Cast Off...Mommy's Goin Crazy

Ivey-Lou-Hoo had her cast removed today. Leg looks great. And yep, it was a nice little break. Still no idea of how or even when she actually broke it, but all in the clear now. And even though I know we did pretty "good" getting her to the right doc in a reasonable amount of time - still I can't imagine that Ivey actually had a broken leg and we/I didn't know instantly.

But in good Ivey fashion, a broken leg didn't slow her down... not one bit. I, on-the-other-hand, not so much.

Seriously, how do you not know your child broke her leg?

So as you can imagine this has spun me into a tailspin of wanting to give her communication skills. Where we try to make light of so many things, for sanity purposes, things like this seem to whisk me back into a sharp state of reality. So today I did what I have done on countless attempts, all unsuccessful, but I keep thinking that eventually someone out there will do this tiny little thing...write a book on the Ivey's of the world.  A good light hearted book, not one that'll make you all teary eyed.  I marched myself down to the bookstore, stood in front of the tiny little section for "special needs" and searched for a book on self-help (Gwen-help) my parental insecurties away. But, like so many times in the past almost six years....nothing.

Not one book. No Chicken Soups for the Soul or Instruction Manual for moms of girls who are deafblind, nonverbal, nonmobile, medically fragile, all very cute, but extremely likely to make their momma feel extremely crazy. Seriously, there is a book for everything...just not this.

Again, seriously, I need a list of instructions to follow so that I can insure whether my child's leg is or is not broken.

Okay, I also need a book that will definately insure me that it is, infact, okay to freak out a little (in the aftermath) that my daughter B.R.O.K.E. .H.E.R. .L.E.G...and couldn't tell me! I drove around for a week muttering under my breath that my daughter broke her leg...how could I not know. All the while I am sure my neighboring drivers also thought I was nuts when they saw me talking to absolutely no one in the car, shrugging my shoulders in confusion and then answering myself with all the reasons why, my own hand gestures and eyebrow raisings included. Total freak in the car.

So - this is also what I want. I want my daughter to talk to me. Speak.

For me, that does not mean her voice neccessarily, but her hands would be so wonderful. Anything actually.  And yes she did, in her way, which was seizures and crying, but it took too much time to narrow down exactly what the problem was. 

We are working so hard, but concepts are so incredibly difficult. How in the world will we teach her the concept of pain. Oh sure she knows pain...all too well, but how do I/we teach her to discriminate between the pain she feels - everyday - with certain things, or the have-to stick of needles that are so frequent and then to differentiate that between pain that is not being inflicted by one of us, me specifically, most of the time?

Maybe I just need to write and Ivey "How-To" manual. It would help everyone else, just not me..

I am sure in the next few weeks I'll be standing in the bookstore again, staring at a shelf with absolutely no criteria of information that I could actually use. I just need a book that will validate all my "Mommy's Goin Crazy" moments, which happen on a daily basis. I need something with humor, and humor runs shallow sometimes in the special need world, people get way too serious sometimes, especially over things that are serious, but when you deal with them on a daily basis, sometimes you just need a laugh. Laugh at yourself and the situation. Really, don't you laugh when I tell you how funny it is sometimes when Ivey takes those pretty green eyes out? It could be devestating, but it's not the end of the world.

Point being, somedays the pressure of being her caregiver is just hard and I need something to lighten the day because it is always something...always something to be watching for ... and never knowing exactly what I should be looking for or when it will hit. Maybe I am crazy.  Honestly, some days I think I would rather you blindfold me, take me out and beat me with a stick (without warning) over being on guard for some medical crisis every second of every day. Even when she is at school I wait on a phone call or at night I wait on the nurse to knock on the door... SEE.. it never ends.  Okay. That's off my chest. Crazy moment over. :)

Pretty in Pink

Tonight my sweet girl and her daddy are missing their annual Father-Daughter dance together. 

As you can see our girl has broken her right fibula.  We are not sure how she did it or even exactly when she broke it.  As you can imagine there is more to the story, but for now, my mind is exhausted.....

Time Divided...

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