Motherhood – Part 2

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This piece first appeared on the St. Christopher’s Hospital for Children website as a 3-part blog series.

http://stchrishospital.blogspot.com/2015/05/guest-blogger-laurel-youse-mother-of.html

GUEST BLOGGER: Laurel Youse

Monday, May 11, 2015 – Part 2: Motherhood

Mothers dig deep. We open ourselves to love in spite of the cost, in spite of the unknown. We harbor great burdens, hide sorrows only our hearts can know, and we relish in great victories and amazing joys. We cling to hope that is steadfast and sturdy and cherish the moments when a tiny, smiling face, an intentional and knowing glance, the tight squeeze from a fragile hand, can cast all doubt away. We find strength often times not of this world. We find the power to love unconditionally and without reserve. We find faith. Or maybe it finds us.

In the months and year that would follow, our little growing family would find itself faced with multiple challenges – a diagnosis of HELLP Syndrome for me, requiring early and immediate delivery of our Luke, heart surgery at St. Christopher’s Hospital for Children for Luke and the diagnosis of a kidney defect, ongoing physical and occupational therapies, and always more tests and procedures. And in the midst of all this – this path I certainly did not choose – I have found joy. Yes. Beautiful, bountiful joy.

While life can still be scary and uncertain, and although the original dreams I once had are gone, they have been replaced with better ones. Brighter ones.  More meaningful ones. The plans I made – expectations of the perfect birth, hearing his first cry, snuggling my newborn on my chest, nursing my son – those things still hurt a little. Some days, they hurt a lot. Maybe they always will. Developmental milestones – I will never take for granted a spoken word and no step will ever be considered ordinary. Yet, I’ve had great privilege – the honor – to know my child more intimately than most. I’ve sat at his isolette for hours, memorizing every feature, every crease and line. I’ve fought for him, prayed for him, whispered into his ear how loved he is, how his mommy is always there. I taught him how to drink from a bottle to rid him of that dang NG! I’ve shuffled bunches of machines and tubes and wires just to hold my baby only to have the pulse ox alarm with every slight movement. I have navigated my way through medical jargon and cared for my child in ways that are natural and ways that are very unnatural. I have learned him like the back of my hand. I have seen his heart from the inside. And his heart – his beautiful, perfect heart – was broken so that mine would one day heal.

This year – MOTHERHOOD – has taught me FAITH, JOY, PATIENCE, LOVE…and even more FAITH.

Luke’s heart taught me how to use my own: To be present in all the moments of life because tomorrow is never promised to any of us. So laugh. Cry. Give sloppy, wet kisses and squeezy hugs. Be positive – even when it’s hard and you think you can’t; dig deep. Give freely – your time and your love. Be not only a pillar, but an example of strength for your family. If you are reading this you have likely been touched by a child and although our journeys may be different, in many ways they are much the same. The story in your heart is the universal story of mothers. A mother’s heart always knows, always believes, and always whispers hope. Each one of our children has been born to us of perfect love and in that love we too, have been reborn as Mothers.

There is faith. There is joy. There is kindness. There is purpose in pain – we have to find it. And when we do, embrace it – as tightly and lovingly as a mother embraces her child. Nurture it and watch beautiful, bountiful life flourish. The gift, the blessing, of motherhood.

Mother’s Day – Part 1

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This piece first appeared on the St. Christopher’s Hospital for Children website as a 3-part blog series.

http://stchrishospital.blogspot.com/2015/05/guest-blogger-laurel-youse-mother-of.html

Guest Blogger: Laurel Youse, mother of Luke

Friday, May 8, 2015 – Part 1: Mother’s Day

I was never really any good with kids. Growing up, I rarely babysat and the times I did, I really didn’t care for it much. Once I actually figured out how to hold the baby, it was guaranteed he or she would cry. If anyone had told me when I was younger that they thought I would be a great mother, I could be certain that they were lying. As a child, I didn’t have the best role model for motherly love – frankly, my experience taught me what a mother is not. My inept maternal instinct led me to believe it was best I did not venture in to the realm of children. That was all up until the last couple of years, when everything changed.

When Scott and I married 10 years ago, our life was perfect – just the two of us. We enjoyed our carefree lives –worked hard, played hard. We did what we wanted, when we wanted. Life was good and life was simple. And then it came calling…that still, small voice, deep from within – we wanted more. It doesn’t happen for everyone, but for us it did – that parental calling – the desire to be someone more and give to someone “more.”

