As the walls seemed to close in and the ten people in the room morphed into frantic, bug-eyed caricatures of themselves, the doctor placed her hand on my knee and said, “But don’t worry, we collaborate with Make a Wish all the time.” In that instant, I realized that the past three years, four months, and 26 days filled with anxiety, therapy, and countless appointments had led me to receive something I thought I wanted—a diagnosis—but I never anticipated the weight it would carry.
My daughter entered this world six weeks and four days early, wailing loudly with an Apgar score of nine. That was the last time she hit a typical milestone. My precious girl, my second child, was never what you’d call “normal.” I vividly recall sitting in the NICU, questioning whether this was the beginning of a difficult journey for a preemie. The doctors reassured me that she would be 100% fine, only slightly delayed.
HA! What a joke! She crawled at 11 months and took her first steps at 24 months; we’re still waiting for her to speak. On her second birthday, I learned she had Cerebral Palsy. I thought, “I can handle this; it’s not degenerative.” If I pushed hard enough, she would progress—and she has, at least for now.
Fast forward to December 13, 2013. Eight months pregnant with my third child, I stepped into a chaotic room filled with ten people, including a social worker. I should’ve sensed the impending doom. There I was, round and blissfully pregnant, walking into my daughter’s neurology appointment, only to be hit with a bombshell:
- “Your daughter has a genetic syndrome!”
- “It’s degenerative!”
- “There are no cures or treatments!”
- “She’ll have a shortened lifespan!”
- “It’s extremely rare, and no research exists for a cure!”
- “The unborn baby has a 25% chance of having the same syndrome!”
- “I can never have unprotected sex again!”
- “My daughter is going to die!”
And then, the final gut punch: “Don’t worry, we work with Make a Wish all the time.” I was stunned. No offense, doctor, but a trip to Disney isn’t what I need right now.
Now, almost a year later, my daughter continues to make strides, and she’s doing remarkably well. My son, born shortly after that fateful appointment at 36 weeks, is healthy and free from the syndrome—I thank my lucky stars each day for that. My husband and I are navigating this unfamiliar territory together, sometimes struggling but determined to persevere.
Our eldest son is beginning to grasp that his sister is different, and we’re addressing his questions as they arise. While we haven’t yet shared our “make a wish” story with the world, those few who know have been incredibly supportive.
So, what’s the takeaway from my tale? If I could make a wish, it would simply be to not need to make one at all. For more insights on navigating tough parenting roads, check out this post on Cervical Insemination. And if you’re considering at-home insemination options, Make a Mom offers reliable kits. For additional support, Mount Sinai provides excellent resources on infertility and pregnancy.
In summary, life can throw unexpected challenges our way. While we may wish for things to be different, the journey often leads to growth, understanding, and unexpected joys.
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