When I was pregnant earlier this year with our son, the pregnancy was incredibly complicated. He was diagnosed with a lower urinary tract obstruction—a very serious and sometimes fatal condition. A little more than halfway through the pregnancy, a large collection of urine started forming around his right kidney and his abdomen was very distended.
If you’ve been following our story, you know how this turned out: better than we could have ever hoped for. Doctors drained the urinoma while I was in labor and Preston had a few precautionary and exploratory procedures, but the diagnosis did not affect him like we originally anticipated. He has one fully functioning kidney, which is all you need.
But his abdomen was stretched. In fact, some doctors questioned whether or not he actually had prune belly syndrome. He didn’t. But, his abdomen gives off a less extreme appearance of that condition. We knew his abdominal muscle was thinned out and in my heart I knew we would end up here—in Physical Therapy.
I didn’t want him to need it, but because we have a son with Down syndrome who has been in PT every week since turning 6-weeks-old, I’ve been exposed to this world and I knew it was just a matter of time.
But, when Preston started his twice a week sessions, I was moody about the whole thing.
Why? The sessions could not be easier. We have private in-home therapy for Anderson. Preston’s session is right after. My Monday and Wednesday mornings were already taken over, this really didn’t change much.
I realized it was because I didn’t want to have to worry about his development.
I just wanted him to progress on his own like our first child. We went through such a tough pregnancy and such an incredibly stressful first few months of Preston’s life; I wanted rest. It seemed unfair to have this worry added to my already full plate.
My, how fast I forget. Earlier this year I was begging for Preston’s life, now I was complaining about the extra attention he required.
When dealing with small disappointments we have two choices: we can look around or look up.
I was only looking around. I looked at the other moms at preschool pick-up; the moms who got to run errands or arrange play dates for their little ones—they didn’t have to deal with back-to-back appointments twice a week, plus medical appointments. I looked back at my life for the last three years—always seemingly the odd mom out.
The fog of self-pity only lifted when I started looking up again; when I remembered to look at our situation through lenses of gratitude.
I was thankful that we were at PT appointments instead of dialysis appointments. I was thankful that God not only preserved Preston’s life but gave him the gift of good health. I was thankful that we already had a therapist who we knew and trusted.
We can’t gloss over disappointments. We can’t pretend they don’t exist. But, when they come we can admit what they are, take a deep breath and then look up.
