Old pros

We’re getting a little tired.

Sam is trying so hard, and he’s been hurting so badly. We got his spica cast off two weeks ago today at the ER. Dave and I were supposed to have a date, but instead we took our little boy to the emergency room. His orthopedist met us there (I LOVE HIM!) and removed his cast. Sam screamed complete terror and pain, and I held him, and held it all together, and so did Jim.

“You’re a good boy,” I said cheerfully, hugging him as he bawled and howled. “It’s OK! It’s almost off, it won’t hurt you, you’ve done it before, you’re almost there, you’re so strong, you’re so brave, I love you so much, I’m going to give you a huge present tomorrow, and guess what? Uncle Larry and Aunt Cristy and Jack are coming tomorrow!”

It was an steady babble of anything I could think of to calm him down.

After ten minutes or so, before the air hit his body, he actually did get distracted by the idea of the Beemer visit, and by a Child Life specialist who brought in a noisy Thomas book. (I also love those Child Life specialists. Twice they’ve saved us in the Newton-Wellesley Emergency Room, once with each child. Twice the same specialist saved us at Mass General as we strolled Sam into surgery.)

We’re used to this now. We’re used to a toddler screaming in pain and terror, and I’m comfortable now doing my song and dance to make him feel as comfy as possible after his sixth round of X-rays at 10 p.m. while he’s hurting and just wants to go to bed. Now it’s not even an effort to hold the tears back, now they just don’t come because we know that being strong is the best for Sam. If we trick even ourselves into thinking this is all OK, yeah, it’s tough, but we can do this, it's bound to make him more at ease. And we can do this.

Before we went to the ER that night, Maya started to cry.

“Are you going to be gone a week again?” she wanted to know.

We hugged her, and told her no, we’d be there in the morning when she woke up. Thank God Chris was in town, or she would’ve had to accompany us on this late-night excursion. It tugged when she asked that question, but I didn't have to fight any tears.

In the ER, the X-ray attendant told me how helpful it was to have me in there, when many moms exacerbate the kids’ fears. “We’re old pros,” I told her.

I'm toughened on one hand, so it's easier to keep it all contained. But I am at the same time all raw and exposed. I’m like a crab in its shell and at the same time right after it sheds, simultaneously hardened and ready to do whatever it takes to make it easier for my kids, while also weak and vulnerable, with fleshy exposed parts that could be fatal if somebody so much as scratched them.

Just seeing Sam crawl around tonight, so frustrated, but so determined, wore me down. He’s such a great kid, and it’s getting hard to see him so frustrated by the pain and the inability to walk for a second time.

He was shouting angrily from the couch this morning, no he didn't want to go outside. He wanted to just sit on the couch. I finally gave him the option to take Tylenol himself or I'd hold him and give it. He took it, then just looked at me and said, "Mommy, I still can't walk."

"I know buddy, but you will soon. You're getting stronger, and I know you're sore from practicing so much yesterday. Soon. Just keep trying, but if it hurts, rest."

He's been so fussy the past two weeks. Of course I’ve had deadlines, and a work error that more took work to correct, and plenty of worry on my part. Dave has had a tough couple of work weeks too.

Sam wants me near him always, he wants to be held. He tries to strengthen his muscles, and last week began crying when I told him to take it easy as he tried to jump holding on to his spica chair. He thought I was chiding him, when he expected me to be so proud.

I am proud, but that cast came off really early after his second surgery, a proximal femur osteotomy on his left leg this time, to correct the coxa vara on this side. Four days made such a difference, and he was in such pain. He began crawling less than 48 hours after the removal, and cried for a week as a result, but refused medicine and refused to admit anything was wrong. He had a canker sore, and stopped eating. (But at least we figured out why his appetite had dwindled, and it's on the rebound.) He fell yesterday and hurt his hand. Still, he refused Tylenol. Today I didn't give him the option.

But at this point, we have got to be on our way to coasting. I keep thinking we'll turn that corner every day. Today has got to be the day, and it's promising thus far. Sam's playing, the medicine helped, and he continues to work his legs.

When taking the kids to drop Maya off at preschool on Tuesday, one mom said, “You guys are always smiling! You’re so happy! After all you’ve been through. You’re awesome! You’re such a great mom.”

This comment couldn't have come at a better time. Maybe she sensed that we were all wearing a little thin. Or maybe we just all genuinely seem happy. I hope that was it. Basically, I think we are happy. Just a little thin.,

Her comment was so appreciated at that moment, I had to measure myself to make sure my emotions went one way instead of another. I could've beamed with pride, or just as easily wept.

