Six years ago. It feels like yesterday. A flood of amniotic
fluid on a chilly July morning in Johannesburg office block and a panicked rush
back to my gynae in Pretoria, my wonderful husband as calm and solid as I
needed him to be. A short two hour
labour and our precious first born child came into the world, two months early
and fighting for his life. He was unexpected and unplanned but so very much
wanted. As I lay in a drug born haze, he fought for his life that first night.
He stopped breathing a number of times and was connected to so many wires and
drips and pipes you could hardly see his tiny little body, covered in a fine
down.
In and out of lights to fight jaundice, intravenously fed with penicillin
to fight a raging infection, my boy fought. I saw his face for the first time
two days after he was born, I held him for the first time a week after his
birth, so scared I would hurt him. His skin was too sensitive to touch so I
could not even stroke him to comfort him. I wept with him as yet another drip
was inserted and his wide blue eyes looked at me as if to ask why I was not
keeping him safe. My body and mind were so stressed that I did not have milk to
feed him and they had to resort to supplements a week after his birth.
And still he fought. Two weeks after his birth they moved
him to an open incubator. Still on oxygen and fed by a naso-gastric tube he was
slowly winning the battle to survive. No more intravenous drips meant I could
hold him without fear of him bleeding to death if one of the drips came out.
His first bath, where he screamed so loudly in indignation that the matron and
number of other nurses came to see what was wrong. We survived that.
We survived he first night home, where he
screamed incessantly from hunger and I cried hysterically from fear. We took
him back to the hospital, his brilliant paediatrician put him on formula feeds
full time and he started to thrive.
We survived
his first day at his day mom and me going back to a job I increasingly hated.
He grew, far behind with his milestones and yet he met them one by one. Slow to
go on solids, slow to sit, crawl, walk, talk and yet he reached each of the
milestones, not according to the books but in his own time. Slow to have all
his vaccinations so that at one time I was taking two babies at once to be
vaccinated.
We survived
our unplanned pregnancy with his sister when he was only 9 months old. Sick as
a dog, weeping constantly from hormones and trying to juggle work, a prem baby
and an unplanned pregnancy all became too much. I resigned and stayed home
full time just after he turned two.
We survived
his third degree burns from a cup of boiling tea, me weeping with him as they
changed bandages and tended huge blisters covering his arm from shoulder to
wrist. We survived day his undiagnosed concussion from having fallen and hit
his head twice on one day against two different pieces of furniture and the
subsequent trip to have his head x-rayed with a suspected fractured skull
nearly a week later. I remember him screaming hysterically for mommy from the x-ray
room and me weeping outside as I was 5 months pregnant and could not go in to
hold him.
We survived
bringing Mia home when he was 17 months old, not knowing why mommy had left him
alone and then come home with a “kitty”. He insisted she was a cat and very
lovingly stroked her shock of red hair, saying kitty over and over. Trying to
crawl into her bassinet to see what she was doing. Sitting in the car seat with
me holding his bottle and trying to breastfeed at the same time. Double nap
times, double nappy changes, double bottles and endless trips to the
paediatrician for check-ups until he reached the age of two.
Two little
bodies, one blonde and one red head, refusing to go anywhere or do anything
without the other, more like twins than brother and sister separated in age by
17 months.
We have
survived endless hours of occupational therapy, eye tests speech therapy and
countless questionnaires. We have survived many tears cried into each other’s
arms late at night as it became clear that Noah had a learning difficulty and
we would need to get him into an LSEN ( learners with special educational needs
) school. Wrestled with the why and the
why not. Worked through the guilt that only a mother can feel. Worked through
the endless questions and raised eyebrows of family, friends and strangers and
we struggles to come to terms with a child who would not follow or conform to
society’s standards of normal. Learnt the hard way that my son needs structure
and stability to function and feel secure. That he still needs years of therapy
and medication to help him learn. Battle with him as he struggles to control
his temper and emotions, to articulate his feelings, his thoughts and ideas.
His first
glasses, his Ritalin for ADD, his new school where for the first time in 4
years he has been separated from his beloved baby sister. His fear of the new
class, new teacher and new friends. His grief over the separation from his best
friend. He has met and conquered each of these challenges with his innate
Noahness and fight for life .
We celebrated
his first full bottle feed, his last all clear check up, his first tottering
steps at 18 months.
The first
time he sat up unaided on his first birthday. His first words -“light on”. The
first day he no longer clung to my leg when I had to leave him at school. The
joy at his first report his year which said he had greatly improved and his
teacher was proud of him. The delight on his face when he saw the sea for the
first time and felt a wave break against his foot. The first time he recognised
his name.
We still have
a long road ahead, this beautiful, emotional, headstrong, sensitive son of
mine. He is God’s blessing to our family and a miracle we never expected. As we
celebrate the last six years that have flown by, I continue to ask for wisdom
and guidance to know what is best for Noah as we journey a very unknown and
often rocky road. There is no manual or map for a parent, particularly if your
child is a bit different. I have had to grow a thick skin and become a lot more
assertive to protect my child. As he grows, so do I. I sometimes wonder who the
adult is and who the child is as he has taught me so much. I look forward to
what God plans for his life and pray that he, like his namesake, would be used
as a blessing to others.
As we blow
out six birthday candles, do a complicated Lego together and watch him climb to
the highest slide on the playground and fling himself down, I realise once
again that it his God given ability to fight for life that will stand him in
good stead to meet all the challenges that life will throw at him.
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