I’m not easily offended. I’ve always said this and meant it. I think a big contributor to this is that my motto has always been to read between the lines and look at the intention behind another person’s actions or words, as opposed to the outward expression that may be out of alignment with what they truly mean. I still operate by this motto and it keeps me from being easily angered or hurt, but recently I’ve begun to explore the idea of intention versus impact. Yes, intention is key, but impact matters too.
Often times, we speak and are completely unaware or oblivious that what we’ve just said may be hurtful to someone on the receiving end. And more times than not, this is due to the fact that we’ve never had direct experience with someone or something that would alert us to that potential hurt. Since having Finn, I find myself triggered by a lot of common phrases that never even used to register for me as offensive. In fact, I know I’ve even used many of them myself in the past due to my own sighted privilege. Things like:
“You’re either blind or living under a rock.”
“Wake up and take the blinders off.”
“The blind leading the blind”
“Turn a blind eye”
“What’s the matter, are you blind?”
“If you didn’t realize ___, then you must be blind.”
“I was completely blindsided.”
Each of these phrases I’ve heard countless times from friends, from family, on television, or in books, all said, assumingly without a thought, because to them, they are just a joke or common phrase. Though these kinds of phrases don’t always offend me, you better believe I now notice them. Why? Because each of these statements implies that the word blind means ignorant, unaware, incapable, or to be living in darkness. None of which my child is. None of which other blind people are simply as a result of their blindness.
I did a little experiment over the last two weeks where I counted how many similar remarks were made to me, around me, on social media or on television that fell into this category. I counted 18 in a two-week period. That’s more than once a day! Think about the impact that kind of repetition can have. Think about the narrative that creates for the blind and visually impaired community. The same goes for any other marginalized community that is constantly subjected to misused, insensitive words or negative stereotypes.
My point here isn’t to suggest that I’m constantly offended or that these types of statements always have negative impact. And certainly, I don’t find the word blind to be offensive –it’s a simple adjective to describe my son, much like blonde-haired, tall or thin. Rather, I think we could all benefit from being a bit more selective and thoughtful with our word choices and in this case, if you’re using the word blind, to be careful that your intention is to mean “sightless” and not clueless. With something like “the blind leading the blind” that has been said a million times, we should stop and ask ourselves, is this really what I want to say and how I intend to categorize people who are blind? I don’t want anyone to equate blindness with ignorance or lack of awareness. My son is one of the smartest, most aware kids I know, not in spite of his blindness, but I believe, in part, because of it. From what I witness, he is able to focus so much more than I am on the information he receives possibly because he is free of so many visual distractions. Regardless of the reasons, it would be supremely inaccurate to categorize him as clueless.
I also don’t mean to suggest that we should all walk on eggshells around each other and be fearful to speak freely. I don’t want anyone to censor themselves around me. I do think it’s important, though, that when someone says something that may be unintentionally hurtful to us, or someone else, that we speak up so we can collectively help change a narrative that has been perpetuated over time and use. In other words, if instead of brushing off negative or mischaracterized language as unintentional and ignoring it, we communicate to those around us a better way of phrasing it, then maybe these phrases don’t become quite so commonplace and their negative impact is lessened. So, I’ve decided that impact matters just as much as intention — and ensuring that those around us are aware of the impact of their words, whether intentional or not, is as important as being aware of our own.
I once said in an earlier blog post, and have said many times to friends and family, that one of the things I’m thankful for regarding Finn’s blindness, is that he can’t see skin color and thus, won’t judge people based on color or other appearance-based information. I now know that this was both naïve and wrong of me to believe.
Following George Floyd’s murder and the ensuing protests over the past few weeks, I’ve been doing a lot of research, reading, self-examination and listening. One thing, among many, that has really been a lesson for me is that “not seeing color”, something I’ve more than once been proud to claim, is not the goal in achieving racial equality. Rather, the Black community and other racial minority groups want so badly to be seen. The key is, they want to be seen, they want their differences and struggles to be known, AND they want to be treated fairly and equally. I now recognize that ignoring one’s race is only perpetuating systemic racial prejudices, as well as the idea that being white means being normal.
This has been a real shift in perspective for me. And this shift in perspective has taught me that I need to adjust some of my parenting tactics as well. With Finn, I work to teach him colors by saying “grass is green” or “the sky is blue” so he can begin to understand that objects in the world have distinct differences beyond texture, taste or sound. What he imagines green or blue to be in his mind is known only to him, but I want him to know that the world is full of different colors and that diversity is a wonderful, beautiful thing. What I’ve failed to do is point out to him that people come in different colors too. I’ve never once mentioned his skin color or anyone else’s to him, and this was purposeful. I thought I was doing the right thing — that I was allowing him to view all people (or characters in the books we read) on an even playing field and to make his own judgments about them based on only their words, actions, or his interactions with them. I no longer ascribe to the belief that being “color blind” is doing him, or those who may be treated unfairly due to the color of their skin, a service. The reality is we don’t reside on an even playing field and my child, blind or not, is going to figure that out.
A friend of mine told me a story recently of her 10-year-old daughter asking, if she ever wanted to marry someone of a different skin color than her own one day, would my friend approve? My friend replied something along the lines of, “Of course! As long as he/she treats you well, then you marry whomever you want!” My friend is one of the most kind, non-racist people I know, and yet her daughter still felt the need to ask. Why? Because my friend has remained mostly silent on the topic of race with her child, just as I have with mine, in an effort to not draw attention to it or make it “an issue.” Despite this, her daughter has still deduced somewhere along the way that an interracial relationship might not be acceptable. She didn’t automatically know that her mother would approve. This is the difference in being non-racist and anti-racist. We have to talk to our children about racism and we have to tell them that we are against it in every way, and what our role is in not perpetuating it. Luckily, my friend’s daughter asked the question and didn’t make her own assumptions. But many children won’t ever ask. In the absence of direct conversation, our children are left to make their own assumptions or gather information from other sources that may not be aligned with the values we hope to instill in them. We have to tell them.
My blind son may not see differences with his eyes, but he will see them. He will learn them just like he learns everything else. In fact, in part of my research recently I discovered a study from 2015 that found that although it may take blind people longer to categorize people by race, they often still develop racial stereotypes. As he grows up, Finn is going to be out in the world more, encountering new people and places other than those in the small circle he lives in now. He’s going to learn about the world from many sources other than us, or the things we present to him, and I never want him to mistake my silence on the topic for underlying prejudice.
We can’t protect our children from the prejudices that they will encounter, whether it be through classmates they meet, books they read, music they listen to or television they watch, but we can talk openly with them, make our beliefs known and control the narrative as much as possible. It’s on us as parents to make our children know from the start that there are differences of all kinds, that we see those differences, that we celebrate those differences, and that we do not support racism, sexism, ableism or any other “isms” of any kind. Ignoring these topics does not make them go away, does not make them a non-issue, and does not serve those on the receiving end. We have to tell them.
So how do we start? For us, it’s starting with direct dialogue and representation in our home. Recently we started explaining to Finn what his skin is, that it has a color, that everyone has skin, but not everyone has the same skin color. We talk about the people and other children in our lives who have different skin color than us and how these differences make the world a better place. We also took stock of Finn and Sloane’s book collection and unsurprisingly realized that it is overwhelmingly representative of us and people like us. Immediately we ordered a collection of children’s books reflecting races, histories, cultures and skin colors other than our own to read to Finn and his sister.
