Curveball...

There are millions of moments a person can experience that will
change their life forever; I think the positive pregnancy test with Lyla
was a big life changer for me.  No longer would I be caring for myself,
but I would now be caring for another human being; which apparently started a
few weeks before I even knew.  The next life changer was the moment Lyla
was born, there was my responsibility, this person I created.  I grew
this.  I made this.  This was a baby, my baby, and I changed from a
23 year old, carefree, responsibility-less woman, into a mother who like most
would do ANYTHING to provide, protect, care and nourish my child.  No
matter what.




But in that same moment all those dreams I had changed, just
like that.  Of course the providing and protecting, etc. etc. was all
going to be the same, but in that moment, and the following days, weeks, months
and even years, I changed.  To be honest, I hardly even remember the
person I used to be.  I don't know if that's a bad thing, or a good thing,
or maybe my brain is now just mush I honestly struggle to remember that far
back.  But I believe I've changed in good ways since having Lyla and
learning of her disability; like I feel I am more "knowledgeable" in
most things medical, I'm more patient and I'm stronger as a person.
 However, I feel as though I'm a lot more boring than before, because lets
be honest, my interest in all things medical doesn't keep a conversation going
amongst friends who don't relate.

But I am now used to the newer me, the me that I've been for the
last 3 years.  So sorry if I now bore you, but these kind of things can
happen when you experience those significant life changes.




Another life changing moment happened more recently,
specifically on Wednesday October 22nd, 2014.  You know when life starts
to go pretty smoothly, you've made some plans, you've got a few events coming
up you look forward to.  Life's pretty good.  You and your family are
happy; myself, my husband, our daughter and our dog, just the 4 of us.




Then, there's that curveball life decides to throw you...

Yep, that life changing moment. 

You're PREGNANT! 

Shit. 




You know that curveball was coming; you saw and ignored the
signs, hoping if you played dumb it would bypass you.  Apparently life
doesn't work like that.  I built up the courage to tell the innocent
bystander, though he was to blame, he went into shock.  My mind went in to
overdrive.  We didn't want another baby, well definitely not right now.
 How was I going to keep up with all of Lyla's appointments?  How was
I going to get around with 2 kids, one who was in a specialised pram?  How
am I going to care for 2 babies, and yes BABIES, even though one of them is 3
years old, technically she is still like a baby.  Then the biggest mind
f*ck... 

What if this baby is just like Lyla? 




It's been a number of weeks since we found out, it's also been a
number of weeks since I wrote the above, the worry is still there, but it has
definitely been overshadowed by excitement.  All of Lyla's doctors and
specialists knew before our family and friends, because that's what happens
when medical professionals know more about your personal life than most.
 I've recently had my first antenatal appointment at the Women's and
Children's Hospital, because it was felt I needed a more specialised care,
because of Lyla, involving extra scans and a possible MRI.  However, I'm
hoping for a transfer to my local and preferred hospital soon though, because I
don't particularly want specialised care, I want normal care with normal
midwives.




So I have no idea what the future holds, I do know it will be
crazy, but I do believe this unplanned, unexpected, and scary news is most
definitely a good thing for us all.




What ever will be, will be.

Most Days Of A Special Needs Mum...

Most days are busy.  We always have an appointment, whether it be physiotherapy, occupational therapy, speech pathology, conductive education, or a hospital appointment.  We are always driving back and forth.  Sometimes I sit in a waiting room for hours waiting for a 10 minute appointment.  And sometimes I feel as though all those hours and hours of therapies are pointless if Lyla does nothing but cry.    

Most Every day involves calming down my child.  It happens numerous times a day and is caused by a variety of triggers - a phone is ringing, someone is touching her, her back is sore from pressure, it's too hot, something has scared her...  I am trying to get to her, hold her to tell her it's ok, but her cries are getting louder and louder, the breaths are getting slower and slower, her muscles are getting tighter and tighter, her skin in getting duskier and duskier, and then she stops, sometimes passing out for a second, but always managing to come back around.

Most days I get sympathetic smiles and looks from passers by.  They can tell Lyla is disabled and they look at me to say 'I'm sorry', or I get a comment like 'She is cute, does she have cerebral palsy?', very rarely people ask questions to get to know LYLA - her name, her age, her favourite toy...  Or I get that worrying, scared look if the above meltdown happens whilst out in public.

