Dear Weary, Frightened Mom

raspberriesheartDear Me, Two Years Ago,

I can see you, standing at the kitchen counter, packing up another lunch you’re sure you’ll see again, nearly intact, in seven hours. I see you cutting that tortilla in half a little too angrily, putting cookies in a bag in a ritually delicate way, hoping that if you don’t break them, she’ll eat a whole cookie instead of the half that breaks. I see you counting raspberries, asking yourself how many she can eat during her snack time so that, by lunch, she’ll only have more calorie-dense food left to fill her up.

I see you struggling not to ask her if she ate her lunch when you greet her after school. I see you handing her a banana right there on the playground, too distracted by waiting for her to peel it to really hear how her day was. I hear your teeth clenching. I can feel your toes curling in your shoes as you chant, in your head, take a bite take a bite oh my lord take a fucking bite, NOW. Continue Reading…

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6 Things Not to Say to a Family on a Medically Restrictive Diet

talkingBetween my daughter Sammi’s birth and her ninth birthday, she spent nearly all of her life on some kind of medically-restrictive diet. Whether it was being forbidden to eat grains as a baby, following an acid-free diet as a refluxing toddler, using the six-food-elimination diet to uncover the cause of her (incorrectly-diagnosed) eosinophilic esophagitis as a little girl, or choking down the unpleasant fat-free food that kept her safe from chylothorax after her cardiac surgery, we often had to define what our whole family ate by the things that Sammi had to avoid.

During all those years, I heard a number of unhelpful comments about what I fed my child, ranging from the well-meaning but insensitive to the downright offensive. If someone in your world is eating a diet that their doctor has prescribed, the following comments should never, ever come out of your mouth. Continue Reading…

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Gracias, Mil Veces: A Mother’s Day I’ll Never Forget

handheartThere were so many things to which we had to say “no” in the weeks after my 8 year old daughter, Sammi, had major cardiac surgery.

Soccer? Recess on the playground? Gym class? Wii games? No, far too much running and too many opportunities to get hit where her back was freshly stitched together.

Decent-tasting food? No, she had to be on a fat free diet to treat chylothorax.Birthday parties? No, too many off-limits foods and too many germs.

We said no — had to say no —  to almost everything she liked. It was heartbreaking. Still, there was one very wonderful, very life-affirming refuge for her: her third  grade teacher, Andrea Macksood. 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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Handouts for Doctors

Have you read my chart?Over and over in my head, I dissect what went wrong with my advocacy for my daughter.

When she was just six weeks old, we pushed to have her raspy, gurgling breathing evaluated by an otolaryngologist even though her pediatrician said it was nothing. It wasn’t nothing; we were justified in our followup.

When she was a year old, the sound of milk rattling in her throat got us another appointment with the otolaryngologist, and even though the pediatrician didn’t think it was strange that our one-year-old would not eat solid food yet, the otolaryngologist took note. The fact that she would hold one-fourth of a blueberry in her cheek for hours rather than swallow it was a sign that her esophagus was so narrow that even that sliver of food was too irritating to pass through. It was a clue. Somehow, I’d known to tell someone, and it was part of the path to diagnosing her vascular ring.

When she was four, we’d dutifully tried to wean her from her reflux medications, then taken her to a gastroenterologist when she responded poorly. We’d said yes to the endoscopies, accepted the diagnosis of eosinophilic esophagitis, and diligently followed the six food elimination protocol. We read labels, scoured our kitchen, protected her from potential allergens like fierce animal parents. We did everything they asked, and advocated for her emotional well-being in school and with friends.

We did everything we could have done except tell her doctors to read her chart. If we had thought to ask them, hey, do you think this esophagus problem could have anything at all to do with her aortic arch?, that might have been all we needed. Continue Reading…

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