My son has his own physical differences and I want people to see him for exactly who he is – a sensitive, sweet, blind boy while also treating him the same as they would a sensitive, sweet, sighted boy. I’ve never wanted his blindness to be ignored, unseen, or not talked about. In fact, I’ve often hoped that there are parents out there reading books to their sighted children that include representation of little boys and girls holding a cane or reading Braille. And I hope they are telling their children to be kind, fair and to listen to kids they encounter in the real world like Finn. Why didn’t I realize sooner that the Black community would want the same?
Finn is not yet even 3 and Sloane not yet 1 so we know there is a limit to what they can understand right now, but this is only the beginning. We plan to teach our children about not only color differences, but the different lived experiences (good and bad) that often come with them, just as we will teach Finn about his own. We will teach our children to not just be non-racists, but to be anti-racists. We will teach them that the word ally is a verb – with it, there must come action and that silence is inaction. We will teach them to stand up and say something when they encounter injustices in the world. We will teach them that events like the murder of George Floyd are not just single events where “one bad person did a bad thing” – but, that there are institutional and systemic prejudices, alongside inequality of resources, at the root. There’s much more work to be done, definitely including my own, but this is a starting point for how we hope to move the needle with our children and make sure they don’t go into the world color blind.
Below is a link to several books for young children to help start the discussion about race. I’ve also linked an article about how to choose the right anti-racist media for your children. Finally, I’ve linked an episode from a new series on Instagram called Uncomfortable Conversations with a Black Man that briefly addresses the issue of color blindness.
I don’t think I realized just how dependent we are on the “village” that helps us in raising our children until we were hit with a global pandemic. Over the last two and a half years we’ve worked, advocated and carefully navigated how to get Finn the services and support he needs to thrive, to meet his full potential and to overcome the challenges with which he was born. We enrolled in Early Intervention. We fought for access to his TVI (vision therapist). We pushed through the early transition struggles at his preschool to get him comfortable and participating. We identified the need for speech therapy, switched therapists and increased the frequency before finding the right dynamic. We found the music class and teacher that fostered his love for music, and made him comfortable enough to participate. We employed three nannies before finding the one who was the perfect fit for Finn, Sloane and our whole family. Each of these steps brought us to a place where, as of just a few months ago, we were finally settled, happy and truly seeing progress.
In the blink of an eye, as I’m sure so many others have experienced and felt recently, our team and our routine in which Finn so thrives was halted. All at once there was no more school, no more vision therapy, no speech therapy, no music class. It felt like we were alone. And, as I do best, I began to worry. What will happen to Finn’s progress in speech if he goes without therapy for months and months? How can we come up with activities and lessons at home to match what he was getting in school? How can we foster social interaction when we’re quarantined at home? How will Patrick and I fare without the vision therapist’s weekly lessons that help us adapt and challenge Finn to succeed in a sighted world? How will we balance work and the children if our nanny can no longer come into work? My son is only two and his sister only 9 months — I can imagine that the worry of parents of older children suddenly out of school, and especially those with special needs, runs even deeper.
The good thing about children is that they are resilient and adaptable. I’m not even sure Finn has noticed that his routine has changed or that he hasn’t left the confines of our house or yard in 8 weeks now. He also loves being at home where he’s familiar with his things, the rooms, the people and the noises. But, what I’ve learned about myself and all of those that our family relies on, is that we are all adaptable too. We have to be. It’s a true cliche that you don’t really know your own strength or capabilities until the challenge is right there in front of you.
Within two weeks of the “safer at home” orders here in Nashville, our music class went virtual and we now attend from our living room every Friday morning. And, honestly, Finn loves it more than ever. He gets to sing the songs and play the instruments without the added distraction of the noise of other kids in the room. Shortly after that, our speech therapy sessions went virtual as well. Finn’s school (where he receives his therapy each week) transitioned to tele-health services. Finn struggles to stay engaged for very long so I do look forward to getting back to the in-person sessions, but at least we are given examples of things to work on with him at home and he isn’t left with no therapy at all during this crazy time. Our TVI can’t come to our house every week like she used to, but she calls each week to check in and offer things for us to work on at home as well. Finn’s preschool classroom hasn’t gone virtual and we are definitely missing the socialization aspect, but the school is sending out age appropriate activities and lessons to try at home each week as well as recorded story time videos. We are so fortunate that we have been able to keep our nanny who is still coming to help with the kids while we work. We had a discussion at the start all of this and she graciously opted to quarantine with us (she only comes to and from our home). I honestly don’t know how we would have kept our sanity these last two months without her. (Side note here — I give a special kudos to her for not batting an eye when I decided that potty training Finn would be a great idea to do during quarantine. We are on day 13 of a 3-day plan if that tells you how well it’s going. I don’t know if the fact that Finn has no real reason to care about the cute characters on his big boy underwear, can’t see his Dad or I going to the bathroom as a model, or can’t gain feedback from seeing his pee or poo as it hits the potty (IF it hits the potty) is playing a factor, or if I just have a very stubborn child — I honestly think it’s a combination of all — but yes, a special thanks to our amazing nanny for enduring this and being just as determined as I am to see it through and ensure Finn doesn’t go into high school in diapers.)
I quickly realized we weren’t alone — we had a QuaranTeam.
I’m trying very hard to focus on the silver lining in all of this which includes more quality time with my husband and children, less work stress and no work travel, and so importantly, this realization that our support system is there for us even in the craziest of circumstances. Life in quarantine with two young children has its difficulties (I’ll admit I’ve had more than one occasion of sudden tears shed and wishing we could opt for some screen time for a break), but, life in quarantine is hard for everyone. There is no script for this and yet, we are all figuring out how to play our part. A friend recently sent a quote that essentially said working, parenting, teaching, being a therapist (among other things) are all full-time jobs in their own right. Right now, many of us are trying to do all of them at the same time. It’s just not possible! We need to continue to rely on our support system in new ways if we can. And most of all, we need to cut ourselves some slack and recognize that we are all doing our best during this unique, trying and unsettling time and, that our best is enough. Our kids will come out ok. We will come out ok. And we will be stronger for it, I’m sure.
I write this post for one reason and that is to say THANK YOU. Thank you to all of those in our QuaranTeam who are helping us to keep it together. Helping to maintain a sense of normalcy for our family. Helping to educate, care for, treat and entertain our children. Helping us to stay sane and stable. There are so many on the front lines of this daunting situation who are working tirelessly, and that includes all of the teachers, therapists, childcare workers, and support groups who are finding new ways to stay connected with the children and parents who need them. I’m beyond grateful for ours.
Finn sees his retinal surgeon once a year now for a simple checkup to ensure there is no change in eye pressure or condition. We’re no longer looking for improvements from his surgeries (i.e. shadow or light perception) as we’ve accepted that the surgeries were not successful on that front. I took Finn for his yearly appointment in December and Dr. S said that everything looked status quo and there was no cause for concern. As he was finishing his exam, he mentioned that there is a new genetic test available from a company doing research in gene therapy. This particular test is for 250 inherited retinal diseases. I was excited to hear that in just two years there was already a new test and that research continues for those with retinal disorders. I asked for more information and learned that in order to run the tests, Finn would need to either be subjected to a blood draw (in some cases for kids his age this requires sedation) or be able to spit into a vial for a saliva sample, which he cannot yet do. He went on to explain that this tests for 250 genetic diseases out of a potential 100,000+ so to keep in mind that it is still like looking for a needle in a haystack. Hmmm. Dr S. said it would be something to consider in the hopes of getting a diagnosis, but Patrick and I would need to weigh whether it’s worth putting Finn through the pain to run the test now or wait a year or two until they can take a DNA sample by saliva. In his words, how aggressive do we want to be in our search for answers?