Most days I think about Lyla's death.  Is it going to be sudden, is she going to get sick, are we going to have to put in to effect our resuscitation plan?  Am I really understanding and prepared for the possibility? 

The answer is no.  Always, no.

Most days I think about my own death - what would happen to Lyla if she outlived us?  Who would I trust to care for her the way I want her to be cared for?

Most days I wonder what old friends are doing.  Not the ones I still have contact with, occasionally, I mean the ones I had known for years, the ones who just suddenly fell off the face of the earth when I had a child. A child, or a child with a disability?  I'm not sure.  Do they think of me, of us?  Do they secretly stalk us through social media?  Would they attend Lyla's funeral to make it look like they cared? 

Most days I think about my new friends, the friends I never thought I would ever need to meet, but the friends I really do need, the ones who go though what I go through everyday.  The ones I know in real life from this journey travelled, from the various therapies I go to, the ones I meet in the shopping centre, the ones I only talk to online.  My support group.  They are the ones I go to when I need help, to get everything off my chest and I know they would never judge because they 'get it'.

Most days are trial and error, trying to decipher those tiny signs Lyla shows, hoping I've got them right.  Trying to understand what she wants, what makes her happy and what doesn't, trying to be on the same page, trying to do my best to help her.

Most days I learn.  Try to learn sign language, trying to learn about Lyla, trying to learn about disability support, trying to learn what the therapists tell me, trying to learn what the doctors tell me, trying to learn medical terms, medical facts, medical research, medical conditions.

Most days I teach.  I teach the therapists those tiny signs Lyla tries to make, the ones they ask me what they should be looking out for, the ones I then look at them thinking 'I hope I got that right, because really, I am as clueless as you'. 

Most Our free days we spend at the shopping centre.  I need to get out of the house, to get away from the therapies, to get away from the housework, to get away from the quietness of the house.  I need to go somewhere I do not need to think about anything, I can just walk around with Lyla looking at things and have a coffee.

Most days I find an excuse to have a coffee date.

Most days I wonder what my life would be is Lyla was your 'typical' child.  Would I be working?  Would we be financially better off?  Would we have other children?  Would I still have my old friends?   

Most days I forget.  I forget to place orders for Lyla's medical and food supplies, I forget about appointments, I forget to message back friends, I forget to return calls, I forget what I did yesterday, I forget to pay months and months worth of overdue hospital invoices, I forget what I am meant to do next, I forget what skills Lyla and I are meant to work on that week, I forget to bring the washing in before it rains, I forget when she did something amazing that I need to tell someone about, I forget my pile of questions I have stored in my brain for our doctor appointments.

Most days my house looks like a bomb site.  I don't have time to wash the dishes before we rush out of the door in the morning to make that appointment.  I have a pile of washing waiting to be folded that just sits in a basket until we pull it out to wear.  The house is covered in a layer of dog hair because I can't keep up with the rate that the dog malts, plus turning on the vacuum is a trigger for Lyla.  I am sick of washing bottles.  

Most days I hold Lyla.  Hold her for hours trying to put her to sleep, whilst struggling to stay awake in the meantime, so I can eventually put her to bed instead of sleeping on the couch.  I can't put her down if she's not quite in that right stage of sleep because that tiny, minuscule movement, startles her, then I find myself trying to put her back to sleep for the next 45 minutes.  I hold her because she won't let me put her down to have a break.  I hold her because I want to.

Most days put Lyla on the couch and turn on the TV or the iPad just so I can distract Lyla while I wash the dishes, or have a coffee, or a lie down for 10 minutes.

Most days someone tells me I am amazing.  Amazing for going through what I am going through.  I am no more amazing than the next mother, in fact I am certain I am far less amazing than most.  I am just doing what I have to do, just doing what everyone out there would be doing.

Most days I think about what Lyla would be like if she didn't have a disability.  I cannot picture it though.  I cannot envision Lyla running around, or talking, or riding a bike.  I love Lyla the way she is.

