My Anger Stems from Pain.

I will explain to you why I was so angry in this post.

My oldest Isabella has a condition called Erb’s Palsy. It’s a permanent condition that affects the strength and range of motion in her left arm. She suffers from this because she was an unexpected 11 pounds at birth and (in layman’s terms) when she was being delivered vaginally she became stuck (shoulder dystocia) and the doctor fucking quack pulled her out by her head; ripping, stretching and tearing nerves in her shoulder (brachial plexus) from her spine. She’s been in physical therapy since she was 2 months old and has made wonderful improvements but will never have full use of her arm.

This month The Bella has to go for an intramusclar EMG and I have to make a video* of her performing a few basic movements to send to a surgeon in Texas that specializes in Brachial Plexus injuries for him to review and tell us whether or not he can help. The following is not that video, it’s just one I made with the webcam to give a bit of a visual aid for this post [I struggled with posting this. It almost felt exploitative to do so, but I got some advice from someone I trust and I asked The Bella how she felt about it and both encouraged me to go for it so here it is.]

Right now her shoulders are uneven, her left shoulder blade is soft and tilted, and because of her inability to stretch her left arm completely, it looks shorter than the right. She is unable to turn her left hand palm up or turn the forearm out and the elbow cannot be fully extended, not even by force.  She has to use her  torso to assist her arm in moving the way it should, use her hands and fingers to crawl up something to reach [like to put her hands on top of her head in the video] or throw it, taking advantage of the momentum.  The muscles are so tight that she has a dimple in her forearm from the constant pressure. A tower of blocks will fall if she uses that arm because it shakes so much. Some of these things, I’m hoping, the surgeon can assist with. She is lucky in the amount that she has recovered thus far, and lucky that unless you know of her condition or pay close attention that you cannot tell there’s anything wrong. But I am killing myself with worry for her future.

(This is where I become selfish and turn this post into a self pitying cess pool.)

This hurts me. It hurts me so much. I feel a literal pain in my chest every time I see her try to catch a ball or grab a falling toy and her left arm responds later than the right. When she’s trying to build a sandcastle at the beach and the bucket of sand tips over and spills as she tries to flip it because her arm gave out in the process. When the children at the park or the bouncy house who don’t understand what a struggle it is for her to climb ladders or jungle gyms complain about how slow she is. I’m afraid I’ll strangle the child in her kindergarten class that teases her about it. Strangle him dead.

I wonder if this will impact her socially. If she’ll be cast aside from the other children once they realize she isn’t like them in this way. I’m sad that she’ll never have the ability to be a cheer leader. I wish that ballet and gymnastics weren’t just cute little activities she can do for fun as a child instead of things she could fall in love with and be successful at and devote her extra curricular time to for her entire life. I hate than in P.E. her gym teacher will have to be given a note or pulled aside and it must be explained as to why she can’t climb the rope or do a crab walk across the gym or do a chin up.

I worry that her first boyfriend will realize that it’s difficult to hold that hand and embarrass her. I worry that she as she walks down the aisle towards her future husband that her elbow will still jut out at the awkward angle as she holds her bouquet in front of her. I’m worried that that arm will give out when she’s trying to balance her newborn baby on her breast.

I try to discredit my own worries with the fact that there are others with children with far more pressing health concerns. That this is a very small thing compared to those with kids fighting cancer or muscular dystrophy or a thousand other conditions. That there are children with no left arm at all, and many cases of Erb’s Palsy that are far more severe. It doesn’t help. Those aren’t my children and quite frankly – I don’t really care in relation to my own. Sucks for them but it really sucks for mine. She’s mine.

She’s so beautiful. Bouncing around in front of me now with her loose brown curls floating on the air behind her as she runs, forming feats around her face every time she stills herself. She smiles my smile, with dimples etched in her still baby fat cheeks, a crinkled nose and far too much gum exposed. She’s long and lean, limber and strong, her stomach muscled from how much she uses her core to compensate for her arm. She’ll be a knock out when she’s older, I know it. Save that one thing. That one little imperfection. That one little thing that was not her fault. The thing that wasn’t my fault either, but that I still blame myself for daily. I look at photos and it stands out to me. I’m sure to only me, but it stands out nonetheless. That ill positioned forearm. That always bent elbow. That slighted shoulder.

She knows of her condition but she doesn’t understand. I’ve never explained it to her. She doesn’t know what happened and I’m not even sure if she realizes that it’s not normal to have an arm that you barely use. I’m struggling with where the line between helping her cope and overcompensating for her is. I’m struggling with knowing what’s undue pressure and simple guidance. I’m struggling with the fact that she might blame me for what happened in the future. I’m struggling with the possibility that I’m doing it all wrong.

(Let’s step out of the pool now and get back to the topic at hand.)

With my second, I was strongly advised by one of the doctors in my practice to have a cesarean. He actually told me that I needed to find another practice if I didn’t want a cesarean because he wasn’t willing to take the risk. The next doctor I saw there said a vaginal birth was possible for me, depending on the growth rate of the baby. I took the first doctor’s advice.

Yes, I could have chosen to try it vaginally again, but I could not take that risk. I had gestational diabetes again, which was what caused The Bella to be so big, and there was no way I’d ever take the chance of having another child born with a strike against it from day one.  Yes, The Bella could have been delivered without the problem she has today. It was the OB’s fault (Medically it would have been preferable for him to have broken her collarbone than to do what he did). But that’s not the point – I could not chance that happening again.

Because The Bella was in the birth canal so long when she was born her breathing was heavily impaired. She spent quite a bit of time in the NICU because of it. If I had not been in the hospital, chances are that she would have died because her lungs were unable to process oxygen sufficiently. I could not risk the breaths of my second either.

Of course when Ari was out and only 9 lbs with perfect apgar scores I was pissed. “I could’ve done that mah damn self!” but I know that I made the right choice. What was more important: my satisfaction of having  a successful natural birth (which God knows I wanted: a drug free water birth surrounded by midwives in ethereal flowing white gowns and flower halos) or ensuring that I had a healthy, whole child?

Don’t get me wrong. I support a woman’s choice to give birth any way and place she so chooses. But, I think that birthing a child without professional help is irresponsible and fucking stupid. Especially, ESPECIALLY if you have been through a traumatic birth before, like the woman I was referring to had been.

Believe me, I know [better than most] that doctors can be assholes, that they can hurt you, that they can damage you, and at the end of the day, the hospital bureaucrats care nothing about you, only about getting you out of there without getting sued.  I don’t trust doctors as far as I can throw them. Or hospitals. My first OB? Never even an acknowledgment. Not an apology – not that I expected one for his part in it – or a ‘shit,that sucks for you’ for the fact that a child he  helped bring into the world, my first child, my baby, had an arm as limp as a Raggedy Ann doll’s for the first 3 months of her life. I got nothing from him.  Neither did the child that he damaged. So I understand the aversion to medical professionals.

I know that some women are perfectly capable of birthing babies alone, without help and they do it all over the world every day without incident. That it’s a natural act and blah blah blah.

I don’t care. The risks outweigh the benefits. You are playing with you child’s life. You are taking their health and well being for granted. Just – get off your high horse and get a fucking midwife.

Related sidebar: I cannot stand when people call malpractice lawyers ‘ambulance chasers’ with an air of disgust. Let some doctor fuck up your child’s life forever and you’ll see them differently. I promise.

Unrelated sidebar: Have you entered my giveaway for a $50 gift certificate to Good for the Kids? You can enter once per day until Saturday you know. So go. Do it.

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