Friday, August 24, 2012

The upside of weakness















Elizabeth Aquino kindly passed me a link to this interview (click on the podcast at top left) with French geophysicist Xavier Pichon who believes that fragility and empathy make us human.

"...I was very, very impressed by...the way earthquakes are fabricated, which is in the lower layer of the earth where the temperature is high, then the defaults that are within the rocks are activated and the rocks are able to deform without fracture – they become what we call ductile, they flow. But when the temperature is low and cold like in the upper few miles of the earth, then the rocks are rigid, these weaknesses cannot be expressed, and as a result the rocks are much more resistant...and they react by reaching their limit of resistance and suddenly – bing – you have a major commotion and an earthquake.

"The difference is in one case the defaults play a role in putting weakness in that and making things much more smooth. And in the other case it’s very rigid and I find in the society it’s very often the same thing in the community. The communities that are very strong, very rigid, do not take into account the weak points of the community – the people who are in difficulty – tend to be communities that do not evolve. And when they evolve it’s generally by very strong commotion, by revolution."

Parenting, off the grid
















I can't remember how our paths crossed, but I've followed Sara Pot's blog The Pot Family for a while and it was a treat when Sara and her husband Ralph attended our talk with Ian Brown. I asked Sara to tell us a bit about her family. The photo above was taken by Elma Regenerus. Check out this post of Sara's for more photos of this one-of-a-kind family. Louise

I've been told that I am a reflective thinker – or maybe even too reflective. Truth is, since the birth of our two youngest daughters, I find myself questioning all the patterns and parameters I had previously assumed. Raising children who need unique care plans and unassuming expectations (can't assume any typical milestones) has challenged my perspective on living. We're in a society that is inundated with information and advice on how to parent and live, but many of us are raising kids that don't fit a typical pattern, whose lifestyles don't fit a tidy set of parameters.

Ralph and I have four daughters: Emily is 10; Sophia is eight; Rachel is six; and Janneke is three. Emily and Sophia achieved the typical milestones in their early development. As they aged, we also grew as parents, learning from our mistakes and celebrating their achievements. Their personalities are very different from each other, yet they both make us laugh and they both have a passion for their little sisters.

Rachel and Janneke are similar to each other but unique from other children. They are globally developmentally delayed, with a diagnosis that is currently under investigation. Both girls are affected in all areas of living, including eating, communication and mobility. Rachel and Janneke are g-tube fed 24-hours a day, and their sounds are similar to a baby, still exploring her voice. Janneke is able to use a Pacer (a walker) to move around on her feet, and Rachel uses a standing frame for periods of time throughout the day. Both girls are unable to independently stand or bear weight on their feet.

Rachel and Janneke are cheery girls, with smiles for those who provide their care. Their joy balances the tears, frustration or middle-of-the-night anger I might have when managing the tube-feeds, dealing with doctors and specialists, and recognizing the limitations placed on our family.

Ralph and I cope with humour and, more importantly, with our faith in God. We might wrestle our entire life with why our girls are disabled, but there are some questions that will remain unanswered. I'd rather choose joy and figure out how to make the most of what we've been given. We trust that God will give us the strength we need, one day a time. And hopefully, the better days will outweigh the crappy ones!

Thursday, August 23, 2012

More than words, part 1















I love to talk.

It began with my family and childhood friends and blossomed at school and in my initial work as a journalist.

Talking was central to what I judged to be most meaningful in life.

I had the gift of the gab and found silence awkward and uncomfortable – a void I needed to fill. If I was nervous, I could talk your ear off. As a child, I grilled my babysitters on endless subjects when they turned off the light and tried to extract themselves from my bedroom:

"What is your favourite colour?"

"Who is your religious leader?"

"What if it was the third period of the 1972 Canada-Russia hockey game and Paul Henderson had to go to the bathroom?"

Once a psychologist told me that I used conversation to control situations and glide above my own insecurities, dictating the topics and drawing out more from a person than they probably wanted to tell.

But I was raised in a home where talking to people and showing an interest in their ideas and lives was highly valued.