Most days I want to take it all away from her.  I want to take away the scoliosis and the respiratory issues.  The things that hinder her, the things that impact her life.  Just one less thing to make her life just that little bit easier.  I can deal with disability, that's not the issue, I cannot deal with seeing my daughter suffer, slowly.

Most days I wonder how she will go in school, or is it really, how will I go when she is in school?  Who is going to respond to her needs?  Is this person really going to understand what it is she really needs?  What if she is so upset she can't breathe - is this new carer going to manage this, because many medical professionals cannot?

Most days Every time Lyla does that one thing no one expected, I feel as though all those hundreds of hours of therapies, or what ever it may be, were worth all those tears.

Most days I feel guilty.  I feel guilty for not being able to return a call or message from a friend, not being able to drop everything to help someone, for not giving my husband as much attention as he deserves, for leaving Lyla on the couch while I did something, for spending the day at home but still not managing to do anything around the house, for not being able to just go out with friends.

Most Every day I sing to Lyla.  I sing songs I do not know the words to, I sing songs I make up, I sing theme tunes, or commercial jingles because I know that makes her happy.

Most days I am exhausted.  Exhausted from doing nothing, exhausted from not sleeping well that night, exhausted from driving around all day, exhausted from... who knows what else, I am so exhausted I cannot remember.

Most days Every night I check Lyla.  I check her throughout the night to make sure she is still breathing.  If I have had an uninterrupted sleep I wake up in the morning in a fright, worried because she didn't wake me up overnight.  Is she alive?  I rush to check on her...

She is still breathing.

Most days I fight.  I fight to keep Lyla alive, I fight to get her the best care she deserves, I fight to get the medical treatment she needs, I fight for an answer, I fight for those with special needs, those without a voice.

Most days I think about how nice it would be if I didn't need to do all these extra things, if my biggest issue was my child talked to much, or what arts and craft activity we were going to do that day, or what park we should go play at.

Most days it would be nice not to worry if I have packed enough specialised formula for an outing, is her feeding pump is charged, have I got her medication with me.



Even after all of that...
Everyday is a good day, and everyday is completely worth it.

Why shouldn't it happen to us?

I was a relatively healthy 22 year old when I fell pregnant with Lyla, I remember being ecstatic (and maybe a tad nervous) when I saw those 2 lines on that test.  I was in a hostel bathroom in Dublin and Dan was downstairs in the pub, and after waiting all afternoon to feel the need to pee, I texted Dan (romantic I know) that the test was positive and he replied with "Yay, I knew it".  

I avoided all the risky food and drinks while pregnant, I read all the books and attended all my midwife appointments.  I loved being pregnant, I was excited about the thought of giving birth, and I was looking forward to raising a beautiful and healthy child in a very natural and gentle way.  But I never expected to have a child with a severe disability, I had not prepared myself for this, I did not read about this, because this wasn't something that happened to people like me.  It was hard just as much as it was heartbreaking.  I has this picture in my head of my daughter running around with her cousins, who were just a few months old than her, going to school, telling me stories, playing at the park, making friends - all those things children do.  How could she do this when everyone was telling us she would live in a vegetative state and preparing us for her death?  Not only that, but no one actually knew what was wrong with Lyla, so how do they know her future when they don't even know anything about her condition? 

For the first few months of Lyla's life, whenever we had an appointment with her neurologist, geneticist or metabolic specialist I had prepared myself; that day we would finally get a diagnosis for Lyla.  I mean, how hard can it really be?  How naive.  Every appointment we were told the same thing we had from the beginning,'we don't know', and every time I left feeling deflated and frustrated...  There were a few possibles from early on though, Polymicrogyria, Schwartz-Jampel, Syalidosis, but Lyla never had all of right signs, or she had the wrong patterns.  It was never enough for a diagnosis.  After a while I no longer went to an appointment with that hope for a diagnosis.

