My Canadian Ladies

On Tuesday, we all decided that the ladies needed to schedule our own night out. And, I - of course - pushed for a movie night since Jeff is generally anti-movie . . . and actually going out to a movie is out of the question for him (can you sense the bitterness?).

We saw Julie & Julia . . . which was a cute movie. Just my style . . . nothing scary . . . happy ending (generally).

And, for all of my beautiful girls back home . . . I miss you all so much. You will never be replaced. I just feel so lucky that I have made friends with incredible people while living in Toronto - especially since it was so hard to leave Utah. And, now you can put a face to a name of all of my friends here. Hopefully we'll get some of these families down to Utah to visit when we move home.



In order, from left to right:

Me

Amanda. She is actually an American from New York. Her husband is from Ecuador and they live in Canada. She is a professional (brilliant) opera singer. Amanda is a strong woman with amazing insight . . . and incredibly funny. She makes the most realistic sounding animals noises I've ever heard. I've joked before . . . but, it's true . . . if I could buy stock in Amanda, I would. I have complete faith in everything she does. I have much respect for this lady. Her baby boy is due in November.

Angie. Angie's the newest addition to the group. She and her husband and their two boys (2 and 5) moved into our ward in May. They are the perfect playmates for Gavin and Autumn AND for Jeff and I. After babysitting their boys one night, Angie, Nathan and I stayed up until 4:30am talking . . . if that tells you anything about how much I like this family! I admire Angie for her strong beliefs and hope she rubs off on me.

Marjorie. Marjorie and her husband are French-Canadians from Quebec. Her accent is luscious. She's artistic and creative and designs beautiful things for her son, house and friends. Her husband is a language genius, fluent in at least 3 languages. I love her contagious, hearty laugh.

Sarah and Violet. Sarah is the newest mom of the group . . . in a bikini 6 weeks after delivery and looking amazing. She had Violet - naturally - at home and then hand-made her blessing dress when she was just weeks old, because she didn't know the sex. She never ceases to amaze me. Seriously. And, Violet didn't make a peep during the movie. Wow.

Emily. Emily was my first Canadian friend. She is honest, sweet and open. Emily was so kind and accepting of me right from the start (yes - despite me being an AMERICAN). She is amazingly crafty and a domestic diva. She made us all headbands and gave them out for no good reason. I have never once seen Emily get frustrated, mad or impatient - even though her daughter is well-known for her incredible lung capacity. You truly cannot help but love Emily.

The Day Gavin Was Born

I was cleaning off my computer desktop today (I was finally annoyed with everyone commenting on my desktop clutter whenever I projected my screen for a presentation) . . . and I found this document. I hardly remember writing it. And - wow - what a flood of memories it brings. It's long and not our happiest moment. I need to continue the story with all of the amazing things that happened over the first year of Gavin's life, how his story brought out the best in friends and family, how his presence increases everyone's faith and perserverance, his first time standing in the stander and his first time pedaling up a hill on his trike. He is such an amazing little angel. For now . . . here's the story of Gavin's first day:


Autumn was well over a week late when she was born . . . and we had to force her out. So, when my water broke at about 4 am a week before my due date . . . Jeff and I were completely taken off guard. It was so unexpected that I was unsure about what had actually happened. I called the hospital for instructions, gathered my bag and decided to drive myself to the hospital. People always get a kick out of that part. Since I wasn’t really contracting yet, I insisted it wasn’t worth waking Autumn or the friends that would be caring for her. So, I drove myself. We live about 3 minutes from the hospital . . . literally.

I don’t know if it was because an earlier and un-induced delivery was so far out of the realm of our thinking or that somehow we were all gaining a sense for what was to come . . . but, the day was shadowed with doubts and concerns. Later, Suzanne, our nurse, said that she could not shake the worried feeling she had . . . although she attributed it to the meconium they had already found in the fluid. She had insisted that the anesthesiologist be in the room during delivery in case the baby had breathing problems.

Dilation happened more quickly and more easily than it had with Autumn. And, the pushing began. Everyone in the room (Jeff, Dr. Tayler, a medical student, our nurse and the anesthesiologist) cheered when the baby’s head emerged. And, that was the turning point that foretold of the month ahead. Suddenly, instead of pushing only during contractions, they were instructing me to push straight through. Voices became more frantic and louder as minutes ticked by. As I leaned forward, I caught a glimpse of my doctor – red, sweating, and panicked. Jeff told me later that the baby’s face was turning a sickening blue. Options were limited and time was critical as Dr. Tayler jammed his knee against the bed for leverage and forcefully yanked the baby from my body. That was likely the moment when Gavin fractured his left femur, we discovered later.

There was no celebration or pause to allow Jeff to cut the cord. Everyone in the room except me immediately recognized that the problem was more severe than the baby’s breathing. The nurse and anesthesiologist immediately went to work on the baby in the warmer beside me. Instantly, the nurse gestured for the doctor . . . he stood for a moment at the warmer and came back to announce that “the baby has a large open cyst on his back . . . we will need to confirm . . . but, it looks like he has Spina Bifida.”

