Terrible Conversation, Part II

conversationGiving a child bad news hurts on every level. Integrity tells us to be honest, realistic, straightforward. Nurturing tells us to soften the blow. Getting the combination right means compromising both.

When we had to tell our daughter Sammi just before her fourth birthday that she had been diagnosed with an inflammatory disorder called eosinophilic esophagitis, we did it in an age-appropriate way that, thankfully, also forced us to simplify the problem for ourselves. The new diagnosis meant a host of food restrictions that would change over time, but we focused on the first six weeks that would exclude dairy, eggs, soy, nuts, and wheat. I wrote about that conversation in a previous post:

We explained that we had good news; we now knew why Sammi’s food kept coming back into her mouth. Her esophagus was sick! We drew a body on paper, showed them where the esophagus was, drew a frown on it. We talked about allergies, about our friend’s daughter with celiac disease, about feeling crummy and then feeling better. We brought out the list of allowed foods and cheered along as favorites were listed.

At that young age, she was hardly able to comprehend it. Sammi ate what we gave her, followed the rules, and over the course of the next three-and-a-half years, endured more than a dozen endoscopies. She did everything we asked. She even participated in a barium swallow study and a strange and very uncomfortable CT scan without ever asking us why.

Sometimes, I feel horribly guilty that she never asked why. Continue Reading…

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Public School, Major Surgery, and Careful Planning

Swallow, My Sunshine: Teeter TotterWe knew about our daughter Sammi’s impending major cardiac surgery five months in advance. That gave us plenty of time to research, plan, discuss, and codify our plan for her recovery as it related to school. Not everyone is lucky enough to have this much time to prepare, and so I hope the information below can be helpful to someone else trying to put together a plan on shorter notice. Even if you have enough time to prepare, this checklist can help you ensure that you’ve thought of all the things that might affect your child’s recovery when s/he returns to school.

504 Plan

The very first step we took when preparing for our daughter’s surgery was to inquire with the school district about getting a 504 Plan. Shorthand for “Section 504 of the Rehabilitation Act of 1973,” a 504 Plan makes official any accommodations a child needs in order to participate in normal classroom activities. In the state of Illinois, where we live, the board of education has provided an excellent, comprehensive article about how to apply Section 504 to shorter-term, temporary conditions (though the law also applies to longer-term and permanent disabilities). Creating a 504 Plan forces the school to work with you to accommodate your child’s health needs in a way that gives them the best possible access to their classroom and school activities.

Because we had been through the process of developing a 504 Plan before to accommodate Sammi’s food restrictions, this was relatively straightforward for us, but we also knew the importance of getting the information we put into writing in this plan into the hands of every teacher who would encounter our daughter in the course of her school day. In the end, we decided together with the school to have a meeting that included her classroom teacher, the district health coordinator, the school health clerk, the school social worker, and the school principal, as well as my husband and I. It gave us the opportunity to explain the surgery in detail to the whole team in person, allow them to ask questions, and to brainstorm accommodations together.

Schoolwork

Sammi was going to be missing, at minimum, three weeks of school. Though she was only in third grade at the time, we wanted to be sure that she didn’t fall so far behind in foundational subjects like math that she couldn’t easily catch up. We also knew that complications could occur that would keep her out of school longer than we anticipated, and so we wanted to be prepared for that.

Once again, being aware of the law in our home state was useful. In Illinois, if a student’s doctor determines that the student must be out of school for at least ten days, the district can be reimbursed by the state for providing tutoring services either at home or in the hospital. We were able to get our daughter’s surgeon to sign paperwork affirming that projected missed school before the surgery, and therefore we were also able to have the district find and hire a tutor in advance. Having the extra notice beforehand even allowed them to look for a tutor who spoke Spanish, since Sammi was enrolled in a Spanish immersion classroom.

Safety

We expected Sammi to return to school with two large incisions healing on her back, one across each shoulder blade. Under those incisions, scar tissue between her ribs would be healing slowly. She would not be allowed to carry a backpack, reach her arms up above her head, or move very quickly. Being jostled hard would likely be very painful, as even deep breaths would feel different to her with both sides of her ribs healing. In short: there would be many opportunities during the course of a normal school day for her to get hurt.

Working with the school health clerk, the principal, and her teacher, we began by developing a plan for the beginning and end of the day. In the morning, Sammi would arrive at school just before the bell rang that gathered students from the playground to line up near the door, and instead of waiting outside, would bring a friend to sit in the school office with her until the halls cleared. The reverse would happen at the end of the day, avoiding crowded hallways. During the school day, movements between classes would occur with friends flanking her on either side.