Lyla is 2 and a half now and she still has no diagnosis.  My best friend is google, I google every condition and every medical word I see in Lyla's notes and reports.  I google every condition I read about, every syndrome I read of other children having and I try to connect the dots - Lyla has this symptom and this one too; I'm sure she has every condition out there thanks to Dr Google.  I need to know, I need to do all I can and I need to help her, I am her mother, but there is nothing I can do, I can't fix her, I don't even know what her future holds.  But I know it does not involve walking, being an independent woman, or getting married or having children... I have a severely disabled baby who will forever live in a child like state, who will be dependent on me for the remainder of her life, a life that will more than likely not be a long one.  That doesn't make me a horrible mother, I am being realistic, which may be hard for most to understand, but not for me and not for the people in similar situations.  I do not want to live with false hope and then grief, nor do I want to spend Lyla's life wishing for something better or thinking 'why me?', because I have something very special.  I have a daughter who has brought me so much happiness.  A daughter who, despite everything she has and will continue to go through, is gorgeous, happy, smart, cheeky, feisty and totes hilar.  A daughter who has taught me how to be a caring, sympathetic and more patient person.  A daughter who has inspired me to help other people, to share her story, to advocate for and educate others about special needs.  A daughter who has given me goals and ambitions.  A daughter who has shown me this place very few ever get the privilege of experiencing.  A daughter who has made me appreciate all those tiny little things most don't notice, and to live for every minute and never take anything for granted because it can be taken away in a second.  And I have a daughter who has shown me what true love is, she has reconfirmed why I wanted to be a mother.  It is about what you learn on the journey. 

We now know a diagnosis will not fix Lyla, but a diagnosis will help us.  Those dots will finally be connected, we will have a better understanding of what to expect for Lyla's future, and we will know what our chances are of having other children affected by the same condition.  Not everyone understands that risk as quite often I am asked when we are having more children... Caring for one severely disabled child is very different to possibly caring for two severely disabled children, and then caring for two severely disabled grown adults is very different from caring for one severely disabled child.  That's not a chance I am willing to take at the moment. 

I am the mother, who even though did everything properly, had a daughter with a severe disability.  But why shouldn't it be me?  Maybe I was prepared to have a disabled child?  I always had this weird feeling that it would be me.  I have the support, I have the love and I have the strength that was needed to raise a child with extra needs.  And even though I see my nieces and nephew doing the things Lyla should also be doing, I am no longer heartbroken, I am in total awe of the child we created and she is amazing just the way she is. 

A year!

It's April, which means I've been a 'blogger' for a year, how exciting!

What has happened over the last year? 

- Lyla had her PEG surgery

- I finished my uni courses 

- We moved back into our own house

- We celebrated a 2nd birthday

- We went to Melbourne, twice

- Lyla's disability care moved to the new NDIS

- We have worked on new skills, like standing

- Countless hospital appointments

- Met new people 

- Lots and lots of fun times & memories!

What hasn't happened over the last year?

- We still haven't found a diagnosis

It's a little bit disheartening, but it is not something that I let affect me.  Of course I would love to have an answer for Lyla's condition and of course I would like to know what the chances are of the same thing happening again is, but I am sure an answer will come.  

One day.

In the meantime, as it is April it's almost time to celebrate...

Undiagnosed Children's Awareness Day! 

Friday April 25 is the day it falls on this year, well worldwide it is, in Australia it is Saturday April 26, but as it is not as widely known or celebrated in Australia, I am celebrating on the Friday with the rest of the world.

Here in Australia there doesn't seem to be much knowledge / support / research / information / funding / organisations / etc. focusing on undiagnosed conditions.  How sad is that? 

 Lyla and I decided to do as many positive things as we can in April to celebrate and bring some awareness to UCAD, here in Australia.  We started with trying to find someone or something that focuses on the undiagnosed - we wanted to raise some money that would go towards helping people find a diagnosis for children, but we couldn't find anything like that here!  The next best option was to fundraise for the Women's and Children's Hospital Foundation so that is what we are doing.  It is a place we spend A LOT of time and a place, that unfortunately, is very important to us.

Secondly, we made a video clip.  It was a last minute idea I decided we had to do Tuesday night and I knew I needed my playgroup mums & kids to participate.  So Wednesday morning at playgroup we filmed it and that night I edited it together.  If you haven't already seen it I urge you to watch it, it's great and I am not just saying that because I made it, it truly is special!

Thirdly, I am spreading the word.  I am using the video, the fundraising and Lyla's story to get the message out there.  Undiagnosed Children's Awareness Day is just as important as any other celebrated awareness day, it just doesn't receive the recognition it deserves.

Lyla and I are going to change that!