“Spina Bifida? I didn’t think people even got that anymore. I took my prenatals . . . how could that be!?” Those were the only words I spoke for almost an hour. The rest of the time I sat in bed, my head covered with the sheet . . . hysterical.

This wasn’t what was supposed to be happening. It’s not real. They’re going to fix him. How bad is it? I can’t see him. What does he look like? Is this my fault?

I can’t account for who left the room . . . but, almost immediately, there were 10 or more people in and out of the room . . . most of them hovered over the warmer . . . huddled over the baby. Life Flight had been called. They needed to talk directly to the doctor. A different nurse was holding the phone to Dr. Tayler’s ear so he could talk to the Life Flight team.

Life Flight? For my baby? I can’t see him. What does he look like? Is he okay? What do his eyes look like?

Strangely enough, I can remember the smallest details from that day. But, I can’t remember if Gavin was crying. I was obsessed with his eyes. Did they show signs of mental defects?

Dr. Tayler continued to work on me and asked for something three times before he raised his voice and demanded medicine immediately. He couldn’t stop my bleeding. I was oblivious.

One blonde nurse suggested they try to put the IV in the baby’s head . . . people were rubbing my arm coaxing me to breathe . . . Life Flight would have to drive down to pick up the baby because a helicopter couldn’t fly in because of severe weather . . . Dr. Tayler was yelling orders – No latex gloves! (all children with Spina Bifida are on latex precaution their whole lives and/or develop an allergy) . . .

Jeff wasn’t crying . . . but, I still cannot find words that describe the way he was looking at the baby. He was rubbing me, too . . . and then he was standing a bit farther away . . . watching the scene transpire.

I finally heaved myself forward enough to try to catch a glimpse of my son. I saw what looked like it might have been a leg . . . but, badly disfigured . . . flop up and sideways over his body. I laid back down in utter and complete devastation.

“How bad is it?” I finally asked Jeff.

“It’s bad. He’ll never walk.”

Dr. Tayler kept saying over and over, “You need to let Karen see the baby. She has to see the baby. Make sure you show the mom the baby.”

They finally placed him in my arms, but with support from two others, so that he could nurse. He was wrapped in plastic and blankets . . . and I could hardly see his face. I couldn’t see his eyes . . . they were badly swollen. The nurse that had been rubbing my arm told Jeff to grab the camera . . . “Daddy, this is a proud moment.” Jeff snapped two pictures. They took him back. Life Flight had arrived.

Jeff’s parents were en route and arrived minutes after the baby was whisked away.

“Where is the baby?”

I told them. And, then they were crying, too.

A nurse came back in to tell me that he was doing well. The team had found a vein for the IV in his head (the blonde nurse was right); they were snapping pictures (that I’ve still never tracked down), stabilizing him and preparing him for the drive back to Primary Children’s Hospital. He was wheeled back in and we asked for a few moments alone with the baby.

Jeff was sobbing uncontrollably and could not regain composure enough to give the baby a blessing. We decided immediately upon his name . . . Gavin Jeffrey Peterson . . . and his grandfather said the prayer.

“Will the father be traveling with us?” Life Flight asked.

One of the things that still strikes me from that day was how the shock of it all prevented us from immediately thinking and acting like Gavin’s parents. We would never let Autumn be alone . . . but, Jeff and I were so confused . . . so completely incapable of making a decision and being separated at that time that Gavin was taken without either of us by his side. And, then he was gone.

Gone.

It was so strange . . . I had been in labor, delivered a baby . . . and he wasn’t there.

A nurse came in to say that people were starting to call the hospital. Friends and neighbors knew we were there.

We don’t want to talk to anyone. Send them away.

One of the nurses asked me, "Honey, what can I get you?"

“Autumn.”

Ice Cream = Happy

Jeff just sent me this photo from his phone. He and the kids are at Costco - which is their equivalent of an amusement park in Canada . . . it has delicious hot dogs (that's what they claim), ice cream, food, random gifts, shopping carts and more.

This is true happiness for Autumn.

Disney World Photos (by Disney)

This is just the start of our Disney World photos. These were the photos taken by the Disney staff for the PhotoPass (one of the coolest services ever). So, this doesn't include the 100s of pictures taken by us. We're still very much enjoying our vacation right now in Marco Island, Florida.
More to come!!

Disability Tax Credit no more . . .

Okay . . . this is not the fun blog post about my beautiful family, or me falling down the steps on Friday while carrying Gavin (he's fine, btw), or even how crazy work is . . . this is just a pure rant.

