MOMS Club® of Tega Cay

Five years ago, we worried this day would never come.

By: Jenn Kirby

Yesterday, I drove to Gold Hill Elementary School and dropped my son Ryan off for his first day of kindergarten. A lot of my Mom-friends were there too, dropping off their 5-year-olds. My neighbor was even brave enough to put her big boy on the bus. I think most of us had at least a tear or two in their eyes, but what I felt was mostly a tremendous amount of joy. (Although I must admit, the joy was mixed with a little wistfulness that it just went by so astonishingly FAST. You’ll see, you moms of one little six month old baby, before you know it that tiny baby will be wearing size 1 ½ shoes and shoving you out the door of some elementary school classroom. It used to really irritate me when other moms told me that, and now that I’m on the other end I can’t stop myself from doing it.)

Anyway, back to the joy. You see, Ryan gave us what I like to call a little “scare” right after he was born. He was born on a Tuesday afternoon, after a labor experience I don’t discuss with first time pregnant ladies. On Wednesday evening a doctor from the nursery came to tell me that she’d noticed him having a seizure. He was moving his right hand in sort of a rhythmic fashion (like he was rockin’ out to the beat, if you can picture that.) The doctor wasn’t sure why, but she listed about five or six really scary things that could be wrong with him. Basically the seizure indicated some abnormal brain activity, possibly there was bleeding. My husband and I had no idea what to do, other than hit our knees and beg for God to make our baby all right. (I don’t mean to offend anybody… please picture yourself begging Buddha, Allah, the Universe, whomever you talk to when the situation is really bad.) I had just met Ryan the day before, but I already knew that I would fight a grizzly bear for this gorgeous little boy with my husband’s blue eyes and fuzzy blond head. We were very, very worried that he was a really sick kid. My mind went to all kinds of awful places.

So the next day they did an MRI, and found that Ryan had had a small stroke and there was a tiny area of bleeding in his brain, which was causing the seizures. (Ever hear of an infant having a stroke? I hadn’t either. It’s rare, only happens once in 4000 births.) The neonatologist explained in very clinical terms that the stroke had affected 1-2% of Ryan’s brain, and that he had lost probably in the neighborhood of a billion or so neurons. The doctor had no idea what might have caused the stroke, most likely just a malformed blood vessel in his brain that may have burst during the difficult delivery. (Pregnant? Hope you didn’t read that.)

But here was the good news: when you’re little, your brain is capable of “rewiring” around damaged areas like that. The newborn brain has way more neurons than it really needs anyway, apparently. So Ryan would be on some medicine to control the seizures, and after the blood in his brain dissipated, he should have no more seizures. They would check him again at six months. What questions did we have?
My husband and I looked at each other worriedly. I gulped and asked, afraid of the answer, “Will he live a normal life? Will he walk and talk and go to school and all that?”

“Oh, my, yes! I would expect him to be fine,” the doctor exclaimed. “He may have some minor issues, maybe ADD or a language delay or sensory processing problems, but he should live a very normal life.”
We breathed a huge sigh of relief. A few days later, the seizures were under control and we were all able to go home. Thankfully, we have never seen him have another seizure.

Fast forward five years. Yesterday I dropped off at school a very tall, handsome, smart five-year-old who reads on about a second grade level, can write his name, is amazingly good at figuring out mechanical stuff, and has an incredibly active imagination and tons of friends. He has a few quirks (ADD? Language delay? Sensory processing problems? Check to all three.) But overall, we were incredibly lucky and thank God every day that his outcome has been good.

Better wrap this up… my kid is about to get off the bus. You have no idea how great it feels, and how lucky I know I am, to be able to say that.