** Lyla has her own Facebook group now, which is easier for me to update everyday life through, so for more Lyla news, head over to...

www.facebook.com/LylaPoppysJourney

Travel Experiences...

How many disabled children do you think have flown interstate before?  A lot you would think, right?  Well it always seems like Lyla is the one and only.  The drama I have experienced trying to book flights, get approval for oxygen and sort out seating options for her is ridiculous! 

Lyla has flown interstate 3 times - Sydney at 12 months old, Melbourne  at 1 1/2 years and then a few days ago to Melbourne at just over 2 years of age.  The first time we travelled I wanted to take Lyla's oxygen with her, I had no idea how she would be on the plane, therefore I wanted it on hand just incase.  We flew with QANTAS and they had a very simple medical form that needed to be filled out, and on the days of travel we had no hassles.  

The second trip we flew with Tiger (rookie mistake) to Melbourne, once again I wanted to take her oxygen, but getting approval was hard.  I sent them a medical certificate which contained everything that the QANTAS medical certificate required eg. Lyla's condition, her symptoms, the oxygen tank size, the oxygen flow she needs if it was required, her carer (me), our travel dates, etc. but it wasn't approved.  I spent hours on the phone trying to sort this out, and I was being really annoying because they were being unreasonable.  Apparently all that was missing was a sentence that said "Lyla is safe to travel from such and such date, until such and such date".  I argued this because the medical certificate was filled out by Lyla's paediatrician, it included our flight details, including travel dates, and it was signed by him.  If she wasn't safe to travel it wouldn't be signed, right?  In the end I told them where to shove it and decided not to take the oxygen.  

And then most recently, Melbourne.  I knew that once a child turns 2 years of age they are required to pay for a seat and sit in it with a lap belt, this would be impossible for Lyla.  So before booking flights, and this was a 'last minute' trip, I called a couple of airlines to see what their seating options were for disabled children.  The options were a specialized CARES restraint, which I knew wouldn't work because of her kyphoscoliosis, limited neck support, tolerance and safety.  The next option was taking a car seat on the plane, and final option was a medical certificate which would have to say why Lyla cannot physically sit because she is disabled and it would be safe for her to travel on my lap, like a child under the age of 2 would do.  This was my preferred option, but I knew I wouldn't have the time to have a certificate filled out, sent off to the airline and approved, all before booking flights.  So car seat it was.  We ended up booking a flight to Melbourne with QANTAS, and back to Adelaide with Virgin.  Before booking, and after booking, I called the airlines to inform them I was taking a car seat in flight for Lyla and I went through all the safety checks with them, but ended up having to switch to an earlier QANTAS flight because the original plane didn't allow car seats.  It was all good...

That was until we arrived at Adelaide airport.  It took about 1 hour to have Lyla's car seat approved at check-in, but we managed to sort it out and had a few minutes spare before boarding.  We were let on the flight first so I could install the car seat.  We were on the very last row and we had all 3 seats in the aisle.  I asked the air hostess if it mattered which seat the car seat was on, to which she replied "You are meant to install the car seat" I said I will but I needed to know which seat it goes on, because it will obviously need an anchor point, she then told me to "Calm down".  My blood was about to boil, I cannot stand people like this.  She walked off in a huff and another air hostess came to help, I explained the situation, my ability to install the car seat myself, and I asked if she knew where the anchor point was.  Turns out they didn't, but an engineer came on and pulled the extension belt out from under the seat, which is what I needed to hook the car seat on to.  Easy. 