A few weeks later I picked Finn up from his speech therapy session at school which he has once a week. His speech therapist asked to speak with me about her observations of Finn since she’s been seeing him over the last four months. She told me that she believes he has a neurological speech disorder called Childhood Apraxia of Speech. Apraxia is a motor speech disorder where the child knows what they want to say, but has difficulty producing the motor movements to connect sounds or pronounce words correctly. For example, Finn can say “mmm” and he can say “ooo”, but he cannot say “moo.” Unlike developmental speech delays, Apraxia is not something a child can grow out of and there is no cure. However, it can be treatable and manageable with a lot of therapy, practice and hard work depending on the severity. We had noticed issues with Finn’s speech, of course, which is why we have him in speech therapy in the first place. I often serve as Finn’s interpreter with teachers, grandparents, or others who don’t see him as often as we do and haven’t learned the funny way he says the words he’s trying to say. However, I think the parent interpreter role is pretty normal for most two-year-olds so I assumed we were dealing with a typical delay that would resolve itself in time.
Unfortunately, it appears we are dealing with another atypical issue. Honestly, to hear the words “neurological” and “disorder” out of the blue again were a punch to the gut. On the flip side, I did not panic, I did not cry, but I’d be lying if I said that I did not worry. The worry set in immediately, in fact. Will therapy really help? Will my son be challenged with being both blind and unable to communicate clearly? Am I doing all I can to help him succeed in life? And at the root of it all, the big one that never really goes away – does this mean that Finn has a genetic disorder or syndrome after all, and are there more challenges to come? A new diagnosis meant his blindness was most likely not just an anomaly — what are the chances that he just happened to be born with both blindness and a neurological speech disorder and the two not have any connection to one another?
With these two encounters with Finn’s medical team we were faced with two questions – what do we do to start treating the Apraxia, and do we get more aggressive with our search for an answer to what Finn may have?
I started doing research online and it became apparent that increased frequency and duration of therapy is the main recommendation for children with Apraxia. The fixer in me (i.e. the mom in me) immediately jumped to, “OK, we’ll do therapy five times a week instead of one!” I even had a moment of researching how to get my own degree in Speech and Language Pathology to learn the techniques to help him myself. Of course, I quickly realized that by the time I finished all of the education and training required, Finn would likely be on his way to high school. So, that was out. I reached out to our Early Intervention Coordinator to tell her what was going on and requested more therapy. She said she’d be happy to add a second day per week provided our therapist has an opening. Only one extra day, I thought? Is that enough?
I then met with Finn’s Speech Therapist as well as his TVI (Teacher of the Visually Impaired) to talk through it all. I was in my warrior mom mode for sure. But after speaking with them, Patrick and a close friend, I realized I needed to take a step back. Yes, I want to help my son and do everything I can for him, but I also don’t want his entire childhood or life to be about his blindness or his speech issues or anything else that may come our way. I don’t want him to live his life in therapy working so hard that he’s never able to have fun and just be Finn, just be a kid. Additionally, the same goes for us. We don’t want to spend our entire life focused on the things that are so-called “wrong” with Finn when at the end of the day he is happy, healthy and thriving. We all need to find a balance of using the support and resources at hand while also just living and enjoying life. After taking in all of the recommendations, we moved forward with increasing his speech therapy to two days a week for now. We’ll give it until he turns three to see how much progress we’re making and reevaluate the need for more speech therapy then.
Since Apraxia is hard to officially diagnose in very young children like Finn, we did take one additional step by getting a hearing test to see if there might be hearing blockages causing or exacerbating the speech issues. We took him to Vanderbilt’s pediatric hearing and speech center where they ran three panels of tests that all ended with roadblocks. For the first test they played different sounds from different directions that Finn was meant to turn his head toward if he heard them. Two problems – 1) the sounds and responses are meant to be supported by visual cues such as pictures or video which obviously won’t work for Finn, and 2) he wouldn’t stop talking, crying or fidgeting long enough to listen. The second test was meant for three-year-olds and older, but they tried it anyway. The doctor spoke simple directions at different volume levels to see if he would hear and follow them. Again, he’s only two so what two-year-old do you know follows directions well? That was a bust. The final test was done putting wired plugs in Finn’s ears to detect vibrations and other physical reactions to sound. Finn kept ripping the plugs out and eventually the doctor determined that due to recent colds, both of Finn’s ear drums were too blocked with fluid to make the test effective anyway. After a two-month waiting period to get the test approved and booked by TEIS (Tennessee Early Intervention System), it was fruitless and just triggered more stress for all three of us. We will try again when we’re ready.
As for the new genetic test, of course we want answers, but at what cost? Even with the Apraxia development, the haystack has not gotten any smaller. According to Dr. S who researched it at length for us, there is no clear correlation between retinal detachments and Apraxia that would point to a more narrow panel of disorders for testing. When Finn was just days old, we started out on the quest for answers via appointments with specialists, the flight to Detroit for a second opinion, two surgeries under anesthesia, an MRI, blood tests, two rounds of genetic testing and just recently the hearing tests. Now two and a half years later, it has all resulted in no clear answers. That doesn’t mean we’ll never find the answer, but we don’t want to spend our life focused on finding one and we definitely don’t want to put our sweet boy through any more pain or struggle than necessary. Having a diagnosis could help us with knowing what might come our way in the future, but all of our medical team agree that it wouldn’t change our treatment plan. There is no magic pill to cure blindness nor one to cure Apraxia so we are doing all that we can for him. Knowing that, we are at ease with taking things as they come, at least for now. I’m sure we will revisit the haystack and do more tests down the line when they are easier for Finn, but in the meantime we continue with a healthy balance of therapy and letting a kid just be a kid!
From a very young age I was obsessed with pictures. My grandparents kept those old photo albums with the sticky film pages covering polaroids on their coffee tables, and every time I was at their house I’d flip through them so much that I’d pretty much memorized the order of each one. I loved looking at old photos of my parents, grandparents, siblings and myself as babies and beyond. I loved asking my parents or grandparents to tell me all about that day or that moment. It captivated me.
My obsession continued throughout my young adulthood as I became the designated photo journalist of my friend group. In high school and college I rarely missed documenting a single moment. (This was to a fault, for sure, as evidenced by one too many pictures I have of my friends and I in college posing with solo cups and half-empty bottles of Boone’s Farm. I am thankful every day that there was no Facebook or Instagram back then and that these photos are safely stored in my home and not online for all to see.) I look back at all of my photos now and often laugh, sometimes cry, but a lot of the time think, “Geez Alison, just enjoy the moment and stop taking so many damn pictures!” I’m sure many of my friends were thinking that at the time too. I know now that not every single moment needs to be captured, but at the same time I’ve always loved the fact that I have so many photos to share with others when I reminisce about the “old days”. I always imagined doing just that with my own children and grandchildren one day.
The irony of this, of course, is that I now have a son who is completely blind and cannot see photographs of my “old days” nor of his own. For him, pictures aren’t worth a thousand words like they are for those of us who are sighted. I assume he will have little to no interest in sitting with me as I scroll through my online photo albums the way I did so fervently by hand at my grandparent’s house. This has changed the way I think about pictures and picture taking.
