HEAD
It’s Day 3 and things seem to have settled down. The electrical shock-type sensations that plague Maddie have largely subsided. She says she’s gone from a ten to a three. That’s such good news.
The bad news is I’m not entirely sure she’s being honest at this point. I feel like a terrible mom for even suggesting that, but it wouldn’t be the first time she feigned illness in order to hang out in bed and watch TV. I mean, she’s not stupid! I know the first day and a half of this ordeal her complaints were legitimate. I know the misery is real. Now, however, she seems perfectly fine.
I’m giving her this extra day as a show of faith. I also know that the day after a migraine (if that is indeed what she has) is always precarious. When I have a migraine, if I’m lucky enough to wake up without it the following day (and usually that is my only hope), I will spend that day after feeling fragile. I might feel weak and nauseous and just on the precipice of another migraine. I understand that’s typical.
The Cheeks present a puzzle for everyone who’s ever encountered them. So how am I supposed to know what to do? I guess I’m not. And that, my friends, is the hardest part. What’s worse than having your kid beg you repeatedly to “Help me!” and all you can say is, “I’m sorry”? All you can do is get their favorite takeout and let them sleep in your bed and hope the misery passes.
So today I err on the side of caring. I often second guess myself in these scenarios. Should I take a hard line and go with my gut feeling that Maddie’s working this a little bit? Or should I let it go and let her be? I struggle with this question a lot with both my kids.
I suppose in the long run I might decide I should have taken a sterner approach. I guess when my kids are adults, I can think, “Gee, I really should have done this differently.” Or I might think, “Gosh darn it, I did an awesome job as a mom!”
But for now all I can do is listen to my gut. And my gut says, “Be kind.”
TOES
By late afternoon, Maddie was doing well, which was great because she had an appointment with the podiatrist to get her feet scanned and measured and otherwise inspected for the orthotics. She is handling this whole thing so well.
At the first appointment, the doctor discussed the type of orthotic he would provide. Because her feet slide so far inward when she walks, he planned to make them with a high “flange” – the arch support would have a very high wall, basically, to really keep her feet in place. I’d been thinking about the flange all week. That’s what her first orthotics looked like years ago, and they were really uncomfortable. It was hard to fit them into a shoe.
So when he initiated the discussion again this afternoon, I expressed concern about Maddie’s ability to adjust to that particular orthotic. I want them to work, of course, but they certainly wouldn’t be effective if she couldn’t wear them at all. I explained that her sensory issues presented a special challenge. Fortunately, the doctor immediately understood.
So he watched Maddie walk down the hall while wearing the temporary inserts he had given her last week. His face said everything: he was pleasantly surprised at how much they improved her walk. So, just as I did today, he is erring on the side of caring. (Although I don’t think he’s erring at all.) He will make orthotics that are more comfortable, without that ridiculous flange that I’m sure is amazing but would likely be the demise of this whole endeavor.
In the middle of this appointment, I had a chat with Maddie about her responsibility. “You’re old enough now,” I said, “to commit to making the effort to getting used to these. You understand how important the orthotics are for your well-being. They’ll help you do so many things that are hard now, like taking long walks and running.” She nodded in agreement.
When Maddie was a toddler, toilet training was an enormous challenged. I changed that kid’s diaper for four entire years, much much longer than I ever would have imagined. When she was around three, I gave it a really good try, but we weren’t having any success. And Maddie, in her infinite wisdom, basically told me to forget it.
So a couple of months before her fourth birthday, when I was a year and a half into changing the diapers of kid number two, we had a talk. “You’re almost four,” I said. “When you turn four, you’re going to start using the toilet.” She agreed. Not that her seeming willingness at that time would necessarily lead to her living up to her promise, but I thought it was worth a try.
About a week after her birthday, when the festivities were long behind us, I said, “Do you remember what we talked about now that you’re four?”
“Yes.”
And guess what? She came through.
Perhaps she will come through this time as well. I know it’s possible. I also know she doesn’t want her feet to hurt anymore, although I also know that I’ve been pretty flaky on past attempts at physical therapy myself (like post-ankle surgery), so I’m not exactly a shining example of taking care of myself. Still, I have a good feeling about this.
IN BETWEEN
In the end, it was a good day. We are moving forward. She expects to go to school tomorrow for the full day. This evening she hung out with me in the kitchen while we sang to the radio (actually–product plug!–Amazon Prime Music).
“Do you want to go hang out with Dad before bedtime?” I suggested.
“Nah. I’m enjoying hanging out up with you. I’m happy!”
Music to my ears.
The Year of Living Hopefully 