How Time Has Helped Me to Accept

Time Heals?

People often say, “Time heals” or “Wait a little while, it’ll feel better” In the context of a disabled child, though, this is a really hard thing to hear because more often than not, time doesn’t heal – it just brings different sets of challenges.

At first you’re dealing with the impact of the diagnosis – your hopes and dreams have been hijacked. How will we live like this? What will she be like? Will she even have a life? Then, you may be dealing with how relationships have changed as you begin accepting what life is like. After a while, you’re so used to this new way of life that “normal” things become challenging. More adjustments come when new symptoms hit and you feel like you’re back at stage one. Time doesn’t heal – it just shifts things over and over again.

Acceptance

For myself, acceptance has been a better word. It has been almost 2 years since my daughters diagnosis. Our world turned upside down. We had a newborn, we were excited for this life, and then all the sudden we held her life in our hands – we had machines helping her breathe, and a life full of unknowns. It has been a hard road to accept, yet time has helped.

When Paige was in the ICU at 9 weeks old, we didn’t know if she would make it. They didn’t know what was wrong, and she was on a ventilator struggling to breathe on her own. I was in complete shock -I didn’t know how I went from nursing my sweet girl that morning and just wanting 5 hours of sleep, to not even being able to touch her sweet face and hold her close- not knowing if I’d wake up to feel her breathe again. I couldn’t even bear to look at pictures of her – I was terrified to think of what I’d lose.

“The Same”

At one point in her hospital stay, she was intubated and sedated. I didn’t hold her for two weeks – I didn’t see her eyes. She wasn’t allowed to move to protect her intubation site. It was excruciating. Yet at that time, I also knew the next time I’d see my girl open her eyes, she’d have a permanent tube in her throat. I watched a video then – the video of her neck free of a tube, her eyes sparkling at me and her little voice cooing – I watched it over, and over, and over again. It kept me going – the memories gave me joy.

In the first 12 months after her hospital stay, I was never been able to watch that video without crying or grieving over the loss of what she once was. It left a sick feeling in my stomach “How did she get from there to here? What happened?” Thinking of what ifs, or sometimes honestly wondering if this has all been one giant nightmare.

Yet, the other day, I was randomly trying to find a picture and I watched several newborn videos in a row. I laughed! I started smirking at how sassy she was. I saw how she puckered her lips and smacked them just like she did today. I heard her little coo and thought of how I hear those same noises now!

It hit me then – I realized all the sudden – I wasn’t looking where the trach now is. I wasn’t noticing how clear her voice was. I didn’t see the tummy with no tube. I simply saw my girl. I wrote then – I wrote my poem called “The Same”, trying to capture exactly my emotions so I’d never forget.

I have reached a state of acceptance. I can’t tell you how. My mind and heart have finally realized – the little newborn I held in my arms is the same girl I’m holding now – she hasn’t changed a bit. It’s a major milestone in my life to say that out loud, but also to feel it and believe it’s true.

Acceptance – its not really positive or negative. It’s just something we have to do. It’ll help, just a little bit, to get you from there to here. Time doesn’t always heal, but it does help you accept.