Don’t get me wrong, my phone is still full of about 10,000 photos of my children like any other proud mom and I love showing them off, but, looking through them recently had me thinking a lot about how to create that same photo album experience for Finn. If I’ve learned anything from him, it’s that blindness doesn’t equal incapability, it just requires adaptability. So, I found a way to adapt. I recently started a digital journal specifically for Finn. Since descriptions are essential to bringing any story to life for him, I’m using the power of words to document our memories as he grows up. The same way my grandmother would describe the moments we lived in those old photographs, I’m going to describe moments to Finn in a journal. I’m also including pictures to which I’m ascribing a detailed image description that will tell him who is in the picture, what they’re wearing, what they’re doing and when/why it was taken.* It will be his own version of a photo album or memory book that he can hopefully enjoy the way I did for years to come.
Another piece to this new photo dynamic is that Finn can’t pose for a photo the way we all are trained to do. Saying, “look at the camera” or “cheese” is lost on him. Any posed photos with Finn consistently show him with his head down toward the floor where it almost always falls naturally. And when I say, “Chin up, Buttercup!”, he lifts his head so high it lands equally as off-target. Posing for pictures has become a point of frustration, I’ll admit — not so much when Patrick or I are behind the camera since we’re now accustomed to it, but when others are. Regardless of whether the person taking the picture knows Finn is blind or not, inevitably they repeatedly call his name to try to get him to “look” at the camera. “Finn, Finn, up here! Look up!”, sometimes even with a snap of their fingers. It’s not that they’ve forgotten Finn is blind, many times this happens with our own family. It’s just what we’ve all naturally been trained to do — to pose and stare into a camera smiling, in order to get that “perfect” shot. The so-called perfect, posed image just isn’t going to happen right now, probably not for many families with unpredictable two year olds, but certainly not for us. I’m sure in time I’ll be able to teach Finn how to lift and turn his head in the right direction, but how much do I want to worry about this? Why is a posed photo so important?
Since my excitement around photos will likely always be a part of me, I’ve learned to not only accept, but embrace the imperfect photo. I welcome photos of Finn with his head down or way up since that’s exactly who he is. I now opt more for candid shots instead of posed ones in order to catch him with a real smile in a real moment. I’ve accepted that our annual holiday cards may not fit the traditional mold. I have to say I’m thankful for this — yet another lesson gained from my son. I needed to let go of capturing every moment or the perfect pose and just enjoy it instead. I needed to realize that what matters most about photos is the memory behind them and capturing reality, not some ideal result. As soon as I let that go, I was able to capture many perfectly imperfect shots to add to Finn’s journal. I can’t wait for him to listen to it one day!
*I’ve learned that image descriptions in the blind community are of great importance — describing the details of a social media photo rather than only offering a simple caption allows a visually impaired viewer to get so much more out of the experience. Thankfully most sites now offer what is called alt text — this is essentially a worded description of any visual content for those who can’t see it (available for anyone using a screen reader device). Pretty cool right? Yes, I am thankful that social media didn’t exist back in my youth, but I’m beyond grateful that technology has come so far for Finn and others like him. One issue with alt text, though, is that computers can only be so accurate and descriptive on their own. This is where we, as online posters, need to help out. Facebook, Instagram, WordPress and countless other sites now all have alt text options that make it very easy to write your own descriptions of your photos (I added alt text to each of the photos above). They don’t need to be long — just specific and descriptive. The next time you post public, visual content online I encourage you to look for the alt text option before you post and add a quick description, or even add one beneath your caption. It’s a simple thing we can all do to make the online world more accessible and enjoyable for the blind community! (For more information on how to write and post alt text or image descriptions, a quick Google search will offer tons of pointers and examples.)
Last time I posted I shared with you the wonderful news that we welcomed our baby girl, Sloane. She is now two months old and what we’ve learned over the last two months is that parenting two under two (well, Finn just turned two) is HARD! So hard in fact that Patrick and I hit a breaking point not long ago. He had just returned from a trip to see Ariella in Australia and was immediately pulled from the emotional stress of saying goodbye to his seven year old into the throws of chaos with our other two, a naturally needy newborn and an often tantruming toddler. Add to that a very tired mama who’d been alone with those two children for a week and you have a recipe for disaster. It was a perfect storm that resulted in a huge fight that neither of us handled our best. There was screaming topped with tears finished off with a long dose of avoidance and silent treatment. Was this normal? Were we doomed? We’ve since rebounded and settled back into the semi-routine we’ve established over the last two months, but for a moment we both cracked and in that moment it felt like we were failing at this whole parenting thing.
In the midst of the stress, tears and feeling of complete failure, I panicked and called a close friend to come over and talk — a friend who has three kids and had been through the phase of parenting a newborn and toddler at the same time once herself. As we chatted for a while on my front porch she finally looked at me and said something like, “You know I’ve been there, but what you’re going through and what most of us go through, isn’t quite the same.” She explained how when her first child was a toddler he could do a lot to entertain himself without needing her constant supervision or help, and could often help her with certain tasks by the time the newborn came along. She followed with a question, “Have you and Patrick ever allowed yourself to recognize that Finn isn’t a typical toddler and that you are under more than a typical level of parenting stress because of that?” My gut reaction was to say, “Oh, all parents have it hard and we’re no different!”, but I stopped myself. Her perspective really threw me so I took some time to ponder her question. We give so much focus to Finn and his special needs and behavior, but I’d never really taken the time to examine how those needs and behaviors impact our parenting.
Patrick and I both strive to make Finn feel “normal” and know he can do anything he put his mind to, with certain adaptations. We never want him to feel incapable and we do our best to ensure he’s treated the same as any other child his age. We also never want to convey a message of “poor Finn” or “poor us”. As a result, I continually find myself saying things in conversation like ” Finn is doing X … which is typical of any kid his age.” Or, Finn is doing X … but I don’t think that’s because he’s blind, that’s just because he’s 2.” And I do think that’s often true, but my friend’s question was a reminder that even though Finn has all the usual toddler traits such as tantrums, throwing food and speaking in his own funny language, he also has the unusual challenge of being blind, which means parenting him isn’t always typical, and may just be harder than we sometimes want to admit.
I took a trip last month to spend a long weekend with some of my closest girlfriends and their children. I took Sloane with me, but left Finn home with Patrick. The age ranges of the other children there were from one to three. I watched my friends’ kids over the course of the weekend and we talked a lot about the things our toddlers are doing – speech, behavior, eating, etc. — the usual parent talk. Every child is different so I tried hard not to fall into the trap of comparing milestones and development – I learned early on that this just doesn’t serve anyone well. Instead, I found myself observing the parenting tactics of my friends in the hopes of leaving with some new tools and tricks to use at home. (Can you tell we’re going through the terrible two’s??) It ended up being a stark awakening that a lot of the tools they can use with their toddlers just don’t work with Finn. For example, a quick episode of Daniel Tiger kept their kids quiet for a half hour while they showered or prepped dinner. Or, my friend pointing to a bag in the corner while saying “grab that for me please” alerted her three year old to help her mom. On the beach or at the park, the kids easily found something to entertain themselves without any direction, explanation or hand holding by their moms. When simply asked what they wanted, the kids could point to exactly the food or toy they desired.