Before Ben, I always thought of speech as being automatic and related only to thought: you think something and then it comes out in words.

I didn't realize that, in fact, talking is like walking – a motor activity involving a complex interplay of breathing skills and lip, jaw and tongue movements.

It was incomprehensible to me that someone couldn’t speak. I guess I had read about children who were non-verbal, but it was something completely outside my experience.

Ben babbled exuberantly at 3 weeks. I still have the photo D'Arcy took of him propped up on my knees facing me, interacting. At seven months, other mothers in a play group marvelled when I passed him to someone to hold and he cried clearly: "Mama, Mama!"

At 1 he referred to his favourite Sesame St. character – Elmo – as Elma. Bottle was "bo" and "Be go bo" meant Ben go bottle. Apple was "apu" and Daddy was "Uma." His pediatrician noted that he was talkative and sociable for his age.

Severe recurrent ear infections kicked in then and we didn't know Ben also had a permanent moderate hearing loss in both ears – made worse by constant fluid in his ears. We later learned he had a submucous cleft palate and related abnormality of his ear canals. This explained his constant ear infections that didn't respond to prophylactic antibiotics or eight sets of surgically-placed tubes to drain what one ENT described as "copious thick black fluid.”

It was at about this time that I learned that severe speech delay or absence of speech was a symptom in some descriptions of Ben’s syndrome, called Langer Giedion.

Given my love of talking, and the general value our culture places on speech and people who speak well, this frightened me.

The anxiety that had attended waiting for Ben to sit, stand up and do other typical motor activities – while taking him to therapy and carrying out a million exercises at home – was now overshadowed by the weight of: "How am I going to get Ben to talk?"

I asked about speech therapy, but learned that in Ontario it didn't traditionally start until age three.

At about age two, I managed to get a speech therapist through our home-care service to visit, and she assessed him as being at an 18-month level for speech (I often go back to her document, just to prove to myself that he really did have some speech early on).

She came for two sessions and was fabulous -- but she was retiring. The person who replaced her was a new speech pathology grad who specialized in working with seniors with swallowing disorders. She spent her visits chatting with me and didn’t come for long.

We began private sessions with a program called KidSpeech. “Ben says ‘owl’ very clearly,” wrote the therapist in April 1996.

One night as I went into his room for a second time to tuck him in his crib, he said, as clear as day: "Hi Mom."

Another time, he was pulling vegetables out of the crisper and said: "gwee peppa" for green pepper.

He said up and “oben” for open and “bubbu” for bubbles and “weh” for web (as in the spider's web in his Eric Carle book). He said "Gobuh" for "Goldbug" – a favourite character in his Richard Scarry series. “I wa” was I want.

Tuesday, August 21, 2012

Buddies: A new Brazilian film

'Conformity doesn't beget greatness'














Ben, D'Arcy and I saw ParaNorman on Friday. It's about an 11-year-old boy who's branded a freak at school because of his ability to communicate with the dead.

The movie is the result of 3D stop-motion animation. Handmade puppets are brought to life by animators who move them one frame at a time, 24 frames a second.

I liked how lead animator Travis Knight described the value of Norman and the team who created him in the Globe and Mail.

"We live in a world that wants to burnish the rough edges and straighten the crooked line, but conformity doesn’t beget greatness,” said Knight. “What resonates with me is that the very thing that sets Norman apart is the thing his community needs. Norman’s story is also the story of the people who made the film – the freakshow, the weirdoes, the people who see the world in a different way and thus enrich it.

...“Norman is just a nine-inch tall puppet,” Knight says. “One of the things that gives stop-motion its inherent magic is that you’re seeing something imperfect and thus undeniably human – because it’s made by human hands.”

Monday, August 20, 2012

Goodbye (unrealistic) dream













Today I'm getting rid of these how-to books and kits for kids with speech problems. They date back to when Ben was a preschooler and I was heavily invested in trying to get him to talk. I brought them in to work years ago to pass along to a speech therapist, but somehow they stuck with me, like the lists of words that Ben spoke as a toddler but hasn't uttered in 15 years.

