Holding My Breath...

I've been consumed by an upcoming appointment with the boys' neurologist. I have stressed. I have worried. I have had nightmares. By golly, I think I am also heading toward another bout of my good friend IB. And this has been going on for weeks now.

I just knew that with our track record at this doctor's, any doctor for that matter, things wouldn't go well. The last time we went to this particular doctor was the day that Shawn's shunt issues started. (I am well aware of the irony of that. The neurologist had cleared us for three months because things looked so good.) At the last visit with this doctor, he told me my baby had cerebral palsy. I cried for days about that last visit.

Get why I was stressed now?

I made Isaac go with me. I just couldn't face all the grim negativity by myself again.

We waited for an hour to get in to the exam room--one of the longest hours since we were in the hospital. The longer it took to be seen, the more I knew that all I would hear was bad news.

The actual doctor came out to meet us and call us into the room. (more confirmation that we were doomed) He had an assistant do the customary height, weight, and temp notes. Then the history started. I detailed what Shawn had been through over the last few months: the surgeries, the infection, the hospital stays, the second shunt, the delays in his development while he had to have had the mother of all migraines for 8 fucking weeks straight.

And then he examined him. I held my breath. Shawn smiled at this man who tossed him around like he was a rag doll and had the power to label him with terrible words.

And then he said the said the sweetest words..."He is looking very good, especially considering his history."

I let out a small bit of breath.

Jason's turn.

He took Jason and immediately commented on his trunk muscle tone (thank you jolly jumper). He held him, turned him, made him sit up. Jason did it all, smiling just like his brother.

The doctor slid back to look at his chart. He slid back. He tapped Jason's knees, played with his feet, had him stand on his legs, and said..."Whatever you are doing is working."

Whatever I am doing is working. I am sure that probably doesn't refer to the worry about feedings or constipation.

He meant what I am doing is helping my babies thrive: the exercises we do while I sing songs over and over, the reading, the stimulation I am giving them.

It. Is. Working!

I am crying just thinking about it.

We, of course, aren't out of the woods yet. There is still a risk for developmental delays, and yes, even CP. But I knew those risks were there from the mere fact that the boys were born so early. The good news is that we aren't at an "elevated" risk any more.

I think I might sleep okay tonight, the first time in quite awhile...