Finn can’t watch an episode of Daniel Tiger or anything else to give us a quick reprieve when we need it. This is especially hard on airplanes or road trips. Finn can’t point to things or locate what he wants on his own (and currently can’t say what he wants for the most part either) so we’re constantly asking questions such as, “Do you want your keyboard? No. Do you want your puzzle? No. Do you want a book? No.” And so it goes until we hit the magic sign for “Yes”, sometimes 30 questions later. If I were to point and say to him, “hand me that green bag over there”, “green” has no meaning for him, and “over there” has no meaning for him. If we’re at a park or a beach, Finn needs physical guidance and verbal direction just to know what there is to do, so we walk him around to the different options until he makes a choice. In his weekly music class when the teacher brings out the instruments to choose from, the other kids hop up immediately and race to the center of the room to select their chosen one. For us, I often feel stares from other parents who don’t know Finn is blind, probably thinking I’m an overprotective hovercraft parent, as I guide him to the center to make sure he doesn’t bump into the other kids on his way and then quickly explain what each instrument is until he chooses one of the few left on the floor. Sure, we can take shortcuts by taking him straight to the slide and not telling him there are monkey bars. Or by choosing an instrument for him and not telling him what others are on the floor. Or by getting the green bag myself which will take half the time. But when we do, we’re robbing our son of the same experiences other kids his age have and of learning about the world.
We try to balance leading Finn and guiding him with trying to build his independence and knowledge, and all of that takes time and effort and more so than it would be for any other sighted toddler. It is exhausting! Yes, we adapt and have figured out our own set of tools and tricks, and yes it will get easier as he gets older and can communicate more but, I have to admit it’s also really hard sometimes and I imagine new challenges will begin to replace some of the current ones.
Finn was my first born and I’ve never known any other way of parenting or toddlerhood than what we have, but experiences like that weekend away or in music class when I’m around other parents and their toddlers really open my eyes (no pun intended) to our parenting differences. We have a special needs child which means we aren’t just parents, we’re special needs parents. Thankfully that talk I had with my friend on the front porch that day has allowed me to give myself grace, and the permission to recognize that those differences sometimes make parenting for us extra hard. I know there are parents out there who have it much harder than us and for those who do, I hope they give themselves the same grace to recognize that they have it extra extra hard. Does this mean I give myself permission to feel sorry for myself? Absolutely not. I could not be more lucky to be Finn’s mom and wouldn’t want it any other way. But to be the best parents we can be for him, we need to recognize and accept the added layer of parenting stress we’re under. Anyone with very young children is sure to hit a breaking point along the way, is sure to scream and want to run some days. If you’re not then I’d say you’re a unicorn. But for special needs parents, that breaking point may just be in closer range many days. Maybe we’ll hit our breaking point again tomorrow or maybe it will be a while, who knows. But when we do, this time I’ll cut us some slack and give us both the grace of believing we’re doing our best and aren’t failing as parents, we’re just having a momentary tantrum and it will pass.
I mentioned in my last blog post that one of the biggest challenges for us with Finn thus far has been socialization. He’s not even two years old yet, but play dates with other babies seem to start the moment our kids are born, as you are immediately thrust into the world of Mommy and Me classes or Moms social clubs the second you add ‘Mom’ to your identity. If you’re a stay-at-home mom, these opportunities are endless. If you put your child in day care, socialization is a big built-in advantage. For us, we decided pretty immediately after learning of Finn’s blindness that we would start with a nanny instead. Both Patrick and I work from home so we felt this was the best way to allow us to be involved in all of Finn’s appointments, therapies and day to day development without either of us putting our careers on hold. This has meant that socialization is something we have to actively seek out for Finn on weekends, days off or while in his nanny’s care, and it hasn’t been easy for any of us.
As an infant, there aren’t too many glaring differences between a sighted baby and a blind baby — the lack of eye contact is about it. But, as that child grows into a toddler the differences become much more apparent, never more so than when Finn is side by side with a sighted peer. We’ve done the play dates, had friends with their kids over, and taken Finn to group activities such as music class, tumbling class, and story time. What happens almost every time is that Finn gets overwhelmed by the noise of the other children and becomes very clingy. He can’t see what the other children are doing or playing in order to create a motivation to join in, while the other children are busy playing and too young at this point to understand why Finn is sitting alone with his head down and back turned to them. This makes our job that much more difficult – we have to constantly work to encourage Finn to engage, or to explain Finn’s blindness to the other parents or instructors, in the hopes that they’ll likewise encourage the other kids to interact with him. There have been times where I’ve just given up and left the situation, Finn screaming or clinging so hard to my chest that his nails have drawn blood. But, I know Finn can only overcome his feeling overwhelmed in large groups if we keep trying. He’ll have to learn how to effectively interact with his peers at some point so the earlier we encourage it the better.
I’ve had more success with Finn playing one-on-one with children rather than in groups and with older children who can understand Finn’s blindness than with those his own age. I have to say I’ve been blown away by the patience, kindness and interest older children have shown my son, in fact. And for a special needs mom who worries about future bullies, this has made my heart so full and eased my fears more than once. I’ve also learned that the more we expose Finn to the same people or settings, the more relaxed and comfortable he becomes. Of course he’s most comfortable in our own home which means having people over to our house is the best case scenario, but with music class, for example, he’s been going since he was an infant (huge thank you to my dad and stepmom who have gifted these classes to Finn since day one to encourage his love of music). The classroom, the teacher and the general format of the class is always the same. So when I say, “Finn, today we’re going to music class” he knows what I’m talking about and doesn’t protest. Even once or twice I think he’s been happy about going and embraced it- a huge win!
Our TVI (Teacher for the Visually Impaired) recently recommended we mimic this every day by laying out a weekly routine for Finn that includes one outing per day that always falls on the same day of the week. We’ve just started trying it — Monday is park day, Tuesday is tumbling class, Wednesday is story time, Thursday is an outing to the store or other errand, and Friday is music class. We’re hoping the routine and knowing what to expect each day will get Finn more comfortable with encounters with people outside of our home and with group settings with other children.
Finn is no longer a baby and the only way for him to truly learn about the world is to get out in it — to explore, to engage, to interact. This is true for any toddler, but we’ve realized now just how important socialization is for our very curious but sensitive blind toddler as talking, hearing and touching are his lifelines to that knowledge of the world. We can only teach him so much at home.
So, we made the decision last month to enroll Finn in a preschool two days a week starting mid-August. We found an inclusive preschool close by that operates under a 60% typically developing child to 40% special needs child ratio. They have a full- time onsite staff of therapists which means Finn’s speech and developmental therapy can be done in house on the days he is there, and his TVI can do visits at the school in addition to our home. They also have a sensory room that Finn will love. We toured the school last month and it seemed to be the perfect solution to helping us all work through the socialization challenge. Of course, I know the adjustment is going to be tough both for Finn and for me. We’re both accustomed to our routine in the house and the flexibility to be together on a whim any time of day. But, as all parents who send their children off to school for the first time know, it’s what’s best for our child – we can’t shelter and coddle him forever as much as I’m tempted to do just that. So cross your fingers for us that Finn will learn how to engage with other children, that other children will be kind and engaging with him, and that his mom doesn’t fall apart at the seams with worry.
We’re also pleased to announce the arrival of Finn’s new live-in playmate and eventual socializer, baby sister Sloane Christine born on 7/11/19. We do not know for sure yet, but at first examination in the hospital and pediatrician’s office Sloane’s eyes and vision appear to have developed normally. We’ll know for certain next month after an exam with Dr. S. – we just want to know for certain so we can be prepared.