Being able to control which emotion shows itself has gotten easier, but the ability to do this has taken its toll too. I thanked her, and told her this compliment came at a crucial time.

“At least I’m faking it well!” I joked. She told me if I needed help, she'd be there.

I’m sure Sam feels me getting worn down, and I’m trying hard to stay strong so he can feel comforted by me instead of uneasy.

He’s always sending repulser blasts everybody’s way and saying he’s bad. “Sam can you pick that up please?” (Repulser blast noise and hand.) It’s funny now, but his whole attitude seems different. Maybe it’s just because he’s three. I do know they get possessed around this age. But I also think he’s finally frustrated by his situation and lack of mobility.

Sam’s cruising now, and last time, it made me so happy to see him hit this milestone again. It still makes me proud, and I’m encouraging him more now than last week. But in all honesty, seeing it a third time when he’s three years old hurts.

Knowing that he will, as Dr. Albright finally prepped us two weeks ago, be immobilized yet again when they remove the metal from his legs, has me down. He won’t be in a body cast, but it’s six weeks of little movement, no running, jumping, climbing. I’m not sure how you tell that to a 3-year-old boy. We will have to stay in the hospital overnight again.

Maya wants to go to playgrounds, but I just feel too awful bringing Sam there when he can’t even walk. I feel awful for Maya, who just wants to play as we normally would on a lovely spring day. We go outside and I'm CONSTANTLY working to find something fun they both can do.

Yesterday I pulled their play kitchen out of the garage and cleaned it, and their shopping cart filled with play food, and put it into the “cafe” part of the swing set Dave built. I opened some sparkly cider and we sipped it out of plastic cups while Sam and Maya prepared me an array of foods at their cafe. We must have done this at least for an hour.

I dropped $40 on new games at Target, money well spent just because it was something engaging we all could do together.

But still, they’re watching too much TV and I’m not engaging and playing the way that I want to. I’m trying now to stop the guilt by changing our habit of flipping on the TV after a moment of frustration from any of us. We’re reading more. My house is filthy though, and we rarely eat before 7:30.

Like I've said a million times, it could be so much worse. But right now, I fluctuate between being proactive and strong to being a sludgy stagnant puddle. More than ever before in my life, I lack motivation when I need it most, and I just want to withdraw.

But then Sam kisses my finger, holds on to me, tells me I’m such a sweet mommy. Tells me I’m a precious mommy. Maya smiles at me, kisses me, tells me I'm the best mommy in the whole world, and also figures out a new way to race so a crawling Sam can tie with her each time.

“We both won!” she’ll shout, and he laughs, so proud and thrilled.

They make it impossible to withdraw, or to stop feeling altogether.

They are so funny and awesome, it helps, and makes me feel kind of guilty even admitting to all this. Sometimes I don’t even want to write this down and share it with the world because I don’t want to feel like I’m complaining. But that’s exactly what I’m doing.

Or maybe it's not complaining, so much as venting. I know other parents have to feel this way, even if the challenges are different. I had put a status update on Facebook exalting Sam's first post-cast bath. He had been so happy. One mom commented how strong and brave we all are (I totally feel like a fraud when people say this) and how she shouldn't take something as simple as bathing her children for granted.

To which I responded, "We're not saints, we'll be taking it for granted in two weeks when Sam is kicking and flailing and doesn't want it ... it's what I tell people who think I'm doing a special or good job ... the reality shifts, and then it shifts back. Each reality comes with challenges. None is bigger than another."

Everyone goes through their parenthood challenges, and maybe it's not as obvious or overt as this one, but there's always something.

I think it comes down to this: I know I have to be strong for my family, but I get worn down seeing their frustration and pain. I try to keep things light when they’ve just had it, but sometimes I feel like I’ve had it too ... we’ve been so resilient to this point, but all are beginning to wear thin.

Knowing there’s more to come in the six months just when we thought we were all done, a whole new round of surgery, another hospital stay, more immobilization .... I’m going to try not to think about it yet. I knew the metal had to be removed, but I guess I hadn’t considered the magnitude of that surgery.

I think if Dave and I could just get out to a movie and dinner to recharge, to actually talk, it would help. Anyone know a good babysitter who doesn’t charge money?

Where we are

Sam's cast came off on Friday. He is just miserable. He just wants me to hold him. He is whining and fussing. He is sad. It's worse now than right after the surgery.