I found out today that Utah canceled the Disability Tax credit that Gavin received for one year - in 2007. Come on, people!! Gavin qualifies for nothing. zero. zip. Not one penny of support for all of the equipment he needs (yes, think $1500 for each pair of ankle braces that he will wear for life, $1300 for each CT scan, and $1500 for his stander - just to name a few). And, Jeff and I are incredibly blessed that we prioritize and can afford these expenses. But, we work hard, darnit, and make a lot of sacrifices. So, I won't even get started on the mooching idiots that use my tax dollars to pay for their needs. I know there are people who truly need it, deserve it and are working hard, too. I'm not talking about them. But . . . ooooooo . . . this is just one more example of idiotic legislatures.

And, to be honest, the tax credit was SMALL . . . literally a few hundred dollars. Whatever. I am angry at Utah today.

Utah 0 - Canada 1

Guess Who Rode a Trike Today?

If that's not worth blogging about . . . I don't know what is. Gavin has come so far since we moved to Canada.

He first got a stander from the physical therapists in September . . . it may seem useless since he is completely bound to a metal frame. But, as both hips are out of socket, it is incredibly important for him to bear weight so that cartilage forms around the ball joints. Since both hips are out, this is not something they will correct. They have discovered after years of attempts, that spina bifida patients do not respond to surgery and hips pop back out of joint because they lack the nerves and muscles to hold them in place. Gavin was thrilled the first time we strapped him in to the stander that allowed him to stand up straight for the first time. And, Jeff and I were amazed that he was so much taller than we thought since we'd never seen him stand. Who knew?

Then, two weeks ago he graduated to a walker. The very first time Jeff propped him up at the walker, he was successful. The therapists could not believe that he was able to hold himself as upright as he does and with no practice. They say it is an indication of great trunk strength. It's a great validation since Jeff spends a lot of time working on strength exercises with our little man. And, the therapists also suggest that Gavin is definitely one of the most active spina bifida patients they have seen. I guess that's a bonus of having an absolutely unstoppable big sister.

On Friday Gavin gained another apparatus from the orthotics unit . . . twister cables. When Gavin stands, he is most comfortable with his toes pointing at each other, a full 90 degrees in from where they should be. The orthopedic surgeons confirmed that the rotation was not from his hips or twisted femurs (which were both possibilities), but from his ankles. The surgery last April helped to correct his clubbed feet, but considering their severity, they still curve sharply in post-operation. The "twister cables" are actually plastic strips that run from a harness around his waist down to his braces (where they screw in). They have joints that allow his knees to bend and they keep his toes pointing straight forward - all the time (which makes it really difficult to crawl, but good for walking).

So, today we attempted his first trike ride. And, we hadn't even finished strapping his shoes to the pedals with velcro before he took off across the kitchen and pedaled all the way to the front door. He was - as he is with every new movement or achievement - absolutely thrilled. We took him outside into the driveway and let him pedal back and forth over and over until we were all too cold. He was super fast pedaling towards the road and made it up the slight incline of the driveway with a lot of focus.

What an amazing kid . . . absolutely unbelievable. We are so proud. Nothing will stop him. And, this is just one more example of why you can never label people or set limits on what you think people are capable of.

The silver lining of our move has been a matter of refreshed expectations. Dr. Tayler, who delivered Gavin, was shocked a year later that he could even sit up on his own. All he had seen was the open cyst on his back and the first few weeks of his life.

Our Heber-based physical therapist, who helped Gavin relax his hips so that he could literally unfold and then helped him bend his knees, saw no possibilities of Gavin ever walking.

And then our Toronto-based physical therapist, who met Gavin when he was 17 months old and had no history or knowledge of the progress he had already made, saw no reason why he couldn't be a candidate for a walker. It was only last week that we showed her pictures of Gavin from birth through his first year. And, she said that had she been the therapist working with Gavin initially, she would never have suggested that he would be where he is today. She was absolutely stunned.

Now . . . all of this said . . . we have no idea of what is in store for our little one . . . or the mental, physical, or emotional battles that are ahead . . . and there will be many. But, our goal is to never put a limit on his potential. We want to push him to the very edge of abilities and not beyond. And, in the end, I think this is what we want for Gavin and Autumn. It's no different really. It's ultimately what every parent wants for their children.

I just feel lucky to be witness to such an amazing life. I am honored to be Gavin's mommy.

My excuses . . .

I want to confirm that I am not giving up on blogging. I'm coming back. And, I'll even make up some time . . . unfortunately, our Mac has literally 10s of thousands of huge pictures on it. So many that our poor computer is not cooperating anymore. I can't even describe the frustrations of the process involved with trying to extract the pictures from our camera to the Mac and then off to another computer with a workable (and tolerable) internet speed. Truly peeps . . . the Internet doesn't even respond on the poor Apple.

Let me be a warning to all of you moms out there that refuse to delete any picture of your little kiddies because you feel like every little moment and expression is one to be remembered forever. Soon those pictures will become Mt. Everest to you . . . scrapbooking, printing photos, and photo albums are all a thing of the past right now.

Anyway . . . faithful blog readers . . . stick with me.