I am so excited for Finn to have a sibling under our roof and to watch these two grow together. For now, Finn is beyond uninterested. He shakes his head no when he hears his sister and refuses to hold her. So, things are just as we’d expect having two under two! For now we are patient and letting him adjust to his new housemate on his own terms. We remain hopeful that he’ll soon realize she’s part of the routine, not going anywhere and he will embrace her too!
It seems the trend that as soon as you get married everyone starts asking when you’re going to have a baby. And then, as soon as you have a baby, when you will have another. This certainly has been the case for us, but I have found the way the question has been posed since Finn was born often comes layered with an underlying, and in some cases outright, connotation of “Do you think you’ll have another child…after what happened with Finn??” I even had one friend come right out and ask, “Will you take the risk?”.
I have always known that if and when I had children, I did not want to have an only child. This is not a slam against all the only children out there, nor the parents who may not be able to go on to have more, or simply opt for “one and done.” To each his/her own, and parenting is hard ass work so I get it! For me, I grew up with 5 siblings as I come from a blended family (and the blending occurred when I was just four years old). Weekends and holidays were always a mad house and I loved everything about it. I can’t imagine it any other way, in fact. And now that I’m older, I still love having that big family and leaning on each of my siblings for support, laughs and often times, commiserating over something our parents have done to drive us crazy. The relationship I have with each of my siblings is simply put, like no other.
I had Finn the day after my 38th birthday and conceiving was not an immediate process. Luckily, by marrying Patrick I inherited an amazing stepdaughter who guaranteed that my wish for Finn to have siblings was automatically granted. However, having your sibling grow up primarily in a different house, much less a different country, means a lot of the benefits I see in having a sibling are primarily absent for Finn. For one, having a live in playmate around on a daily basis. So, although technically Finn isn’t an only child, he is currently growing up as such, as is his big sister.
So not too long after Finn’s 1st birthday, Patrick and I began discussing another child. We knew if we wanted to pursue it, the clock was ticking. Our discussions were no different than what I imagine any other couples talk about when thinking about growing their family. Were we ready? Could we handle it? Would it be the best thing for our children? For us? The one thing that didn’t come up was, “What if the child were born blind?” We knew it was a possibility, of course, but we simply didn’t view that possibility as a risk of any kind. We didn’t fear it. The truth is, if I could have 15 kids just like Finn, sign me up! And Patrick feels the same way. The only fear we discussed is whether we have the bandwidth to give another child the attention he or she deserves. Having one child living in another country and another with special needs both bring their own challenges and require a lot from us emotionally and physically on a daily basis. As much as we embrace these challenges and as much joy as our children bring us, I’d be lying if I said it hasn’t been really hard because it has. It is. But on the flip side, we know having successfully (at least we think so) navigated these unique challenges thus far, we’re pretty well-equipped. So, if what we truly felt was that another sibling would be the best thing for Finn, a sibling he could grow up with in the same home, we knew we could and should pursue it.
As I said, I always envisioned siblings for my child, but now knowing my own child I want that even more for him. The hardest part about Finn’s blindness so far has been socialization (more on that in another blog post I’m sure) — helping him to interact with other children and vice versa is a struggle. He doesn’t see what game they’re playing or toy they may be holding to motivate him to want to participate. The loud noise of other children overwhelms him as he has usually has no idea where it’s coming from or why. In my opinion, what better way to help Finn learn how to socialize and acclimate to playing with others, sharing with others and the chaotic noise of other children than by growing up with other children in the same house? And whether he’d been born blind or not, I know I want Finn to always have as many people in his corner as possible, when one day his parents are no longer here. It isn’t a sibling’s job to protect or support their brother or sister, but in my experience, that just naturally is the way it goes. It’s what we do for those we love. So, the more people to love Finn and support him, the better. And finally, knowing how much Finn has taught me about life so far, I think the more children or people to know him and to learn those lessons of acceptance, of not judging a book by its cover, of overcoming challenges and misperceptions, and of how the unexpected can be such a beautiful thing, the better too.
So, we did pursue it. And next month, we will be welcoming a baby sister for Ariella and for Finn. Words can’t describe how excited we are to meet her, and to see Finn and Ariella hold her for the first time. Both of our children have been full of amazing surprises and life lessons and we know this child will have her own surprises in store. We don’t know if she will be born blind since Finn was never diagnosed with anything to test for. We’re often asked if we worry about that and we truly don’t. Finn has taught us that there’s no need to worry. Much like he knows no different in living a life without sight, I know no different in parenting a child without sight. And it’s been by far the best thing that’s ever happened to me. So, why worry? If our daughter is born blind, we would without a doubt be prepared for that. But even more importantly, we’re prepared to handle any other curve balls that may come our way. Because of both of our children, we are more prepared to expect the unexpected and not fear it. To let life take us where it may. And to know that whatever this little girl turns out to be, she will be loved and supported and amazing. Just like her big sister and her big brother.
Almost immediately after learning Finn was blind, I began asking myself this question all the time. As the old saying goes and, it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. But, does the same hold true for a sense like vision?
People say to me all the time in learning of Finn’s blindness, “thankfully he was born this way and doesn’t know any different.” Often times I think that’s true, but other times I think life would be a lot easier for him if he had at least been given the opportunity to learn about the world through sight, even if only for a little while. For example, Finn will never truly know what a color is. How can you explain color? With so many things, I’m able to help Finn understand through touch, through sound, through smell. Colors are different. They can only be seen to be understood. The concept of the sky is another one. You can’t touch, smell or hear the sky. Sure, in time Finn will understand size and distance and he can start to grasp how vast and expansive the world and the sky is, but wouldn’t it be more fully grasped if he’d seen it even just once? At least that’s what I assume as a person born with vision.
In trying to answer this question of whether or not my son is “better off” having been born blind, I’ve asked the blind people I’ve come in contact with, and researched those who’ve shared their stories, exactly how they feel about it. The problem is, yes, they can answer this question better than I can, but they still have only their own experience to rely on, and obviously no one can ever experience both being born blind, and losing blindness later in life, in order to compare the two. Still, I have found that hearing these stories have gotten me closer to my answer.
Of those who lost their vision in childhood or later in life, many describe an overwhelming sense of loss and sadness that immediately followed. I met a man on vacation last summer walking with a cane and approached him by the pool. He lost his vision in his late teens due to a genetic disorder. He said the loss was extremely hard for him and took him years to work through and begin to cope. Hearing this made me so thankful that Finn would never have to go through that sense of loss, through the loss of a sense. However, this same man was vacationing with his family, having a wonderful time, told me of his successful career, and said that he’d gone on to live a very full life, one that by all indicators seemed not too different from my own. He mentioned that his sister had made a career out of helping those who are blind as a result of his diagnosis — she opened a center in the Southeast dedicated to aiding the blind find employment. Would she have chosen this path had her brother never become blind? Likely not. For that reason, among many others, he felt that his blindness had happened for a reason and he wouldn’t change it.
