I never knew or met anyone who looked like me. Someone who shared certain traits. The connection was so amazing. I could look into her eyes and see myself, no longer alone. She was very special to me, in a way that most people would find hard to understand. I found redemption for past failures and a bright future was suddenly ahead of me.
Around 3-4 months old, Riley started crying after she ate. At first, we just thought it was indigestion, it would pass. But it didn’t. The crying soon turned into screaming, her muscles were tensed, and she was unable to be soothed.
A trip to the doctor soon turned into multiple trips, with fluoroscopes, tests, poking and prodding at my/our little girl. We were told that it was a simple diagnosis, silent acid reflux and it could be corrected easily with medication and close monitoring. That was okay, but she suffered for around three months in terrible pain and anguish, unable eat without it hurting her.
As she was getting better and able to eat without painful consequences, I started to notice that she was just not….right. She was now very quiet, withdrawn, never smiled, and physically she was wasted. Her doctor appointments were indicating no weight or height gains, even having lost weight at times. Her hair was lifeless and dull, eyes were glassy most of the time, and her only method of communication was crying in distress. She was drawing herself into a shell that neither my wife nor I could penetrate.
All of this time I was in complete panic mode. I finally had what I had been needing all of my life and she was slowly, painfully wasting away. Babies are supposed to be chubby and full, but she was bones and flesh. My wife and I supported each other as best we could, but I anguished terribly inside. I wondered if I didn’t get help for her soon enough, or if I failed to see the signs and in turn failed her.
I can’t explain how it feels to be so alone in the world, not really connected to anything. How many people take for granted that they have mother’s eyes, their fathers’ hands, that little half smile that started at the corner of their mouth just like their grandfathers in their youth. I had none of those things until Riley was born. Now I was in danger of losing that. Many sleepless nights, staring at the wall. What was to become of her, and me?
I know how selfish it sounds that my happiness was linked to hers, but that’s the way it was. For a while, we didn’t really know for sure that she was gonna make it. We met with other doctors, and then a geneticist. The geneticist was really able to help us with our fears and concerns. We didn’t like all of the answers, but he was honest and straightforward.
We bulked up her milk rations and worked constantly to improve her state of mind. One of her issues was revealed to be an oral aversion. She didn’t want food, she wouldn’t talk, and she would not let anyone look at her teeth which by this time were causing her some discomfort as they do all babies. But she never showed us or told us if something hurt, if she was happy, if she didn’t like something, nada. Zip. Nothing. The scariest for me part was not knowing if she was really in there or if she was gone forever. She looked like a little zombie most days. My heart ached and weighed three tons.
After several months, the added nutrients began to work, her hair started growing again, and had shine & luster to it. Her little body started to fill in just a bit, she would still be a skinny child given her parents, but we were okay with that. Anything but the bones that cast shadows. She was still withdrawn most of the time, but we began to see signs of life. She began to show interest in things outside of herself.
She could complete ten of the wooden type puzzles with letters, numbers, and shapes, at one time.
Amazing.
She didn’t so much play with her toys as she did organize them with razor sharp straightness. She walked at just under a year, which we felt was pretty good considering her delays. She walked on her tiptoes a lot, my wife thought she would become a dancer. She became frightened at loud sounds like motorcycles, hot rod cars, loud bangs or crashes, and would often cover her ears. She did like for the tv to be louder, so it basically drowned out other noise. It was difficult to get her attention; sometimes it seemed as if she were somewhere else. But we were slowly getting her back. I thanked whatever higher power that heard our pleas. I also began to relax, uncoil, and enjoy her.
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I am very grateful today is Fatherhood Friday and that Archie had stepped up with a post because I’m sick as a dog, and so are the girls. I will try to be back tomorrow – if not in time for my Weekly Winners – but there are no guarantees. I feel like death, just ask Archie.
This story has really touched my heart! You are an amazing person and an excellent dad! Don’t ever lose focus on you ability to provide! Keep up the great work and your family will bloom into a beautiful flower! Bless you!