These books once had a place at home in a cupboard along with bulk quantities of coloured horns of all shapes and sizes, straws, tongue depressors, teddy bear bubble blowers, pink sponges on sticks to stimulate the gums, plastic tubing to chew on and a deck of recipe cards with typed instructions on how to perform a gazillion mouth, tongue and cheek exercises.

If I could only buy enough supplies, perform enough oral-motor exercises, squeeze out enough word attempts.

More to come on why it was particularly hard for me to accept that my child would never speak.

Friday, August 17, 2012

Does pressure to walk prompt 'over-therapy?'

By Megan Jones

Like many kids with cerebral palsy, Crystal Chin’s childhood revolved around a single goal: learning to walk.

The 23-year-old can list off the interventions she’s received with dizzying speed: orthotics, bracing, physio, Botox therapy, heel-lengthening surgeries, occupational therapy.

“Everything was about ‘If we can just get you to walk. If we can just get you to walk, people will think you’re normal,’” says Crystal, a member of Holland Bloorview’s youth and family advisory committees.

From an early age, Crystal learned that walking in our culture meant more than mobility, it conveyed a certain social status.

In fact, in a recent Holland Bloorview study, standing and walking were identified as signs of worth, dignity and autonomy by children with cerebral palsy and their parents.

Both parents and children recognized this social importance of walking, says lead scientist Barbara Gibson, and this affected parents’ rehab choices and perceptions of success.

Six children with cerebral palsy and six of their parents were interviewed in the pilot study.

All parents described independent walking as the long-term aim for their child, and reported doing everything they could to advance that goal. They often experienced anxiety and guilt when choosing to forgo or stop interventions. Many reported feeling they hadn’t done enough if their kids’ therapies weren’t successful.

Barbara says these attitudes can lead to an over-emphasis on walking in therapy. While she agrees it’s important for children with cerebral palsy to work at strengthening their muscles and keeping fit, she cautions that focusing too much on walking detracts from kids’ development in other areas.

“[Therapy] consumes a tremendous amount of energy, resources, time,” she says. “It leaves less time to just be a kid.”

Crystal agrees. She says she dedicated so much time to therapy that she was oblivious to activities popular among other kids. For example, as a young child, Crystal says she wasn’t aware that kids had birthday parties. At home, board games like Connect Four were used as forms of physical therapy, not fun.

While overall she’s thankful to have had access to therapy, Crystal wishes she’d spent less time fixated on learning to walk. For her, focusing on what she couldn’t do led to a feeling of inadequacy.

“It made me feel like I wasn’t good enough because...there were people trying to help me and I couldn’t even help myself,” she says.

Crystal and Barbara point to the need for candid, ongoing communication between families and professionals to alleviate feelings of inadequacy in children and guilt in parents and help families understand what goals are achievable.

“It would be great if clinicians felt comfortable saying ‘This is what the child is
going to be left with, and you’ve done a great job of getting to this point, but it’s okay to stop,’” Barbara says. “I think parents need to hear that.”

Barbara says that many parents, particularly those who’ve just received a diagnosis, may have trouble processing the information given to them by doctors. At the same time, some physicians and therapists may avoid providing a prognosis about walking because they fear dashing parents’ hopes.

To parents struggling with how much emphasis to place on therapy, Barbara recommends focusing less on walking and more on mobility. That’s because certain ways of moving are more useful to childrenin particular situations.

For example, some children find wheelchairs work best at recess or play times because they allow kids to keep up with their friends. Others may like crawling in private spaces because they’re able to navigate physical obstacles more easily.

Barbara says that parents of older children reported that they became less preoccupied with their child walking over time, as they became more comfortable with their child’s disability.

For Crystal, mobility with her wheelchair has taken precedence over walking. She says she only walks about 30 per cent of the time now and likes her wheelchair because it allows her to be independent.

When asked if all of her therapy was worth it, Crystal says it taught her to transfer independently from her chair, which is an important skill.

“Yes, there were some gains,” she says, “but I think there needs to be more of a balance. And I can understand how hard that can be for a family that wants something so desperately for their child.”