I read the biography of Ed Lucas, a blind sports broadcaster. He lost his vision at age 12 after an accident playing baseball. He, too, says he went through a dark time after losing his vision, but that he would never accept an offer to be given his vision back. He says he would never have gotten to create a lifelong career in baseball, the sport he loves, if he hadn’t lost his sight. Relying on his hearing to listen to games instead of watching them gave him a unique perspective and acuity that led him into broadcasting. He also says losing his vision changed the way he viewed the world and people — judging on character and integrity rather than outward appearance. He says in his book, “Though I didn’t realize it back then, God graced me with a wonderful gift: When he took the use of my eyes way, he allowed me to gain an even better vision of the world than I might have ever known.”
A blind architect was recently profiled on 60 Minutes and he echoed this sentiment. When he lost his vision as an adult he was already well into his career. He was asked by many people upon hearing of his vision loss, “Well, what are you going to do now that you can’t be an architect anymore?” He turned that negativity into personal drive to prove otherwise. He found a way to create raised, tactile drawings of buildings to discuss with colleagues new ideas, and went on to design buildings that feature raised dot flooring, echo location systems and other adaptive features for the visually impaired. Without losing his sight, he would never have taken his career in this new direction, nor had the impact he’s had on others with visual impairment who live or work in one of his buildings. He says he is even happier now than ever.
You’ll hear in interviews with any blind person the interviewer almost always ask, if you could have vision tomorrow would you take it? And almost always the answer, even among those who’ve had vision and lost it is, no. They say that losing their vision led to where and who they are today whether that be a stronger, less judgmental person; a new career path they might not have explored; meeting someone they otherwise would not have met; experiencing the world from a new perspective; or like the man by the pool, to influencing the life path of others. At first I thought this was crazy! How could you lose your sight and not want it back if given the opportunity? But, isn’t it so often true that the biggest losses in our life usually lead us to greater things and lessons we become thankful for, ones that we wouldn’t trade for anything?
Of those who have been blind since birth, a more rare experience, similarly, none of the ones I’ve heard from wish for sight. This is less surprising to me since I can grasp the idea of not wishing for something you’ve never had or known, but yet it’s still hard to fully understand. I saw an interview with one man who said he wished he could see his wife and children’s faces just once, but then he’d want to return to being blind after that image was captured in his memory. I found this to be so sweet, but again crazy! Why would you not want to keep the vision forever? Our friend, Miss H who I’ve talked about in previous blogs, was born blind as well. She’s told us of her wonderful childhood growing up in Australia where her parents treated her no differently from her siblings and as a result, how she felt no different. She was encouraged and supported in pursuing whatever dreams she had in life, just as her sighted siblings were. She went on to move to America on her own and succeed in a long career in music and now education. She, too, has said that she does not wish for a life with vision, or any other life than the one she has.
I had been coming at this from the view of, if a genie could grant you a wish to make your life easier, better wouldn’t you want that? But there I go again assuming a life without vision is lesser than one with, or that I could ever understand what it’s like to be blind. Of course my research has not been comprehensive and is based solely on subjective conversations or interviews in a short amount of time, but I have certainly seen a pattern amongst those I’ve heard from. Both groups, those born blind and those who have become blind, have adapted, thrived and excelled in this world that is strongly geared toward the life of a sighted person.
Patrick and I were visiting some friends and family in California not long ago and one of our friends was meeting Finn for the first time. We started talking a lot about his blindness and he said something that was so simple, yet so profound. He said that every single person in this world experiences life from their own, unique perspective. The way I experience the world is different from the way Patrick experiences the world because we are two completely different people even though we may both have all of our senses. The same holds true for Finn. Yes, he’s different. But, we all are. Every single one of us. And isn’t it exciting to watch and learn how Finn will experience the world in his own way? I really loved the way our friend was able to simplify something so complex. Why should we assume that Finn’s lack of vision makes his experience any less worthwhile, fulfilling, or complete than our own?
It’s pointless for me to worry about how Finn is going to learn about colors because he’ll learn about them in his own way. I know of a toddler at our local school for the blind who will only sit in a red chair at school because red is his favorite color. He’s completely blind and has been since birth, yet he has a favorite color, which I find so interesting. Maybe it’s because he’s heard his siblings or other kids talking about their favorite colors so he wants to have one too. Maybe it’s because he’s created his own idea of what red is and he likes that better than what his interpretation of blue or yellow is. Whatever the reason, he’s come to perceive color in his own way. Finn may not be able to see colors they way I do, but I’m not able to see things in the way he does either. That doesn’t mean either of us is at a deficit, it’s just our unique experience.
All of this is to say I’ve yet to come to a definitive conclusion to answer the question, is it better to have seen and lost, or never to have seen at all, but I’ve stopped wondering about it so much. Everyone’s experience is unique so most likely the answer is that neither is better than the other. Yes, I’m very thankful my son doesn’t have to experience a major loss by having vision and it slowly deteriorating to blindness, or go through the immediate sadness or depression that could potentially ensue from that loss. But, he’ll experience other losses and tragedies in his life as we all do at times. That’s life. Regardless of how his blindness came to be, it makes Finn who he is. I love that he will only judge people based on integrity, character and heart without any aesthetic bias ever coming into play, as Ed Lucas pointed out. I love that he has no interest in screen time or television thus far and would much rather be outside playing than anything else. I love how excited and mesmerized by music he is at such a young age. I love how he recognizes my presence solely by my sound or touch. And every time I see my son let out a huge laugh or giggle, I am reminded at just how happy and thriving he is, vision or no vision.
So now it’s my turn to make you think I’m the crazy one. If there were a medical miracle created tomorrow that would give Finn vision, I honestly don’t think I’d pursue it, and Patrick agrees. It’s hard to say for sure, but we both think we’d hold off until Finn is older and could make that decision for himself. After hearing time and again from so many blind people that they don’t wish for vision even if it were an option for them, I have to take that to heart. I have to stop thinking someone is crazy simply because I haven’t been in their shoes in order to understand their perspective. Finn’s blindness is not life threatening, it’s not even life altering in his case. It’s just his life, and has been from the start. Finn was born blind and that will give him the one-of-a-kind experience in life that he is meant to have. Just like those who lose their vision later in life have their own one-of-a-kind experience. Just as you do, just as I do. We all come into this world exactly the same — as different human beings with our own blank slate waiting to be filled in with unique life experiences, and isn’t that such a crazy beautiful thing?
Having been through a terrifying delivery and subsequent surgeries for my son at the beginning moments of his life have given me a pretty good “don’t sweat the small stuff” mentality to parenting. Most things pale in comparison. When Finn has a cold or goes through bouts of fevered teething I’d like to say I handle it pretty well for a first-time mom. So when Finn was turning 10 months old and got sick, I at first thought nothing much of it — it was just more of the “small stuff.” He was fussy and spitting up a bit more than usual, and wasn’t eating as much as he usually did. His eyes were red and a bit watery, but this wasn’t unusual. (Since Finn’s surgeries, we were still applying a pretty frequent regimen of eye drops to help prevent infection. It wasn’t all the time, but occasionally he would exhibit some redness or irritation in one or both eyes and we’d administer a week or two of prescription drops until it subsided, which it always did.) I checked his temperature frequently and there was no fever so I assumed he might be teething again or just have a stomach bug that would quickly pass. Unfortunately, I was wrong.
