I've been very reflective this Christmas season, looking back at where we have been and what we have accomplished. I think that this time of year will always remind me of our Heavenly Father's love for us and the blessing that having an eternal family really is. Last year at this time, we had our typical 20 week ultrasound. After confirming that our little guy was in fact a little guy, the doctor walked into the room and said that there were a few problems with the ultrasound. My heart immediately sank - I wanted to throw up. After throwing around scary terms like "chromosomal anomoly" and "Down's Syndrome,""Trisomy 18," and "Clubfoot," we immediately were scheduled to see a specialist the next week and then were sent home for a very emotional weekend.
That weekend was probably one of the most difficult weekends of my life. I could feel that little babe inside of me, moving around and reminding me that I had created a little life. But I wasn't sure what kind of life that was going to look like. Or if he would even have a life. Even remembering all of those thoughts and feelings and emotions, I have tears in my eyes. I was terrified. I couldn't tell my mom without sobbing on the phone and I couldn't even bear to tell my dad. It seems almost silly now, looking back on how upset I was. But it's easy to hold my healthy baby and remember the time when we weren't even sure if he was going to live.
Now, I want to interject that this story obviously has a happy ending, but my heart goes out to all of those mamas who don't get a happy ending, or who have a baby whose life isn't quite what they had imagined. Every mama just wants their baby to be healthy - to have hope for a happy, and my heart hurts for those mamas who don't have that.
I spent the weekend praying and fasting. And I will testify that there were truly angels in my little Oklahoma home, carrying me through this time. I have never felt the presence of the spirit so strongly, and despite all of my fear and heartache, it's an experience that I wouldn't want to trade. We finally went to our appointment with the specialist. They were so careful and so thorough, checking so many little things. They even went through and counted all of his little vertebrae. Finally, we got the word that our little guy was healthy - he was just going to have some funny feet. I was so relieved that I cried more than once, and have been grateful ever since that his little feet are the only thing that weren't quite right. For the rest of the pregnancy, I went to my regular OB/GYN as well as the specialist and had more ultrasounds than I can count, just as a precaution to make sure that they really hadn't missed anything and that our little guy was growing normally. Each time I would leave with more assurances that he was going to be alright.
And then came his birth. You guys. I had a baby. On a couch. Without a doctor. Without a plan. The ambulance didn't even get here in time. That's another story though.
After Lincoln was born and we got to the hospital (I didn't even think to check until we were there and everything had calmed down), we looked at those cute little feet and determined that they were in fact, very clubbed. For those of you who don't know, having clubbed feet is a genetic problem that causes the joints and tendons of the feet to form incorrectly. Some babies are born with just one clubbed foot while others are born with both feet clubbed. Our little guy was one of the lucky few who got to have both of them clubbed (seriously, I think this would be a million times more difficult if he just had one). Without medical treatment, Lincoln would be crippled and unable to walk. Luckily for us, he was born in a time where they have close to perfected the treatment for clubfoot and, after treatment, should lead a very normal, active life.
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| Just before his first casting |
It's been quite the journey getting to where we are. We researched which method of treatment we wanted done for Lincoln, found a doctor who is certified in that method, and made the trek to Oklahoma City every week for the next seven weeks. Each week, they would apply a full-leg cast on each of his legs, manipulating his little feet just a little bit differently each time. By the final cast, his feet were pointed completely outwards! Going to the children's hospital, I was surrounded by sick little babies and it made me even more grateful that our little guy was healthy. But it was still hard. I felt like he had been robbed of being a baby. Instead of being able to curl up and sleep, he had to wear casts on his legs that weighed more than him. Instead of being able to kick and kick and kick, his knees were locked in a bent position. Instead of having a normal first few months, we had a very grumpy little guy. I know that it sounds like I am whining and being ungrateful - but I can assure that you nobody if more grateful for Lincoln's clubbed feet than I am. But all of those feelings were validated one day as I was talking to his orthopedic surgeon. I was explaining to him that I was grateful that all that we had to fix were his funny feet and it wasn't that big of a deal when the doctor looked me right in the eyes and said firmly, "But it is a big deal. And it is hard to deal with." I about fell into his arms and cried right then and there. He is a winner.
Getting Lincoln recasted each week was a trial for my mama heart. He would just sob and sob every time they put a new one on him, and then would spend the next week grumpy. He loved having the casts cut off, and loved the five minutes of free time even more! I don't know if I have ever seen a baby so happy to kick. After seven casts, he went in for surgery. The doctors put him under general anesthesia and cut his Achilles Tendon. They then casted his feet again so that the tendon could grow back longer and more flexible than it was before.
After two weeks, his final cast was finally removed! He went immediately into a "boot and bar," for 23 hours a day and was a much happier little baby. He spent the next four months in his boot and bar full time, and was none the worse, other than some funky toenails, some crossed toes, and purple feet. And I had permanent bruises all up and down my body from him kicking that blasted bar into me while I held him or snuggled with him.
At the beginning of November, we finally graduated and only has to wear his boot and bar at night. He immediately started getting up on his hands and knees, and was crawling just a few weeks after. He's also pulling himself up on everything and LOVES to stand on the couch and look out at the window.
Even though he was born in April, it feels like we have been on this journey for a year now. From the initial news, to all of the research, to the casting, the surgery, and the boot and bar, it's been an emotional year. But looking at my Christmas tree will always remind me of the time that I was looking at my Christmas tree, wondering if my baby was going to live or die. Knowing without a doubt that we have a Savior, that prayers are answered, and that families are eternal. This Christmas season will forever carry such a special meaning for me, as it will always remind me of the time that I realized what the atonement really means to me, and how incredibly grateful that I am for a brother who would be willing to come to Earth and suffer for my sins, and then die, so that someday I may be able to be with my family forever. Because there is no greater blessing than to have a family.
