Saturday, August 18, 2012

Recovery


I’m not always sure how honest to be on this blog, mostly because I set it up as a place for interested friends and family to follow our family’s story, particularly with regard to our adoption of Matthew. It’s certainly not a place to vent my whole range of emotions.

And truly, we have a really good life most of the time, and we try hard to live out the things we believe with courage and conviction. But I never want to paint the picture that things are always easy or good or picture perfect. Because they are not.

We DID get to come home last night, but it was a terrible night. Not terrible in some forever way. We got through it, and we will continue to push forward, but it was one of those “so glad the sun finally rose” kind of nights.

We arrived home from Children’s around 7:30 last night, after Matthew drank a second bottle and the nurse got our discharge papers in order. The drive home was quiet—Matthew had to wear his mitts over his hands (he looks like a little boxer) and he just looked out the window. He’s just taking pretty good doses of Tylenol and advil, not any other kind of pain medication, so he wasn’t sedated—just quiet.

When we got home, Maya and Sam came right away to see us. They were thinking they might sleep at home, but decided at the last minute to stay one more night at my parents’ house. And boy, were we glad they did.

Matthew did a really good job coping last night, but it was hard. He didn’t want to be rocked or held . . . and he hated taking medicine or having his owies cleaned (which is something we have to do at least every 4 hours for him). The only comforting place for him was the kitchen floor.

So we let him fall asleep on the kitchen floor, and then Aaron laid down beside him from 1am until about 4am. After the 4am medicine and cleaning, I sent Aaron to bed and I laid next to Matthew until about 8:00. So our family basically slept on the kitchen floor last night.

Sometime during the middle of my shift, Matthew wrestled his mitt off his hand and when I woke at 8am, he was sucking his thumb. Poor kid—he’s not supposed to be doing that unsupervised, but it’s the only thing that comforts him right now. I can’t blame him.

He seems a little stunned and unsure of what just happened to him. From what I can tell, he’s not in huge amounts of pain, which is good, and he drank a full bottle this morning, which eased this mama’s heart. He just seems a little lost, which is no surprise to me.

And Aaron and I are adjusting too. We weren’t prepared for how different his face looks. As the swelling goes down, he starts to look more and more like himself. But he can’t smile, because his lip is really tight and swollen, so right now his eyes are the only familiar part of his face. We have found it a pretty significant adjustment, and I have to honestly admit that I find myself missing how he used to look, with his sweet smile and big open-mouthed grin.

I know that soon this new face will become the norm for him—and this is the only way we’ll know him. But the adjustment is taking time.

I say this in part because as you look at these pictures, I hope you feel free to have the range of emotions that we’re feeling. Of course some of you have never met Matthew so it isn’t such a big change for you. But for those of you who know him and have spent time with him, I wouldn’t be surprised if you felt somewhat like we do. And I think it’s okay.

The good news is that Dr. Tse did an artists work on Matthew’s face. It’s really beautifully put together—he has an intact lip and also the skin just below the nose. His nose is much more symmetrical than it used to be. It’s really rather miraculous to us, and we’re REALLY happy with the work that was done—despite the fact that it’s taking us a while to adjust to the changes in our boy.

What we know is that we love Matthew deeply and already feel so attached to him. We hope this surgery and the recover afterwards doesn’t affect how he feels about us—it’s hard to tell right now because he feels so crummy, but he appears to be comforted by our family and our home. And I’m glad for that.

I can’t tell you how grateful we are for the visitors who stopped by to see us while we were in the hospital: my parents, my sister, Tauni, Heather, Nina, and Eric. It’s such a gift to have community during a crazy time like this. And as always, all of your texts, emails and messages mean so much too. I can’t believe how many hits we’ve gotten to our blog during the past few days—It’s been nice to have so many people along on our adventure.

I will keep posting some updates in the days ahead with more photos as Matthew’s face really begins to heal and he starts to feel better. For now, though, here are a few photos I snapped a few minutes ago. He’s starting to look like more like his old self, while also taking on a new look too. We are grateful that lip repair and rhinoplasty are behind us for now, as we press forward into this season of healing and recovery.

At the fridge once again, playing with the letters.

The healing nose--is that a smile?

I love seeing those familiar eyes again!

2 comments:

  1. This reader is grateful for your honesty in this forum. I miss you! I'm not looking for a sugar-coated version of your life, I want to know what's really happening so I can support you in written messages and prayers. Thank you for sharing the shock/adjustment of coming to know Matthew's "new" face. Your story is really about the power of love in overcoming obstacles - so cliché, but so true. I mean, what if you hadn't loved his first face, if it had been too "abnormal" for you to cherish, if you only were able to accept him after he had been "fixed." It is so much more tender to know that you loved him fiercely just the way he was, and that in "fixing" the malformed palate, there is loss mixed in with the miracles. It's the love within a family that is the real miracle, no?

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  2. A strong "amen!" to Kathy's comments. I'm aching to meet Matthew, and now that life after moving is settling down a bit, to reconnect with your precious family. Thank you for sharing this journey in such a pure form. Love you!

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