After a couple of days, Finn started vomiting everything he ate or drank and he was becoming increasingly lethargic. I was used to spit up, of course, but this was full-fledged projectile vomiting multiple times a day. We called the pediatrician and took him in immediately. Our pediatrician did an exam and said it was likely a virus that many kids were coming in with, but he did point out that it was odd that Finn had no fever or diarrhea, which was the case with most of the other children with the virus. He sent us home and told us it should clear up in a few days and to try to get Finn to take in as many fluids as possible, but if it were to get worse at all, to call him after hours. The next day, Patrick was heading out of town for a separate family health emergency in California. Despite the terrible timing, I urged him to go ahead with his trip believing it was just a virus and would clear up. He hesitated, but proceeded with his trip. Later that day, the vomiting got worse and Finn was so lethargic that he was sleeping in my arms all day long. He could barely lift his head and was completely lifeless. Panic started to set in. I called the after hours number for our pediatrician and the on-call nurse suggested I go straight to the ER. This was the first time I’d been to the ER with my son and though I was still somewhat calm on the outside, I was terrified on the inside. I was instantly transported back to the fear and panic I felt in those earlier moments of Finn’s life.
Upon entering the room, Finn vomited all over the floor and me. I gave the staff his medical history (blindness and surgeries included for what it was worth) as well as a debrief of all of the symptoms he’d been having that week and our visit to the pediatrician. They immediately took blood (my least favorite thing to watch him endure, but he was so lethargic he barely flinched this time) and took it to run tests. They then did an ultrasound on his bowels to see if there was an obstruction of some sort. Finally, they did X-rays on his stomach, mentioning something called stenosis (a narrow or blocked channel between the stomach and the gut), which could only be cured by surgery. The word surgery fell heavy on my mind and heart — the panic increased. Please let it be something more easily fixed I silently begged. After an hour or so, they came back and said all the tests came back normal — they ruled out appendicitis, infection and thankfully, stenosis. They administered anti-nausea medicine and made me wait a half hour to see if Finn could hold down Pedialyte. He did. I was relieved. They monitored him for a while longer, taking his vitals and making sure the vomiting had stopped. After a few hours they ruled it likely a virus, though again, they said the same thing our pediatrician had said — that it was odd that there was no fever or diarrhea accompanying his other symptoms. Yet once again, no true diagnosis — Finn was a unique case. (I was beginning to feel like my child would never fit any of the normal symptoms for anything and would always be a medical mystery.) They sent us home with a prescription for the anti-nausea meds and told me to follow-up with the pediatrician. I took him in the next day – at this point Finn was still lethargic and not eating solid foods, but was vomiting less and holding down fluids. The pediatrician examined Finn again and said it was basically a wait until it passes game at this point. He didn’t seem to love the anti-nausea medication for a baby so young, but agreed it seemed to be helping so he suggested we use it only as long as we had to and to follow-up with him again in a couple of days. This had been a full week now.
As I sat at home that evening I felt completely helpless once again as Finn’s mom. As you know from my other blog posts, when I feel helpless, I’m a leave no stone unturned kind of person – at least I’d turned into one when I became Finn’s mom. The mention of the oddness of no fever or diarrhea from multiple medical professionals kept playing over and over in my mind. Virus didn’t appear to be a perfect fit and so for me, it just didn’t sit right. I got a strange hunch in my gut that told me to reach out to Dr. S, Finn’s eye surgeon. He’d given me his cell phone number from the first time we’d met with him and I’d used it only a few times before – mostly follow-up questions regarding Finn’s healing after surgery and maybe once to gloat after my UNC Tar Heels had beaten his Duke Blue Devils in a high-stakes basketball game (the rivalry of our competing alma maters was always a well-appreciated ice breaker during our appointments with him). It had been a while since I’d had to use that number, but I was at a loss after seeing every other doctor I could think of and yet, still sat with a limp, rag doll son in my arms. It was late, but I sent the text — I reminded Dr. S of who I was and explained briefly what was going on. Within minutes my phone rang and he was asking me for more details. He told me to bring Finn in at 7am the following morning and he’d take a look. The next day I arrived downtown with Finn at Dr. S’s office promptly at 7am. After a quick examination, Dr. S knew exactly what was wrong. It turned out that Finn had some bleeding behind his right eye that had created eye pressure so high he’d been having severe migraines which caused all the vomiting. I couldn’t believe it. I was so thankful yet again for this doctor coming into our lives and having some answers. At the same time, I was riddled with guilt once again — the thought that my infant son had been enduring such severe headache pain for a week that he was continually vomiting broke my heart and was a punch to the gut. Why hadn’t I thought of his eyes sooner???
Elevated eye pressure often accompanies eye conditions such as glaucoma, but Finn had never exhibited any issues with pressure thus far — and since he doesn’t have a diagnosis it wasn’t something we were on the lookout for. As with so many things, it was a case of you don’t know until it presents itself. Dr. S sent us home with three eye drop prescriptions to be given several times a day and instructions to keep Finn upright until the symptoms subsided. This is a lot harder than it sounds — I attempted to get him to sleep in his car seat or stroller at night or for naps, but of course that would only last so long so I ended up sleeping with him in a chair, both of us sitting upright for several days. Dr. S said within a day or two we should see progress and he was exactly right. Within a couple of days my pitiful little baby was coming back to life, regaining his appetite and no longer needing the nausea medication given at the ER. Of course I was still kicking myself for taking so long to realize his eye was involved and causing the other symptoms, but I reminded myself that neither Finn’s pediatrician nor the ER doctors ever said or thought this had anything to do with his eyes either, despite knowing the full history or that his eyes were a bit red and watery. We had another follow-up with Finn’s pediatrician a few days later and after telling him what transpired, he said to me, “I feel so helpless when it comes to your son and I’m so sorry.” I replied, “Don’t worry, I feel the exact same way.”
The fact is, babies who are born completely blind are extremely atypical. I’ve tried to find statistics on exactly how many, but there really aren’t any statistics that can tell me how many Finns there are in the world. The statistics lump together “legally blind” with “completely blind” and those “born blind” with those who “become blind” and then those who have a clearly diagnosed condition have their own statistics. So, I guess that tells me just how rare Finn is. When a 10 month old comes into the pediatrician’s office or ER with vomiting and diminished appetite, 99 times out of 100 it will be a virus or a food allergy or something else common. What are the chances that it’s eye pressure causing a migraine? Pretty damn slim, especially when the child has never shown an eye pressure issue up until that point. Further, neither the ER near us nor our pediatrician’s office are equipped with the tools to check for eye pressure — I’ve since asked. It’s just not part of their routine scope of work. I’d texted my doctor and nurse friends during all of this, and even mentioned Finn’s eye being red and watery, but no one until Dr. S, who is trained specifically in the eye issues Finn has, realized what was actually going on. So I don’t fault Finn’s pediatrician or the ER staff or even myself (for the most part), though I’ll admit it annoys me that my son’s symptoms were such a rare case that even our ER would have had to refer us elsewhere to have his eye pressure checked. Finn is unique little boy growing up in a world where we’re all trained to fit everything into typical boxes.
This terrifying episode was yet another lesson for me as Finn’s mom. I learned that sure, my son at times will check all the typical boxes that other children do – like when he spikes a fever while teething or battles an ear infection, but I also know I can’t let my guard down. I have to always ask myself, is this typical kid stuff or is this something related to his very atypical eyes? Of course, now that eye pressure has presented itself, though thankfully it hasn’t since, I’ll know what to do if there’s a next time and I’ll act faster. But I now sit and wonder, what other things haven’t presented themself yet? It’s a scary thought and all I can do is follow that hunch in my gut when things just don’t seem right. If doctors are saying “it appears to be this, but doesn’t quite fit” I know it’s time to start turning over more stones.