I'm worried that he has an ear infection, or worse.

It's hard to comprehend how complete his misery is. He only wants me... He says daily: "I can't walk yet."

We tell him, "Soon, baby."

I don't want to eat, he tells me, after I make him his favorite dinner of quesadillas with cheddar and spinach and chicken with guacamole. His appetite has dwindled over the last few days since he's gotten his cast off. He told me today, "Mommy, I got my cast off, and it feels better." But still he won't really eat, and he's just so cranky. I'm taking him to the pediatrician tomorrow.

Hospital care pages. Catching up...

Mass General has a site called CarePages for people undergoing surgery to keep everyone up to date on progress. I thought about posting the first set of CarePage posts from Sam's first surgery -- a proximal femur osteotomy -- to correct his bilateral coxa vara, but felt it was too long. But because I've been so out of touch with my blog, I wanted to post this for those who might not have caught my hospital updates. Like the last time, it's hard to find time to blog with a 3-year-oldchild in a spica cast, and a 5-year-old child who isn't. The only links you'll find are in this introduction, but can link to information from older blogs if necessary.

Wednesday, April 7

Well, the time between Sam's cast coming off and right now has flown by. Sam got his cast off in just under four weeks, and began walking one week and four days after that. (The doctors said it would take around 3-4 weeks.)

He had a birthday on March 13, and now he's a big 3-year-old. Luckily, he's still a little young to quite get all of this.

He just went running by. He's getting faster. A few minutes ago he came jumping in. He was never able to jump at all before the first surgery.

We and the grandparents all chipped in for both kids' birthdays to buy them a playset that has a tall ladder/ rock-climbing wall and a big slide. We had a big party for the kids' birthdays (Maya turns five April 12, but we wanted Sam to be mobile for a party) and the slide and ladder were already set up. By the end of the party, Sam was scaling that thing in a second, screaming, "I'm doing it myself!" and hurling himself down the slide. His back was sore the next day since he can't really catch himself at the bottom, so the next day we arranged pillows at the bottom for him to topple onto. That worked.

He immediately began relying on his right leg the moment it would support his weight after the cast came off. This just reiterated that getting the surgery done was the right thing to do for him. He finally is starting to get the motion of a more typical walk in his right leg in the past few days, and I'm thrilled about that. It's taken this long A) due to the stiffness after being in the spica cast, and B) because he was getting used to his right leg now being about an inch longer than the left after they made that nearly right angle of his femur obtuse. His right leg used to be shorter, so he had to get used to the new lengths.

I hope that when they're both the same length, everything will be easier for him. It's just getting through the next month. Ugh. Mostly, knowing what's ahead and how to manage everything from pain to poop is a plus. But man, knowing what's ahead in terms of pain and dealing with that cast, and Sam's frustration, twists my guts in a knot.

So we get there tomorrow at 8 a.m. I have to make sure Sam's gut gets packed so full today that he still feels full when we wake him up at 6 a.m. to go to the hospital. I can't even remember where we go in the hospital. It all feels like a blur from the last time. Guess I should give them a ring...

Until tomorrow.....

What a boy

Posted Apr 8, 2010 8:31am

Sam's is the best mood.

After a few minutes of being upset this morning because he couldn't eat (we told him it would make his belly sick before the surgery) Sam snapped out of it and hasn't asked again for something to eat.

Then he told me, "OK. I'm ready for you to drive me to the hospital."

When we first got to the waiting room, he held his little arm up in sort of like a shrug, and said, "This is just a really hard day."

But he seems to be completely unafraid this time. He's obviously not looking forward to it, but I thought the fear would be even more intense for him this time because he knows what's coming. He seems to be more like us; much less afraid, just filled with a little more dread at knowing what's ahead.

Right now he's running around the waiting room, cracking up, with a huge green monster truck they have here. Daddy's playing with him too. He's doing awesome.

Doh! Spoke too soon. Dave and I are talking about coffee, and Sam wants to eat. (We're waiting on the coffee.) We told him he has to have surgery first, and he said, "Can I go that way? Can I run that way?" pointing to the staging area.

He wants to get the surgery so he can EAT.'

He's in..

Posted Apr 8, 2010 11:06am

Sam did really well, with the exception of getting him to breathe the anesthesia through the mask. I had to hold him for that, so it wasn't very pleasant, but we just kept telling him what a great job he was doing and then it kicked in, so we gave him a kiss and left.

