take a seat in the corner and pick up a magazine. As he settled quietly into his chair and I was able to glance more easily at the newcomer, I found myself suddenly fighting back overwhelming emotion as I instantly recognised his Down Syndrome characteristics. For the rest of our time in the waiting room Sam smiled, happy-flapped and ooooo'd admiringly at the very reserved youngster, the other energetic and now also agitated kiddies having suddenly become invisible. Sam has always shown recognition of other physically differently-abled children, for instance, when walking in a busy shopping mall he will quickly point out a child in a wheelchair, but this was more than simple recognition...it was a resonating of shared journeys and an instinctive knowledge that Sam and this boy were the same kind of different! Understanding this 'recognition' when the object of Sam's attention is in a wheelchair or walker or similar means of support is pretty easy, but his intrigue this time round would not have been triggered by any outward 'hints' and although incredibly heart-warming, has left me somewhat unsettled. 

Because of having Sam's learning potential constantly undermined due to his physical challenges, finding a school which focuses on his cognitive abilities rather than the physical has been life-changing. With Sam suddenly seeming so perceptive to those around him though, I can't help but wonder what the effects will be of his being the only physically-disabled lil flappy dude in his school. I do see occasional inklings of frustration emerging (okay...maybe "occasional inklings" is a little conservative #eyeroll) but because in my heart I know that he would not thrive anywhere else, hope that I can find a way to instil upon Sam's heart the very thing I spend a decent amount of my time advocating for...that being "different" is not only okay, it can be a pretty profound state of being. Wish me luck xxx

Mother's Day this year was one for the books (or blog in this case) as it came complete with a school-made Mother's Day card from the lil flappy dude. Although I am pretty sure that Sam's not particularly invested in the sentiments of Mother's Day as, of course, every day is in fact Sam's Day (just kidding) he sure did seem super-chuffed with his card!

And immediately after Mother's Day the lil flappy dude went and turned EIGHT! With his birthday falling on a Monday, he had  a small celebration with his classmates, which he was just as super-chuffed about...especially because there were balloons involved, the object of Sam's most passionate love-hate fascination.

And immediately after his birthday (like literally the next day) Sam went into theatre for his umpteenth number of grommets and for us to finally have an opportunity to intervene and hopefully provide some relief from the nasty issues those talon cusps have been causing. 

The grommets were a breeze, as always! The talon cusps were filed down so that they now lie flush with the gum/palate and then a little of the surrounding gum was cut away to make room for the bulk of the cusp which has yet to grow out. Sam had also made light work of grinding another two teeth down into the gum. Luckily these were both still milk teeth which could be extracted to make way for the yet-to-make-an-appearance adult teeth. The work on the talon cusps proved a bit of a bloody affair and Sam was not entirely impressed with the generous mouthful of blood he woke up from anaesthetic with (apologies for the graphic details). Since the procedure, now three weeks ago, we have had a rather challenging time getting Sam to drink fluids. Follow up consultations have reassured that his mouth, throat and ears are all looking really good so it has been a little exhausting trying to figure out what the issue is, which issue is now causing some very unwanted bladder problems. For a host of reasons (which I am not going to go into now) Sam still drinks mostly from a bottle. Knowing his complicated sensory system, the chances are that the first few bottles after the procedure caused a significant amount of discomfort (we were warned this would be the case) and so Sam has now developed a negative association with a bottle. With another kid this could perhaps have been a blessing in disguise, an opportunity to animatedly introduce an alternate, way more fun drinking apparatus! This is, however, Sam...so I'm pretty much doing WWF-style moves while squirting small amounts of liquid down his throat. Could it possibly have gone any other way 😉  

And, in closing, some recent school pics...just because 💜

Layered

When you hold your breath while signing in, for fear of being asked for a password you know you can't remember, then you know it's been too long. Almost a cool FIVE months. Wow! When opening Sam's blog I attempted a mental timeline of all that has happened over the last five months but, truth be told, I couldn't put together an accurate timeline of the last five MINUTES! You chuckle good-naturedly but, oh, I kid you not. So here's my Plan B...I've gathered what pictures I have left of the lil flappy dude (after my SD card threw me to the curb and dumped my almost 1000 pics and videos into some never-to-be recovered black hole) which I will post together with whatever details and emotions I can remember of that event. For the sake of deeming this post at least somewhat readable, we shall start with the most recent pictures first. If, after the sixth picture, the content reads along the lines of "And here is the lil flappy dude at a place where he was doing some stuff and I was feeling bleh" then feel free to simply ignore the words and scroll through the pictures!

