The Miracles

Last Saturday was given to celebrate the lives of two very special people in my life. Two people who beat a billion odds. Two people who, when they made their first appearances in this world, really had every seemingly logical force of nature working against them. Two people who had a lot of love and prayers and stellar parents intensely devoted to make sure that they would live.

Thirty-three years ago, my mom gave birth to my brother Kent under less than desirable circumstances. He was a tiny thing when he came out two and a half months before his due date. So small, my dad says he looked like a spider with flaming red hair. His lungs were no where near being able to function and he had a heart murmur, so he was placed in an incubator under lights and hooked up to machines... and my parents were beyond frightened. This was their first baby boy, and their hearts were broken for him and themselves. All of this, thirty-three years ago, long before anyone had the medical knowledge of how to handle a baby in his condition. Somehow, though, he survived, and he came home, and everyone was overjoyed.

Unfortunately, things didn't work out so easily. His body repaired the heart murmur, however, there were other problems on the horizon. His development was off. He walked late, talked late, and just didn't have the cognitive ability other babies his age should have had. When he turned two, he was a red-headed w.i.l.d. man. Hyperactive, prone to biting, difficult to manage, epileptic. When he was able to speak, he said some crazy, totally inappropriate stuff. The doctors were at a loss. Thirty plus years ago, science hadn't given us the ability to diagnose and treat kids with disabilities. Our pediatrician, Dr. Castles, told my mom to try different diets, give him no sugar, all to no relief. It wasn't until he was about seven that my parents decided to send him to Duke for a 3-week evaluation. Physicians there informed my mom and dad that he had a genetic disability called Fragile X Syndrome. It was their recommendation that he be institutionalized for his whole life, and a prescription was written for him to live in a facility in Virginia, far away from us in South Carolina.

That didn't sit well with my parents who are both educators. They were determined to keep him with us and make sure he was educated along with my brother and I in the same schools as we were. So, they did. And, it came with an immense amount of challenges and heartache and frustrations. John Wesley and I had to defend him against ignorant bullies. We were constantly embarrassed by his behaviors in public. Despite all of this, he persevered...we all did...and he graduated along with our youngest brother from Chapin High School. Since that time, he's kept a job at Food Lion (13 years is a lot longer than a lot of people hold one down), and he's been a loyal trainer to the Chapin High School football team. And, he's taught us a lot about life, love, family, friends, and how to be true to who you are. He lives every day with a smile on his face and a manner that shows people how not to sweat the small stuff. He'll never drive, ride a bike, or live on his own, but he doesn't think of himself as different from anyone. He simply regards himself as another person on this earth.

 

Three years ago, when my sweet neighbors, Heather and Travis, had their baby, it was under similar circumstances. Morgan Kate was way early...earlier than Kent...at 5 and a half months gestation. Luckily for her, science had grown, and Heather was able to hold off on delivering her for a week so the doctors could give her shots to help MK's lungs. Still, 25 weeks and 5 days is so early. So early. And she was super teeny tiny, weighing in at 1pound, 12 ounces. And, like my parents, their hearts were broken for their new love and for themselves. It wasn't as they'd dreamed for their first baby. The doctors and MK's parents and the nurses worked incredibly hard to make sure that everything in her body was functioning. After 4 grueling months in the hospital, that precious baby had grown enough to come home, albeit on oxygen and feeding tubes and an apnea and oximeter monitor.

They started therapy of every kind after Morgan Kate was able to not be quarantined from other people. Therapy nearly every day, sometimes twice a day. Speech, occupational, physical. I'm not gonna lie. I was scared for them. I kept thinking about how difficult it was for my parents, and the outcomes for such preemies are not amazing with regards to cognitive development. But, they worked so hard. Morgan Kate worked so hard. Against all odds. Today, she's a wild 3-year-old, but not in the way that my brother was. She's wild because she's a regular, inquisitive, blossoming little girl without any problems. At all. She's fun-loving and talkative and silly and sweet and absolutely perfect.

  

It goes without saying that Saturday was a very important day to celebrate. By all intents and purposes, things should have turned out differently for both Kent and Morgan Kate. But, they didn't. They're miracles. And, I'm so incredibly fortunate to have each one of them in my life. They've both taught me that what we think of as impossible isn't.