The day we left Melbourne, after the orthopaedic appointment, we decided to go to the airport early, have a coffee and look in the stores.  We arrived at the airport 2.5 hours early, and went to check our luggage in straight away.  We were flying Virgin this time.  I told the check in lady we were taking the car seat in flight and once again explained our situation, she said there was a note in the itinerary explaining this, but she was only new, so had not approved a car seat before so called the supervisor to check it.  The supervisor had never seen a car seat being used in flight either.  I had to explain I called Virgin and they suggested to use the car seat and that I went through all the safety checks with them and it was all approved.  After about 45 minutes of trying to work everything out, they ended up calling another lady who came down with a folder with all the safety checks.  They went through the folder for about 20 minutes trying to approve the seat, but apparently Virgin only approve AMERICAN car seats, that have to have a sticker on them saying 'this seat is approved for car and airline travel'.  Our AUSTRALIAN car seats don't say this.  They were at a loss.  I said our other option was a medical certificate so Lyla could sit on my lap, so they decided that was a good option and took us down to the airport doctor.  The wait to see the doctor was 1 hour, which by this stage we didn't have, so we nicely asked the 2 men ahead of us if we could squeeze in first, and they let us!  I go in with Lyla to talk to this doctor, I explained everything that had happened so far with the car seat drama, Lyla's condition and why we needed to see him.  I gave him a couple of medical notes I had in my bag explaining Lyla's condition, he then said "I am not approving Lyla to fly".  What the hell!?  He went on to say because Lyla has scoliosis that affects her lung function, therefore if she was to sit on my lap I would be restricting her lung function even more.  I told him Lyla travelled 6 months prior and sat on my lap, and her scoliosis has not changed since then.  He said it has increases significantly in the past 6 months, which is rubbish.  The only "safe" option for travel was to put Lyla in the car seat, the car seat that is not being approved.  We went back to check in and the lady was shocked and called her supervisor back.  Eventually they decided to call the flight engineers.  3 guys came down and said "Oh yeah, we can install this in to the plane somehow, we will go straight to the captain to get his approval first" (it's the captains choice at the end of the day) and then that was it, it was sorted, but by this stage we only had enough time to go straight to the gate. 

The ladies at Virgin were amazing, very helpful and very apologetic, but it turns out that they have never had anyone use a car seat in flight, except for Americans in international flights, so Lyla was literally the first disabled child to, which I find ridiculous.

A Desperate Trip...

I'm sitting here this morning, with Lyla, doing our usual routine before we start our day, which involves watching ABC4KIDS while having 'our' morning coffee... Nothing exciting, but I like to start our day quietly and relaxing-ly (that's definitely a word).  Today is the day after yesterday, and yesterday was the day we had our worst fears reconfirmed, it was an emotionally draining day. 

...

A little while ago a very good friend of mine told me about a lady and her son, she saw on one of those morning TV shows.  This mum was on the show talking about her son, who had some major health issues (one being scoliosis) and she was doing all she could to help him, while studying to become a doctor and medical researcher, and she was currently doing her Masters of Science in scoliosis.  Straight away I found her on Facebook and told her about Lyla, and then just as quick, she got back to me with all this information and all these contacts.  With her help, we were trying to book some last minute appointments to see 2 of the best orthopaedic specialists, one in Sydney and one in Melbourne. 

Two weeks ago she messaged me to say we managed to get an appointment with the Melbourne specialist.  I was so excited, we were finally going to get a second opinion and we were finally going to see someone who could fix her, just what we needed after the stuff around with Lyla's scheduled casting, and just in time because the week later at Lyla's normal orthopaedic appointment, her specialist said he no longer knows what to do for Lyla.

Two days ago myself, my mum and Daniel's mum went to Melbourne, the big appointment was the following day, so in the meantime we walked around Melbourne and caught up with friends and family for dinner and breakfast.  Yesterday we caught the tram to the specialist's office; we were only able to get a half hour appointment, but that was better than nothing, or waiting a few months to get a longer one.  He was a lovely guy, we talked a bit about Lyla's condition and he had a quick look over her, then we sat there, in silence, but his face said it all... Dan's mum broke the silence and asked 'Do you have the miracle cure?', he looked at us and said 'No'.  He went on to explain every treatment that is available to help treat scoliosis, and a million reasons why every single one of those will not help Lyla, why they would do more harm than good.  She is too small, she is too weak, she has no diagnosis, she has no prognosis, her hips are dislocated, her back is too severe, she has respiratory problems... The list went on, and on.  Her body is broken and there is nothing that can be done to fix it.  I made it through he first 20 minutes before it broke me.  As parents we do everything we can to help our children, and that's what we've done, but to be told again that there is no safe alternative to help save your child's life is too much for anyone, no matter how many times you've heard it, and we've heard it a few.  Our only option is to continue going on with our lives and giving Lyla the best one possible.  

