June 26, 2009 "Hope and Heartache"

Hope and heartache or heartache and hope. It’s the age old question of the chicken and the egg. Which comes first? Does heartache follow failed hope? Or does hope follow painful heartache? Probably a little of both.

For me, I’ve had both for better or worse. The heartache of a premature baby and a life changed forever then the hope of a better than expected recovery and prognosis. The heartache of not knowing if he’ll walk and when he does the hope that he’ll also be able to ride a bike one day. The heartache in watching him attempt to communicate through speech that is so difficult to understand but hope in how he compensates and still manages to get what he wants. The heartache when a teacher has had it with your child and the hope that she will soon see him for who he is (she did). The heartache of seeing how OCD and anxiety debilitate him but the hope of answers from a newly found doctor.

The heartache of not being able to conceive a child but the hope that fertility methods give us. The heartache of learning our child may be born with Down Syndrome and the hope that the odds are in our favor. The heartache of having another child born with a disability and the hope that the severity will be minimal. The heartache others feel for us and our “situation” and the hope they’ll come to feel when they see just how much we’ve come to embrace our “situation.” The heartache of dreams lost and the hope of new ones to come.

The heartache of a breast biopsy that comes back positive for cancer and a hope that it doesn’t mean certain death. The heartache of mastectomies, but the hope that reconstructive surgery gives. The heartache of chemo and its devastating effects on your quality of life but the hope that it will improve the quality of the rest of your life. The heartache of participating in the Race for a Cure and seeing the tens of thousands of lives affected and a hope of unity in the belief that someday there will be a cure. The heartache of finding a cyst in an ovary and subsequent hysterectomy and the hope that the cyst is benign. The heartache of being told that adoption isn’t really an option right before said hysterectomy and the hope that that means just for now.

So it seems that most of my hope has been borne out of heartache. And here I find myself once again. Watching Porter struggle through school has been heartbreaking, not only as a parent, but also as a teacher. Thank goodness he has a fantastic memory, an overabundant curiosity, and a love for the social aspect of school. Overall, his frustration level hasn’t interfered, yet. We have recently had Porter evaluated by a pediatric optometrist who specializes in reading and learning difficulties. He seems to have the answer, a very expensive answer. It means therapy, 2 times a week for 32 weeks along with home therapy exercises, then a month off and then 2 months of once a week therapy sessions. It’s a lot, but it will be well worth the time and money if it works. We can’t not try.