I’m just drained today. Was up last night worrying about my girl, and I need to share.
Abby has Morphea. It’s a really rare skin disease. We noticed a couple ‘spots’ on her back last summer. She got a biopsy last July and was diagnosed right away. At that time we were given some creams, and told just to hope it doesn’t spread.
It spread. It’s spreading. Took her to the Dermatologist yesterday because we found another spot. While there, under those lights, I realized how bad it had got. The initial 2 spots had grown. Got her home and found four more. Four more. Fortunately, they are all on her back and sides.
We are being referred to a Rheumatologist, who will probably want to put her on some crazy drugs…none of which have any real proof of working. I spent the better part of yesterday and last night researching Morphea, and it seems that it might just go away on it’s own, or is incurable. Okay then.
The poor girl was so upset last night, scared it will spread to her face. She said she’s not going to school if it ever spreads to her face. Ugh.
I know that this isn’t the worst thing in the world, and VERY grateful it’s mostly just a cometic issue at this point (it can affect tissue and muscles if it progresses), but there’s something very sad about realizing your kid isn’t perfect, and might have to deal with this her entire life.
But like her Dad said last night, “good thing she’s perfect on the front”.
So today, we are seeing a new Naturopath. Hoping we can slow it down with some natural remedies or diet changes.
Nine years ago yesterday, I was 7 months (32 weeks) pregnant with my first child. We knew she was a girl, and she had the pinkest, girliest nursery waiting for her. I was due in late March.
Mike and I went to the Flames game that night. And I ate everything I could. Mike drank everything he could.
The next day, we became parents. Parents to a 4lb 6oz baby girl that couldn’t breath on her own.
This sounds so dramatic. And it was. But it was our normal. We called her “Baby” for a day, and then rearranged the letters. She’s not Abigail. She’s Abby.
She spent her first 30 days in the SCN at the Hospital. We slept at home. I pumped milk for her day and night that we fed her through a tube in her nose. Well, the nurses did, mostly. I sat and watched her in that incubator for hours. Then I’d go to the mall. And go back and watch her some more.
And I’ve been watching her ever since. Watching her grow, watching her fight, watching her teach herself how to do back tucks. There isn’t a day that goes by that she doesn’t amaze me in some way. And it’s not all good. She amazes me in the way she’s exactly like me. And not the good parts. She gets frustrated easily, is hard on herself, has zero patience and worries. Man, she worries. She’s high strung and anxious, cannot handle change and drives me absolutely nuts.
But she’s also funny. And brilliant. Everything she touches turns to gold. Everything she tries she excels at – from reading to swimming to (of course) gymnastics. She gets the physical stuff from her Dad.
Here’s a quick 2 minute video/pic montage I did for her today. And, because it’s still the most relevant song, I used the same one as last year: Trouble, by Pink. Actually, I’ve used it in every montage I’ve made of her. It just works. 😉
You are seven and a half. You are sleeping. I just read a blog post about daughters, and I’m crying (I’m a crier). And I want you to know some stuff.
We fight a lot. We will always fight a lot. Why? Because you are just like me. I see things in you that I don’t really like about myself. Not bad things (you are perfect!), but things that I should be correcting in you, but I don’t know how…because I am the same way. Bossy, anxious, nervous…to name a few.
I pray that you will meet a friend like I had (have) in Jenny. Someone so the opposite of you, that you fill in each other’s blanks. I would talk for Jenny and make all the decisions – and that was okay with her. If anyone ever disagreed with me or wanted to do something I didn’t want to do, I got mad. I still do. Spoiled? A Princess? Yes, I am. But I’m also headstrong and opinionated. And that’s not all bad.
You cried last week before you started school because you were worried about, well, everything. Then you came home and said it was ‘a perfect day’. I’m babysitting Tyson from school this week, and you were SO upset about it beforehand – and then tonight you said you couldn’t wait to play with Tyson tomorrow. This is SOoooo you! You are a worrier. Which is NOT like me. That, you get from your Uncle Cory and your Gramma. Sure, I worry about a lot of stuff, but I am an optimist. You, my dear, are a Pessimist, and I don’t know how to correct that either. I am teaching you guys that ‘Thoughts Become Things’, and trying to make you think positive, but you really don’t handle change, or the unknown very well. I hope you grow out of this.
You are here to do amazing things, this I know for sure. You came early because you had some serious living to do, and I can’t wait to see what you accomplish in life. Now stop worrying!