Car trips have always been a little tricky with Sam, with the only car in which he feels reasonably safe in being my car. I often joke that even if I had to win a whopper of a Lotto, I'd still be driving around in my little red Clio because the alternative would be Sam never leaving the house. Very occasionally though we need to leave the house as a family and little Clio's do not make for fabulously spacious vehicles, so a trip in Dad's car becomes necessary. After a short time (about 30 minutes or so) Sam will eventually relax enough to breathe and perhaps even allow some circulation to return to the arms clutching so frantically to his seat. This will, however, only happen if the backseat has been reserved for Sam and I alone. Try as we might, fitting a 6.3ft man and two teenage girls into the front of a Hyundai has not yet been successfully achieved though so there have been odd moments when Sam has been required to share "his" backseat with someone else. These trips do not go well and usually find us aborting our outing because no social activity has yet proven worthy of the unbearable screeching we need to endure en route. In desperation one afternoon (and because my traumatised brain had convinced itself that Sam had sucked all the quality oxygen into his lungs in order to maintain such an impressive tone of screech), I opened the window. Bazinga! The kid went from crappy to flappy in 0.03 seconds. Our relief will be short-lived for sure as we are tentatively stepping into Autumn and the joy of driving with an open window might be a little less attractive in Winter. I say that but instantly hear the flappy dude's spirit mutter "Winter Schminter!"

At the end of last month, Sam went on his very first school outing. After almost ten months, I'm still sort of getting used to the kid being in school so his first school outing was pretty huge! Outings remain an unpredictable phenomenon in Smurfville. The ones you expect to result in chaos don't and those you feel are "safe" have you searching for a hammer and nails with which to board yourself and the flappy dude up inside the house for months thereafter. With my woodwork skills somewhat lacking, I decided to prepare for a, hopefully, hammer-free ending and arrived at Butterfly World a little earlier in order to figure out how Sam-friendly the place was, as well as to mark out possible exit routes. Well, the kid blew me away! We could have been going on a tour of the local butchery for all Sam cared. All that mattered was that his friends were there, along with his beloved teachers and Sam spent the morning in flappy blissfulness! He was even keen to touch (most) of the creatures during the reptile show...a little more keen than mom I dare say!

My first-ever, school-made Valentine's Day card from my warrior! Well, my first-ever Valentine's Day card from him at all for that matter. But this kid...at school...holding a paintbrush! It might seem a little blasé for some, but you need to have felt the hopelessness of having your child's potential repeatedly overlooked...the guilt of not being able to provide him with the guidance and expertise he desperately needs to thrive...the fear of him never knowing the joy and excitement of friendship, to be able to fully appreciate the profound hope Edu-Play and seemingly insignificant treasures, like a precious little painted heart, ignite within you. 

This one's a bit of a toughie...meaning, I am not yet in a good space with it all. On 3rd February Sam had an MRI and EEG after having experienced a change in both nature and duration of the, till then, very erratic seizures we were used to. We had tried to do an EEG before but when the lil flappy dude started resembling the Tasmanian Devil in his attempt to escape the sensory-overload of the electrodes, we surrendered after just 17 minutes with absolutely nothing worthwhile having been recorded. I had little hope for this EEG being any more successful. Surprisingly, Sam tolerated a full 20 minutes. No, not much longer than the previous EEG, except that this time there were enough "spikes" recorded during those 20 minutes to warrant an additional diagnosis of Epilepsy to our existing Rubinstein-Taybi Syndrome, Cerebral Palsy and Autism diagnoses. Sam struggled a little with the two hour anaesthetic needed for the MRI, which was to scan both his brain (for possible causes of the sudden change in seizure activity) and his spinal cord (to rule out re-tethering) but thankfully after about an hour-and-a-half his oxygen levels and blood pressure returned to normal. 

The MRI confirmed the previous MRI's reports of Periventricular cysts and the RTS-related partial absence of the Corpus Collosum. However, this most recent report specified something new...static encephalopathy. It is effectively another form of Cerebral Palsy to add to the Periventricular Leukomalacia, but it is too an additional form of brain damage which was not there three years ago...and that's the part which has me unsettled. Sam's paediatrician reassured me that it is a non-regressive disease but does mean that developmental milestones not yet acquired, will most likely remain so...unacquired. For Sam, those developmental milestones include things like walking, effectively manipulating a spoon, etc. 

While thankful that my Sam does not deal with heartbreaking medical issues like many of our friends do, there is still a sadness that comes with placing yet another obstacle (or two for that matter) on his path. There is also an underlying feeling of guilt which I cannot shake, despite knowing that it is something many mothers of differently-abled children deal with. Both the PVL and the encephalopathy are caused by oxygen-deprivation in utero and/or during birth...it is incredibly difficult not to dwell on decisions which I made during the last few weeks of my pregnancy...decisions which were undoubtedly instrumental in the difficulties Sam now faces. It does not end there...there is an irrational but incessant need to go back to where I was eight years ago, devoting every waking hour to Sam and ensuring I was doing everything within my power towards helping him progress...and on top of that a final layer of guilt that I am not doing that now. 

You get my eluded "good space" now? 

I can tell you one thing, with his RTS diagnosis at birth in 2009, Sensory Processing Disorder added in 2011, CP and Autism added in 2014 and Epilepsy and Encephalopathy added now in 2017...there is not a chance you're getting the flappy dude near a radiology department in 2020!! Lol! 

But, in true warrior style, we keep on keeping on and will find our way back to that good space. Till then...

Sam celebrating his friend, Ethan's,

birthday at school.

Happy to do tasks he refused

to do at home. Go figure!

Sam and Leeanne, his dedicated and

ever-patient carer.

Again...a puzzle I donated to the school

cos Sam refused to do it at home. Cheeky

monkey! Lol!