I didn't realize how things had been -- how not only the stress of all of the medical issues had affected us, but how the changes we made as a result of them were part of our daily lives.
I suppose you don't give that weight in the moment, because these are your children and you have to be on point and strong. If you're sitting around thinking about how hard you've got it, you really can't do that.
But yes, even this has some stress consequences. It can put strain on a marriage, on friendships and on relationships with family members. I think when people are tied to a certain situation it can become heavy. You acknowledge that and move on, you can't dwell on it.
But another nuance that I'm just coming to realize is how changing your lives and interactions with the world affects you too.
We move in a manner that seeks to protect our babies, so we tend not to think about how our own lives might be impacted in moments during that singular focus.
But then we are given, if we are lucky (like I am) these moments, a glimpse of not having those concerns, a taste of what others might take for granted. We get to feel the freedom in actual mobility. As an active family of hikers, climbers, campers, snowboarders -- in a nutshell, thrillseekers -- I can't emphasize enough how liberating it has been to feel like now our whole family can participate in these activities together. All of us.
For about a year and a half, we avoided doing anything that required too much physical activity. I didn't want Sam feeling badly that he couldn't do things. I didn't want Maya becoming frustrated that we had to move a little more slowly. I didn't want to feel myself to become frustrated by having to carry Sam on a long hike through the snow, when the poor kid just couldn't walk in even an inch or two of the stuff for any distance, even on flat terrain.
As active as I am myself, I didn't let my brain venture into how this affected us all. You just can't do that when you're adjusting your family in such a drastic way out of necessity.
So when you suddenly realize, you can now do these thrillseeking sorts of things that release all kinds of endorphins to your brain, it's pretty exciting.
Lately, we all go sledding. In a big way. What would have been impossible last year, on so many levels, was not only doable this year, we did it in a pretty extreme way.
Last year, let's keep in mind, was before Sam's first orthopedic surgery, when Coxa Vara dominated the bones in both femurs. Two major surgeries later, two body casts, and the little guy is invincible. He's only 3.5, and he soars down huge slopes, flies over big jumps and laughs the whole way down. I really should video it and put it on YouTube. It's hilarious.
Then, he would climb back up these really steep hills in a foot of powdery snow, or even when the sun made it heavy and slick. And he would do it over and over and over again, just as many times as the rest of us. A couple times I heard kids much bigger than him complaining about coming back up, but never once a peep out of Sam. The other kids gravitated to him instantly, and before I knew it some big girls were pulling his saucer back up for him, realizing he was probably too small to make it up with the saucer in tow.
He really helps remind me what life should be about.
I had told my husband several years ago that I thought I was too old to learn to snowboard. I knew I really wasn't, but I also knew it would hurt much more at age 30 than it would have at age 20. Seeing Sam take his surgeries in stride, seeing him physically dominate much older kids on that slope, I decided that I will learn to snowboard. Next winter, I hope we can go spend a week in a cozy little place and just snowboard, cook, and drink hot chocolate. We'll go camping next summer, and big hiking, and swimming too.
I was reminded of how much of my happiness relies on rigorous physical movement, but not at the gym, in life, having fun. I need endorphins, and I just can't get them going on a piece of nautilus. I need speed, excitement, maybe a little bit of the risk that comes with knowing, yes, you can get hurt.
This has been an incredible winter.
We're going to continue it until Sam gets his surgery next week, and then we'll chill for a bit, let him recoup. We're all dreading this one much less knowing we won't have to suffer through the body cast. I know he'll listen when we tell him to take it easy. Until we tell him he can GO. And I know he will, probably even more extremely since he won't have his abductor muscles rubbing up against the metal in his bones. (I'd link to an image of that metal here if I could, but would have to scan Sam's X-rays, because the technology is so new.)
And after that ..... I don't know ... surfing? Climbing? Hiking? Camping? Repelling?
Turns out, he's just like the three of us, it's just that his bones denied him access. Well, now we have access. This thrills me so much I can't even put words on it.
Here we come.