Activity Restriction

Sammi would not be allowed to return fully to her normal activities for at least six weeks after the surgery. That meant there would be no Physical Education class and no outdoor recess. The school’s initial suggestion that she simply sit on the sidelines for those activities was not an acceptable solution for us; we didn’t want her spending an hour a day watching her friends have fun while she sat and watched. Instead, we came up with a list of alternatives and a schedule for her to follow:

  • Reading to the kindergarten class
  • Helping tidy and organize the art classroom (the art teacher was a favorite)
  • Playing math and literacy games in the library
  • Helping me when I volunteered in the school bookstore

Each day, she picked a different classmate to join her during these twice-daily activity times.

Emotional Support

We knew that Sammi would feel overwhelmed, sad, angry, or simply frustrated at times. We also knew that her classmates — who had been together as an insular group for four years — would have questions, worries, and big feelings of their own before and after she returned to school. Including several emotional support components in the 504 Plan helped us set these expectations early on.

The first day of school following her surgery, the district health coordinator and the school social worker visited her classroom and told the students there about what had happened. In simple terms, they explained the surgery and told the students that she was doing well. They worked with the class to make cards and offered any students who needed it the opportunity to process the information privately with the social worker. Just before Sammi returned to school, they met with the class again to discuss her restrictions, how she’d likely feel, and to let the students ask more questions.

The social worker also checked in with Sammi several times once she returned to school and left her with an open invitation to visit her anytime.

Peace of Mind

In the end, though the highest priority for us was to keep Sammi safe, it was also important for us to feel proactive about the time after her surgery. There was nothing we could do for her during the surgery, and little we could do for her in the hospital. Once she was home, we would have to prepare her for her return to school, and we wanted to know that we could give her answers confidently about what it would be like for her there. That was very valuable for us in the months we spent preparing.

If you need help developing a 504 Plan for your child, here are some resources:

 

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The Tools of Resilience

“It’s funny: I always imagined when I was a kid that adults had some kind of inner toolbox full of shiny tools: the saw of discernment, the hammer of wisdom, the sandpaper of patience. But then when I grew up I found that life handed you these rusty bent old tools – friendships, prayer, conscience, honesty – and said ‘do the best you can with these, they will have to do’. And mostly, against all odds, they do.”  -Anne Lamott

Between December of 2013 and April of tools2014, my husband and I method-acted our way through parenting. As we waited for what we hoped would be life-changing surgery for our eight-year-old daughter, Sammi, we knew that no good could come of either her or her eleven-year-old sister knowing what was ahead. We told our adult friends and our adult family members, but we let nothing slip through the age barriers we’d set.

For our children, those five months passed with an innocence we protected only slightly harder than we coveted it. Continue Reading…

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Fragments and Money

fragmented winterBetween the December day when we received news of our daughter Sammi’s impending cardiac surgery and the surgery itself were nearly five fragmented, breath-holding months. During that time, life went on as usual: school, work, meals and concerts and the usual patterns of life with two children.

My days, already naturally broken into small chunks of varied activities, crumbled into bite-sized pieces of work and daily chores mixed with anxious Google searches and conversations over phone and email. In the autopilot that clicked on during repetitive activities like cooking or walking my children to school, I sometimes found myself unable to remember what had been happening in the previous ten minutes. How had I gotten to this corner? When did I add the onion to the pot?

Throughout, I was honest with friends and family about what was happening. Many had been with us for the Sammi’s entire medical journey. They had prayed and visualized a pink and smooth esophagus on each of her many endoscopy days. Some had arranged a spot in their pantry for a new, unused cutting board and disposable baking pans so that they could invite us for dinner during the hardest weeks of the six food elimination diet. These people were experiencing this with us, many of them nearly as deeply in love with Sammi as we were. They deserved to be in-the-know, and so I held very little back. We talked openly about the surgery and what it would entail; we shared whatever we knew and accepted their promises to hold us in their positive thoughts, whatever shape those took.

But some of them — more than a few of them — asked us the multimillion-dollar question: are you thinking about a lawsuit? Continue Reading…

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Wait. Breathe. Wait.

wait breatheIn late December, we received decisive word from the cardiothoracic surgeon that he could fix the tangle in our daughter’s chest. I was standing in a hotel lobby overlooking an indoor waterpark, crouched against the heating vents, waving on my family and our friends to go ahead without me. I pressed the phone to my ear, memorized the surgery date and, with all the time in the world, ended the call to begin the wait.

We had decided to wait nearly five months.

The surgery was both crucial and not-an-emergency. It had to be done, but it could be held off until a convenient time. Putting aside the sarcastic question of when is it a good time for you to risk your daughter’s life?, it seemed wiser to wait for the next school vacation, which was spring break. I sat there in the lobby for a moment, staring at the Christmas tree. It was impossible to picture the next months, how they’d spread out in front of us: both the last sumptuous buffet before a fast and the last ten miles of a triathlon’s bike ride before the marathon begins.

With no other choice before me, I put my phone in my pocket and made my way to the waterpark. Continue Reading…

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