When we welcomed Gage into our world, we were introduced to a whole new group of people who became a regular part of our lives as well. Over the years, we’ve gotten to know Gage’s pediatrician, neurologist, ophthalmologist, audiologists and many more nurses and therapists pretty well. It’s amazing the way so many different people have his best interest at heart and we are so grateful for the excellent care that he receives.
Sometimes I think back to some of the first conversations we had with doctors and nurses. It seems like anyone who knew Gage’s diagnosis wanted to share a story about another kid they knew with CMV who ended up being just fine. I’m not sure I can trust my memory correctly and if that was reality or just what I wanted to hear. 
Perhaps I was clinging to any hope I could that it would all be ok and Gage would somehow magically outgrow his diagnosis. Maybe those people just wanted to say something comforting in an uncomfortable situation. It made me realize that any pediatric doctor or nurse has a two-fold job. They are not only experts in their fields, they must also fill the role of counselor to grieving, hurting, confused parents. While I trust that everyone responsible for Gage’s care is doing their very best for him medically, I’ve witnessed varying degrees of skill with the other part.
I remember one day being at back to back appointments with Gage and I just couldn’t keep myself together. The tears were flowing in the pediatrician’s office and they continued after we had his hearing checked. Both doctors did the same thing – they picked up the box of cheap, crappy tissues that are in every doctor’s office I’ve ever been in, and reached it out towards me. I sniffled and grabbed a couple. I’ve always felt awkward when someone has offered me a tissue when I cry. I feel like they intend for me to politely dab my tears, but I’m usually well past that point and end up loudly blowing my nose instead. Anyways, I don’t know why, but for some reason in both of those instances, that small gesture was so comforting. Like the doctor didn’t know what else to do or say, so they just defaulted to the tissue box move. (I wonder if they teach that in med school?) They didn’t use any words or say anything cliché, they just knew I was sad and they couldn’t change that, so they offered what they could – a crappy tissue. They just let me be sad. Like by offering that tissue they were granting me permission to cry, or in my case, blow a bunch of snot into it.
That experience made me realize three things. First of all, even though not everyone can completely understand what we as parents go through, most people are doing their best to treat us with kindness. It might not come naturally to a highly intelligent brain specialist to be sympathetic and understanding, but he’s still doing the best he can to fill that counselor role. Secondly, I’d rather have a cold, impersonal doctor who is the most medically qualified caring for Gage than a less qualified one who is good at coddling me. And finally, I realize that if we will just take the time to look for it, comfort and kindness can be found in so many different sources – even a box of cheap tissues.
“Though he brings grief, he also shows compassion because of the greatness of his unfailing love.” Lamentations 3:32
his age. We’ve learned a lot about the assistive technology (A/T) available to help him. The variety of offerings can be amazing and innovative. I’m so thankful that even though Gage can’t stand on his own yet, a stander gets him in a proper upright position and allows him some mobility. So why do I also fantasize about pushing that metal, padded, Velcro contraption off a cliff???
weight, and that an adaptive seat enables him to ride in the cart while I grocery shop. I know how lucky we are to have equipment that makes a difference in his life and I’m very thankful for that. Our early intervention program has been a HUGE blessing, frequently footing the bill for any equipment his therapists recommend. But I still get a knot in my stomach when I see the outrageous price tags on these items, knowing that G will soon age out of the program.
dressed without forcing his limbs and joints to bend into the correct positions. I want to take him for a walk in the park without securing a dozen snaps, straps and buckles first. But in the end, I know how lucky I am that I get to do all of these things. It’s a privilege for me to raise this sweet boy. I’m so thankful he’s healthy enough to be outside. If a few extra steps or heavy lifting are what it takes for Gage to be able to do things that he otherwise couldn’t, then sign me up! It’s a small price to pay to see his adorable smile and hear his infectious giggle when the fresh air hits his face.
As the months passed, it became more apparent that wasn’t necessarily the case. Among everyone involved in Gage’s life, I think I was the last one to realize this. It seems so odd to say that because besides Evan, I would argue that I know Gage better than anyone else on earth. But I see him through love-tinted glasses. I know not only his body and physical abilities, I get a glimpse at his soul. I will always believe that the very best is possible for him, even if he has a harder time than most. But as my eyes were opened more to reality versus my hope for the future, I began to slip into a state of depression.
awesome kid he is, but that wasn’t the reaction I had. I’m not sure why I struggled so much with it, because of course I was so proud of him and do believe he’s an awesome kid. I can easily tell you that now, and could then too after I regained my composure. I credit getting through those dark days to an awesome 
friend grabbed Caleb’s car seat and asked what else he could take inside. Shortly after, another pal came out and scooped up Gage in her arms. I breathed a sigh of relief and ran inside behind the rest of the crew. This is just one of the many examples of our friends lending a helping hand.
raising a special needs child is real, but it doesn’t have to get the final say. We aren’t meant to do this life alone, regardless of our situation. You might be raising kids, caring for an aging parent, or just getting from one day to the next pulled in different directions by the demands of work, school, and the overall busyness of life. Thank God we can connect with each other and ask for help. And if we’re really lucky, we have friends who recognize our need for help before we even ask…and carry our kids inside through the rain.
new sitter. I was skeptical, but after the first phone call with our future sitter, LC, my doubts were quickly put at ease. I hung up the phone and looked down at the baby in my arms through teary eyes and with a shaky voice told him, “See, God will always take care of us.”