This Mother’s Day marks three years since I knew I was pregnant. I say “knew” because it’s true – I knew long before a test could tell me. In that instant, that sweet moment in time, I was changed – at a cellular level, I was altered. I now had a fire in my soul and an instinct to go with it.

Just as the tiny baby in my belly was growing, so too, was the love and joy quickly building in ways I had never before imagined. The moment it all became very real, that defining life moment, as I lay on an exam table at St. Christopher’s Hospital for Children and first heard the words “life-threatening,” “critical” and “heart defect.” My breath caught in a place somewhere between Heaven and Earth and I could hear my own heart beating out of my chest. Time stopped. All of it. Within mere hours every dream, every plan I had made was replaced with fear.  How could I love a baby I might lose? How could I open myself to the possibility of that devastating pain? But I didhow could I NOT?

I vowed to love and protect my son – every ounce of him. In the weeks leading up to his diagnosis in utero, something within me already knew. I have no way to describe it, only that my heart was being prepared for Luke. I would love him if he were born with a syndrome, if he were born with a deformity, if he were born in any way other than what this world deems “perfect” because for me, through the eyes of his mother, he was already perfect in every way just as he was. My commitment to love him was pure and honest, and I knew it might even hurt. It has hurt. A lot.

Yet.

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Seeing the glass half full has not always been intrinsic to my nature. Positivity is a trait I had to earn through years of dark struggle, therapy and self-reflection, combating demons – past and present. Until I saw absolutely no other way to be, it was as if a light was turned on…what was once a flicker, a glimmer in black night, turned golden, fiery, and burning bright.

We all have struggles. Life is rough. We learn what we are made of in times of uncertainty, discomfort and doubt. When all the odds are (seemingly) stacked against us, we have a choice. We. Have. A. Choice. Always. How many times have you taken the path of negativity? It’s so EASY, isn’t it? We wallow in self-pity, thinking of all the wrong and mess in our lives, we spiral down like a roller coaster, our stomach in our throat, knots of anger and perhaps even loathing and envy for what someone else’s life may seem to afford. It’s nasty – negativity. It breeds like a brown planthopper insect, carrying with it a virus and the ability to infect and devastate its host and the crops surrounding it. It can take out the best and strongest of us even in our finest season.

But…we can rise above it. We can find that flicker of light, however bright, and we can cultivate it. We can nurture positivity, we feed it into our lives by the thoughts we keep. The deep thoughts, the ones at the core of who we are, in our soul.

Here is my example.

Luke has been struggling with the use of his left hand, something I didn’t want to fully admit to, because of all the other medical and therapeutic appointments we keep on a weekly basis. Privately, I would work with him, always researching methods and creating games and activities to facilitate use of the hand he guards and keeps so tightly fisted. It has bothered me greatly, this lack of use, but not for the reasons you might think. Certainly I want him to have full function. I want him to be able to hold a cup, feed himself, pick up and throw a ball, pet his dogs with an open palm. To not be seen as different or weird or incapable. But he has been seen this way. A stranger felt the need to point out that he could not grasp the Cheerio he was trying so deliberately to pick up and “shouldn’t he be better at this at his age? What is wrong with him?” (I won’t delve into ignorance – that’s for another time.) His determination would not let him quit. He struggled and tried again, concentrating, fixating all his energy on that tiny “O”. It’s heartbreaking at times, to watch as he struggles, but I know one thing. One very important word – YET. Luke doesn’t have full use of his left hand – YET. That one little word changes everything. It changes the tone, the meaning, the attitude, the perception of ability. Before you could ride a bike, could you ride a bike? Of course not! You didn’t have the balance, the coordination – the confidence! Our thoughts become beliefs and our beliefs become words and those words we either whisper or scream profoundly, become actions and actions become the path we walk. We can choose what we tell ourselves, what we tell others. I know what I tell Luke, and what I will always tell my son who for now, never gives up. If ever the day arrives (I’m sure it will) when he is made to feel inadequate or cannot do “that thing” my response will be, “yet” – “You can’t do it, yet.”

We need to repeat positivity until it bleeds the blackness from our thoughts, from our words. Until it becomes the only way we know how to be. It’s hard, I will not lie. Some days are a real struggle. Recognize the struggle. Own it, replace it with full, shining, bright and pure light and move on. Move past the doubt you have in your heart. If you can’t do it today, in this very moment, let tomorrow be your chance at “yet”. I know you can do it.