I knew this was going to be the case, but I didn't want to focus on that, I wanted the miracle cure.  I didn't want her tiny body to be too broken to fix.  After everything she has gone through and everyone she has proved wrong, I don't want this to be it.  But every day, every month her back will continue to curve.  Every degree decreases her lung function even more.  Every degree causes more heart problems.  How far can it go?  How long will it take?  Is she going to suffer?

As heartbreaking as the appointment was, I am very glad we went.  He said if he had the miracle, he would fix Lyla.  But if he can't help us in the way we hoped, he is going to help us in other ways.  He is going to contact neurologists to look at Lyla's brain scans to help us find a diagnosis.  After the appointment we walked to Melbourne's Royal Children's Hospital, not usually somewhere I would choose to go to hang out, but that's where we went and it was beautiful.  We looked at the fish and sharks in the aquarium, we looked at the meerkats, and we had ice-cream, the specialists recommendation.  Then we went home, to where we will continue on with our lives, enjoying our daughter, giving her all the experiences she can have, doing all the things she loves to do, and never taking any day for granted.  Her fate may now be sealed, but her fight is not over.

Jess

Feeding Tube Awareness Week...

February 9th - 15th is Feeding Tube Awareness Week, why?  Well, why not celebrate something that helps keep so many people alive? 

Prior to Lyla I didn't know what a feeding tube was, I guess I had no need to.  However, I am sure I would have seen people around with nasogastric tubes, or being fed through syringes before, and I probably looked at them and thought 'what on earth is that?'  Nowadays, I can spot them like a sore thumb, except I look at them and think 'we have one too, I can relate'.  Though they probably think I'm just like the next person looking at them and thinking 'what on earth is that?'. 

I love our feeding tube, we can feed Lyla when and where we want, it's not a fight to get her to 'eat' or drink, we can feed her when she's asleep, we can give her medication easily without a tantrum... Jealous?  Ha Ha! 

Our feeding tube journey started hours after Lyla was born.  She did not require one because she was premature (like many thought), she required one because she could not feed orally, she just didn't know how, she didn't have that newborn rooting reflex.  This we later found out was more than likely due to her brain malformation, something that meant her face and throat muscles were affected, making it very hard to swallow, eat, talk, etc.  The first time I saw Lyla with the nasogastric tube (NG tube) she was about half a day old and it was the first time I was really able to see and hold her, I don't even think I asked anyone what it was, and I probably didn't even care, I was just glad to be able to finally see her.  

I quickly became accustomed to the feeding tube way of life; I had every size syringe known to man and I had enough them, as well as PH tape, Duoderm, Coloplast and Hypafix stock a hospital supply room.  I knew all the terminology, I knew the different types of feeding tubes and I knew the different ways to give a feed.  I was set.  

It took over 8 months of being on the surgical waiting list before Lyla was able to get a permanent feeding tube (Gastrostomy / G-Tube), so by the time it happened she was 19 months old.  It was a date that couldn't come quick enough.  I was sick of the NG tube.  I was sick of ripping it out.  I was sick of Lyla constantly choking, gagging and coughing on it.  I was sick of rushing her to the hospital to get it replaced.  I was sick of having to put her through attempt, after attempt, after attempt of trying to have it put back in.  I was sick of the risk of it being inserted incorrectly.  I was sick of it possibly moving and constantly checking the placement.  

The surgery happened June 2013, it went great!  Straight away we saw a change in her, she wasn't gagging, she was making vocal noises, she let us put a dummy in her mouth and she began to lick food.  8 months on and it is still the best thing we did.  Lyla is fed full time through the G-tube and I have no expectations that she will eat orally, and that's alright.  We give Lyla 5 bolus feeds a day (a feed given over a short period of time) via a syringe if we are out, or an automatic feeding pump if we're home (that frees me up for 20 minutes).  She is on a specialised pre made formula, which looks very much like an iced coffee (and I have to reassure people that I am not giving my 2 year old coffee).  I have been wanting to transition Lyla to a blenderized diet for about a year now, but I keep delaying it for some unknown reason... Maybe I'll start next week ;)  

My first NG tube

My last NG tube - Operation Day

Gastrostomy / PEG

No Tubes!

Current G-Tube / Mic-Key Button

Jess