Transition is a big moment for someone with disabilities. Transition to school, in school, and out of school. But medical transition for a medically complex patient with multiple specialists, is a massive transition. Even though Ivey has the Medically Complex Care Program at Children’s, the transition is vast. Passing the torch cohesively to the adult medical world is near nonexistent. Children’s is talking and prepping me, but the actual transitional move of Ivey’s medical care is all in my hands. She will no longer be under one umbrella with a single medical Home with no one who knows her history. Depending on the body system, she will be dispersed across hospital campuses. The sprint to 21 is in motion with one to two office visits left with her Children’s team members. So many major decisions to make, new doctors to meet, protocols to be formed in the next few months, with everything to be in place and ready the day she turns 21. Twenty years ago, as overwhelming as it was in...
Twenty years in and I am finally admitting that asking for and needing help doesn’t mean I’m failing at being “her” mom… or just being human. It's strange how having a child with disabilities distorts reality, or common sense for that matter. I was and am a different parent to the boys than I am Ivey. I parented the boys in a cluster of friends. Playdates when they were young. Sports. Drop-offs to birthday parties, friends' houses, conversations in carlines, the never-ending awards ceremonies at the school. Lunches with friends discussing parenting strategies, parenting wins, parenting fails. A network of moms doing this parenting thing - together. Can you grab them from school - I'm stuck in a meeting, running behind, late coming back from an appointment? We are heading to the beach, can your son come along? There's a stomach bug going around, did you take yours to the pediatrician? Who all is going? What time did ...