Sunday, August 21, 2016

An open letter to Ruth B.


Ruth B,



                You are probably wondering why a 33 year old mother from Cleveland, Ohio is writing you a letter. Unknowingly, you have made such a huge and positive impact on my son’s life.  Let me explain…

                In December 2012, Jude was born. It was one of the happiest moments of my life. The love and happiness I felt for my son was overwhelming (and it still is). Days within bringing him home, I knew something was wrong. Eating was impossible and he lost so much weight he was drowning in newborn clothes. Many doctors’ visits and respiratory infections later, including an ambulance ride and hospitalization due to aspiration pneumonia, Jude was diagnosed with a rare genetic disorder called 15q24 microdeletion syndrome.  My world stopped.  The next year and half, Jude underwent 10 surgeries including a nissen fundoplication and a g-tube placement and more ER and doctor visits than I can count.  In addition, he started occupational, physical, speech, aquatic, and feeding therapy. Needless to say, my life was based on therapy, doctor appointments, his medication regiment, and g-tube feedings.  Despite the madness of this unknown world, Jude walked 2 years earlier than predicted, spoke 20 words, and smiled ALL. THE. TIME.

                In December 2014, Jude stopped talking. He stopped looking at me. He lost simple skills he worked so hard to learn. Right away, I called the neurologist because I knew that Autism had moved into my sweet boy’s mind. Ever since his diagnosis, he has made some very small improvements, but most of the time it is inconsistent. He still has not said a word, and boy do I miss that little voice. He still does not make eye contact with most people. He still does not respond to his name. Specialist and therapist have assessed him at 6-12 months cognitively, socially, emotionally, even though he is three and half years old.  There are very few things that interest him, one of those select few being Elmo and dogs.  Recently, that has changed…

                That’s where you come in. The first time I heard “Lost Boy” I was able to relate.  Jude is my Peter Pan and I love when I head into his world that seems parallel to the Neverland you sing about.  Jude will not grow up in the same manner other children will so he is very much a “Peter Pan.”

One night I was cooking dinner and listening to Pandora. As soon as “Lost Boy” started playing, Jude stopped and stared at you singing on the TV.  I stopped and watched him, completely amazed. Ever since that night, he stops every time he hears that song. If he is having a sensory overload where he rubs his head and cries, I sing “Lost Boy” and he stops, looks directly into my eyes, and smiles. If we are in the car and the song comes on the radio, I watch him from the rearview mirror smiling while you sing about Captain Hook. Last weekend, when he was in the emergency room for a g-tube placement, we sang and watched you sing “Lost Boy” so that he would not cry or be frightened.  Due to this new found love for your song, he uses headphones with your song playing to complete fine motor tasks. Previously, he cried and threw objects.  Now he works slowly and peacefully.  I am not sure if it’s the angelic sound of your voice, the tranquil melody of the piano keys, or the meaning of the song that relates so closely to our life…

                All I know is that your song, “Lost Boy,” has created peace inside my son’s mind, opened the door for him to complete simple tasks, and allows me to share that moment with him, as he looks right into my eyes. All I can say is, thank you.  Thank you for singing that beautiful song. Thank you for bringing so much to my little man’s life!



Love,

Anne and Jude (aka. Peter Pan)

Wednesday, August 3, 2016

Beating the Odds



Beating the odds. A phrase we say about a person or people who overcome insurmountable obstacles.  A woman with skin cancer goes into remission, a solider who lost his leg in war starts walking again, and even Cleveland winning a Championship are examples of beating the odds. Beating the odds brings hope, strength, and inspiration to all of our lives.
Jude has spent most of his life climbing mountains, only to get to the other side and realize there are five more in front of him.  He spent most of his first year and half of life at the Cleveland Clinic for doctor's appointments, testing, and healing from surgeries. Then, after all his hard work attending five therapies to learn how to walk, talk, and play, Autism slipped in. He went from being a few months behind, to developmentally 6-12 months at three years old. Throughout his first few months of preschool, he missed weeks of school due to anaphylactic shock and hospitalizations due to illness.  By summer, he had made little to no progress for his social, emotional and cognitive development.  
Yet, despite these overwhelming facts, he remains happy and so loving. When many of us crumble over an insanely busy week, he enjoys the adventure. When many of us are miserable because we have the flu, he is happy watching Elmo videos from his hospital bed.  I could write a million examples (and have written a million) of how Jude exudes strength and happiness in some of the most difficult situations. It is easy to smile when everything lays out as we had planned. It is true strength to smile, laugh, and go on about your daily life when those plans are no longer a possibility. He may not have overcome Autism or his developmental delays, but he has developed strength, smiles at the mountains in front him, and keeps climbing. And that is why Jude is beating the odds.