We just got an update on the fishie beeper saying the procedure began about 10 minutes ago and everything is going well, Sam is doing fine.

Osteotomy is done, applying spica cast

Posted Apr 8, 2010 1:24pm

We just got an update saying Sam's surgery is done and they're putting the cast on. We convinced him to go with green cammo this time, so he can wear cammo like Granddad wore as a soldier. He liked that.

It will still probably be a while before we see him. I remember the cast taking quite a while last time.

Everything went well, so we're mostly out of the woods.

Some smiles are better than others

Posted Apr 8, 2010 2:10pm

I love to see Sam's surgeons faces walking in looking that happy. They said everything went smoothly, he's in the cast, and they're waking him up so we should see him soon!

YAAAAAY!

Now comes the next hard part... But I'm not going to think about that... I'm just going to ride this humongous high.

Love to you all, thanks for your support and positive energy and prayers.

In Sam's room

Posted Apr 8, 2010 6:27pm

He's sleeping peacefully. He was awake and in pretty good spirits before, and had half a small bottle of water and has had about two popsickles already.That's more than he had in two days last time. The nurses seem to be in love with him; many from post-op remembered him from last time. He was sweet and making jokes, but of course, is still in and out. He's assigned to an awesome nurse Celine, who made sure he got some valium so we don't have a repeat of the first night last time, where he was seizing and screaming in pain. They'll probably wake him up around 7 or so if he hadn't already gotten up for more morphine. I'd like to get some food in his belly! But sleep is good too.

Now I'm off to go get dinner while he's snoring.

Not the most restful night of sleep

Posted Apr 9, 2010 8:56am

Sam had a tough night last night, the kicker being a catheter and midnight because Sam's bladder was so full that he was crying out in pain. I heard his screams when she was putting it in all the way down the hall so I ran in there and helped keep him calm. Dave was already there, but I just had to run down there having never heard him scream like that.

So it was dripping out slowly, filling a huge bowl.

He was being such a good boy that Erin, the night nurse, was telling an aid to go find him a toy. "Something big," she said. About 10 minutes of dripping later, she asked him, "Does that feel better Sam?" He faintly said Mmhmm.

A couple minutes later he looks at the nurse and says weakly says, "Thank you."

"Oh my gosh! You're so sweet! You're the first to ever say thank you for a catheter! Hey Michelle can you hear me?"

*muffled* "Yeah!"

"He gets two toys. He just said thank you."

Waiting on Sam's bed were Lego Thomas the Tank Engine (Stanley) and a crazy Batman batcave that he can work with his new Batman helicopter. It was like Christmas.

So, the nurse practitioner is talking about sending him home today, and I, rousing from my 3-hour-ish nap, asked shouldn't he be eating and drinking and peeing first? She mentioned he'd had wet a big diaper (from IV fluids) had a few sips of smoothie, and I was still kind of like, but that's not really food....

So I told Dave I want his pain to be managed better -- so there's something between screaming and crying in pain and doped up daze -- and I want him at least eating and drinking.

So to me, I'd guess we're staying until tomorrow.

Sorry about all the typos, I've had no sleep and only a few sips of coffee, and I'm bed with Sam while he cuddles up with me. He doesn't want to be not touching me.

More pain

Posted Apr 9, 2010 11:05am

I wish we could make it go away.... the meds just aren't doing it. Sam is miserable. He does not want the TV on, he doesn't want to be played with, read to, spoken to, moved, eat, offered food, or anything else.

It just makes me feel so helpless when I can't help at all.

Yay!

Posted Apr 9, 2010 12:41pm

Well, after a very sound hour or so of sleep (which indicates better pain control -- they doubled his dose of Valium), Sam woke up as we were discussing the pain with the nurse practitioner and Dr. Albright just to prove me wrong. I've never been so happy to have him do that.

He asked for his drink right away, had a few bites of pizza, has had most of a smoothie since this morning, and is drinking some of Mommy's sizzie water. He wanted Thomas to be turned up (I snuck it on on while he was asleep, hoping it would just distract him when he got up and keep him calm enough to eat).

He is talking back to Thomas, and I got a little smile.

Hooray.

He seems to be sweating much less too, which leads me to believe those spasms are under control now.

He just smiled: "It's Thomas."

looks like we might be able to roll him down to the playroom in a bit and see if a change of scenery will help him further along in his progress.

Cristy rocks, and we're leaving!

Posted Apr 10, 2010 9:50am

Aunt Cristy came to see us last night. I love her so much I can't even stand it. First she made Sam smile and laugh, and brought him an Iron Man mask. Then, she took me to a pub for a few pints and some chowder and stuffed mushrooms and actually yummy quesadillas, which I tend to avoid ordering because they typically are about as pedestrian as what I do at home.

THEN, she swapped with Dave, taking him out for a pint or two and getting him the soup. It was actually good clam chowder. Not thickened w/ all that flour, and with actual fresh herbs.

This break from everything is so amazing. It's fine for Sam, he's happy as long as a Mommy or a Daddy is there. It's great for us, because you can't really sit still long while Sam's in his cast. More so in the hospital actually than at home, believe it or not, because somebody is bringing him food, taking it away, washing the dishes from the food, and emptying trash, sweeping, etc.

But, that being said, thankfully we're on our way out of here, but Sam is refusing to eat b/c his meds were an hour overdue. This is how it goes when we are just a little late. But mostly, we all slept well last night. A nurse came and woke Sam up to give him meds at 3 a.m., and we went right back to sleep .... well almost. He wanted a smoothie and we were out, so I went down the hall and found him one of his banana yogurts and mixed it with juice and water until it tasted right. he drank it all.

So about a half hour after the Codeine, and a bribe with the playroom, Sam ate a pancake, a bite or two of egg, and a bite or two of yogurt. I'm happy with that. So we're getting ready, and getting OUTTA HERE! Based on past experience it's not as quick of a process as we'd like, so we went ahead and ordered Sam lunch, but we're out. I get the sense from the staff that the sooner, the better. ;)

Uncomfortable questions

I should have written this a week ago, before the party, when everything was all optimism and excitement.

We decided to combine Maya and Sam's birthday parties this year, on a weekend between birthdays and between surgeries, and during the brief time in Spring when Sam could walk.

They both had a blast at the party. Jim worked every second it wasn’t pouring to at least get half the play set set up, a clubhouse with a ladder/climbing wall and slide, and the kids loved it. It was a miraculously sunny day, though somewhat cold, after weeks of rain. Fortunately that meant everyone could hang outside for a few hours while Jim barbecued.

Sam astounded us by scaling the wall by himself and hurling himself down the slide, after a friend held onto him the first few times. I was bringing more chicken out for Jim to throw on the grill when I heard him shriek, “Look Daddy, I’m doing it myself!”

We both cheered and he beamed, so proud.

Here are Sam and Maya enjoying his Chick Hicks cake on his actual birthday. Party pictures are yet to be uploaded. For some reason, I'm a little behind on life and pretty much everything else.

He’s getting around so well, though I’m still carrying him frequently too. He’s trying to go down stairs more, but it still seems tough to go up them.

It’s sinking in what the other surgeon said, that Sam’s coxa vara will be corrected, but he won’t necessarily move like other kids. I can still see it in that right leg, the gait.

But he’s still healing incredibly. After going up that ladder and down that slide about 1,000 times, the next day, it was his left knee he grabbed, screaming in pain. The right knee, the knee on the leg that has already been operated on, didn’t seem to hurt.

So I wish I’d written something before that party, when I wasn’t even thinking of surgery, nobody was. But it was so busy, I just didn’t get to it.

Maya has had two more seizure episodes, one the late night of the party, and we’re set to see the neurologist next week.

I’ve also been gently trying to prep both kids for surgery again, since it’s only a week and one day away.

Today became intense both in terms of typical 3-year-old behavior and questions you wish your kids never had to ask.

Sam (who never wears pants for naps) was diaper-clad as I held him this evening. His 5-inch scar, wider at the top and still almost blistery, caught Maya’s attention as it always does.

“Is that a scratch?” Maya asked.

“No honey, that’s his scar from the surgery,” I reminded her.

“I’m worried about Sam,” Maya said as she always does when she sees his scar. “Will I be there for Sam’s surgery?”

“No.”

“But he’ll be lonely,” she said, her face turning concerned and much older than a girl who is not even 5 yet.

“Daddy and I will be there.”

“But who will keep me company?” she asked, looking at her plate.

“Nonna,” I said, keeping my voice steady, but she had to have heard it move up an octave.

“And you guys will have lots of fun, just like last time!” I said, much too vivaciously. “And Daddy and Sam and I will just be gone for two days, and then we’ll be home!”

“But, Sam will have another cast,” I added

“I’m going to have another cast?” Sam asked, almost comically incredulous.

“Yeah buddy, but remember how quickly you walked again after --”

“I want to get down Mommy!”

And he was waddling off to the next thing, laughing with Maya. She was racing with him, letting him getting a head start, and then announcing, “We both won Sam!”

In the grocery store earlier, we were getting some frozen, already-prepared meals, and the kids were getting antsy on this epic food-shopping trip.

“Why are we going down this aisle?” Maya wanted to know. I rarely buy frozen meals except for some favorites at Trader Joe’s. “Are we almost done?”

“I want to have some things in the fridge that are easy to make after Sam has surgery again next week,” I told them.

“Surgery?!” Sam exclaimed. “I’m going to have surgery? Why? Will it be today?”

This will be the last one for a long time, I assured them both. (That is, until they have to go in and remove the hardware in both legs. But I thought it best not to mention that just yet.)

Memory, at least in terms of very small children and surgeries, is a negative the second time around.

He walks again

Sam would stand, wobbly, in full concentration, just like he did when he was 13 months old. Then he would try to go, but his little right leg would buckle, still not used to movement after spending nearly four weeks in his cast.

"I'm OK!" he would say good-naturedly, and climb right back up again. He knew not to try again right then, but a few hours later, or maybe the next day, he'd go for it. I am constantly impressed with his good humor, his coping abilities and just his sheer determination.

The doctors said it would be three or four weeks before he'd start walking around, and then he'd probably drag the right leg around with him.

Last night as I was getting Iliana ready for bed, I heard Jim say, "Rachel?!" in that tone of voice that means I need to get in there right away. But I happened to be getting a rare and precious Iliana bear hug, so I was going to need more than that. "Come here!"

Then I heard, "Mommy! I can walk again!"

Iliana and I both jumped up and ran out of her room just in time to see Sam, looking awestruck himself, hobbling toward us. "I can walk again!"

Iliana and I both clapped and cheered, and she even jumped up and down and said, "Good job, buddy!"

It sounds made up, but I swear it, this is what happened. I'm so moved by her grace and support of him. I love her so much.

The look on Sam's face was almost just like the first time he went for it, and walked to me almost two years ago. I remember the Bob Dylan onesie he was wearing and his expression perfectly. I actually managed to get a picture of that joy and pride, mixed with a little bit of wild fear at this newfound skill, and the liberation and separation that would come with it.

I guess that was the only difference. There was no trace of fear this time, just pure joy and pride, and still the amazement that it was actually happening. It's been since January 14 since he last walked, and to a not-yet 3-year-old, that must seem a long time.

The doctors had said it would take three to four weeks until he walked. Last night it was one week and four days after the cast had come off. I am so proud.

He hobbled all over the house, saying, "I'm doing it! I'm walking!" When I told him it was time to read a book before bed, he said, "I don't want a book! I want to walk!"

He is not dragging his right leg, it's just a little wobbly, and he's getting used to the length discrepancy.

It is even more striking how much longer his right leg is than his left leg now that he's walking, when it used to be the other way around. He is having to learn to compensate the other way, so I'm glad the surgeries will be close together so he won't be thrown off again when the legs match in length.

Already I had been struck by how much he has been preferring his right leg since the surgery, when he used to prefer the left, I'm assuming because the angle was less severe. So even with the pain of surgery, and the lack of mobility caused by the body cast, he still prefers his right leg now because intuitively he knows already it works better than his left. That is so telling to me.

It makes me feel so confident that surgery to correct the coxa vara was the right thing to do. I can't wait until he feels both legs moving the way so many of us take for granted.

I can't wait to see him running.

They say he might not necessarily be an athlete, and I don't care one way or the other, but I do know enough about my son to know if he wants to be an athlete, he will be one.

In fact, we've been watching Olympic snowboarding and both kids want Jim to teach them next winter. They're in awe of the fact that he once did a 540, and regularly did 360s. He says it might not be so easy now that a decade has past, but I think he'll surprise himself. I hope we can make this happen next winter.

I'm so grateful to have the fortune that this surgery is even an option.

I'm so grateful to have such amazing and graceful and wise-beyond-their-years children, and so grateful to have such an incredible husband.

I'm grateful to have such amazing friends and family who have been so supportive through all of this, gone to immeasurable extremes to give all of us a little more comfort.

I know this all is so trite, but it is what I feel. I feel so blessed that I don't even know how to process it. I don't even think I deserve to be this lucky, but I'm so thankful that I am.