The Jogger, Part 2

The Jogger, Part 2

by | Jan 28, 2014 | Different Dream, Self-Care and Stress, Special Needs Parenting

The Jogger, Part 2

Welcome to Part 2 of guest blogger Laura Maikata’s post about coming to grips with the very premature birth of her son at 23 weeks. In Part 1 she described how seeing a jogger pushing a baby stroller upset her equilibrium while her baby was in NICU. Today, she finishes the story with by giving us a glimpse of what the stroller revealed.

The Jogger, Part 2

…My second glance changed the meaning of the entire scene. This wasn’t the baby I’d expected to see. This baby wasn’t picture perfect. She was medically fragile. I could just barely make it out as I zipped past, but it was clear. She was breathing through a nasal cannula. She was dependent on oxygen from a tube inserted into her nose and held in place by clear plastic tape on her cheeks. I took another glance backwards and saw the black oxygen tank, a boxy canvas bag, stealthily stored under the seat.

My image of the mother’s perfect life changed. I didn’t begrudge her slick jacket and state-of-the-art stroller. She wasn’t some ideal that could have been. She was, instead, a piece of my reality. She understood me more than I’d guessed. She’d probably been where I was going, the same NICU on the same third floor where hopes and nightmares collided.

This baby she was pushing wasn’t an image of what could have been. This baby is what could be. I choked back a tear.

It was time to look forward, not backward. I would never know that baby’s story, but in that moment of a backward glance, she gave me hope. We could make accommodations. We could find ways to make this new reality work.

If my son’s kidneys started working again but his lungs still failed him, we could go for runs. Maybe by spring when things thawed again, he’d be home. Maybe I’d have him in the stroller with me, oxygen tank stored underneath, and we would go look at the flowers on the trees together. And if he couldn’t see, he could still run with me and we’d feel the breeze together. Maybe someone would pass us on their way to the NICU, and maybe we’d pass a bit of hope forward. Maybe…

The NICU was a five month marathon for us. We rejoiced at reaching the finish line and bringing our son home. My one year old and I are now training for another run. Not a marathon, not yet. A 10k will do. His kicking legs give an excited thump-thump as his ankle-foot orthotics hit the canvas of the jogging stroller. Through thick glasses he watches the leaves spread shadows on the road before us. These thumping legs endure hours of physical therapy a week to start working right. These legs and their little boy owner are my new inspiration. When I get tired, I remember his race, and I find strength for the next mile. I believe he will run, even with weak lungs and weak muscles. We are not alone, neither of us. But if the past is any indication, we are capable of more than we thought possible. We know, because we’ve seen others run this race before us.

Pass It Forward

Did the hope Laura passed forward today touch your heart? Leave a comment for her or tell about how someone passed hope forward to you during your special needs parenting journey.

The Jogger, Part 1

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Laura Maikata lives in Grand Rapids, Michigan. She is mom to three fantastically unique children, the youngest of whom was born far too soon. Within months of finishing a MA in Teaching English to Speakers of Other Languages (TESOL), Laura found herself as a student, instead of teacher, of a different kind of foreign language—the language of medical professionals. Her son’s unexpected beginnings have forever shaped her professional and personal aspirations. She writes and speaks about issues of prematurity, including the difficult decision to resuscitate a child on the cusp of viability. Her blog can be found at momofa23weeker.blogspot.com.

Author Jolene Philo

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The Jogger, Part 1

The Jogger, Part 1

by | Jan 27, 2014 | Different Dream, Encouragement, Spiritual Support

The Jogger, Part 1

First time guest blogger, Laura Maikata, is mom to three children. Her youngest was born at 23 weeks, and today she shares Part 1 of a 2-part series about how a glimpse of a jogger mom pushing a baby stroller helped her persevere after her son’s very premature birth.

The Jogger

I saw her just blocks before I passed her. A woman in a tight black running jacket, pushing a high-tech jogging stroller. My stomach lurched and my heart filled with joyous envy. The warmth of shared maternal memories was tainted by the bitterness of being unable to hold on to such a dream. I wanted to be her. Her back was to me, so I didn’t see her face, but I imagined she was full of joy.  How could it be any other way on a sunny day like this? Her baby was probably plump and perfect.

I sighed. This image reminded me starkly of all I’d lost. I didn’t have time to run now, with my evening NICU visits and a full time job and two children at home. Even if I did, the c-section scar still burned if I walked too long. By the time it healed, I was sure the crisp air and early sunsets would have set in, and it would be months before I ran outside again.

Her tight black jacket and bright running shoes reminded me of what should be, if things had gone the way I wanted them to go. For a moment I felt the pangs of should-have-beens. I should be walking with my other children, pausing every few minutes to look at the colors starting to turn in the trees, or to have them feel the baby, seven months along, kicking in my womb. My stomach – it felt so empty and flabby and flat. I touched it. I was back in my pre-pregnancy jeans. No one had ever felt him kick in my stomach. His leg movements were barely flutters the week he was born.

I shouldn’t be driving in to the NICU. I shouldn’t even have my third child yet. He was two months old and while we were grateful that he was still very much here, he was hooked up to wires, IVs and monitors, and he was in renal failure. He had just had his third surgery. I wasn’t sure he’d ever see the sun.

Regret and sadness poured over my heart. I was happy someone could be enjoying the day with their child, but my heart flip-flopped when I dared to imagine the same for myself.  Even if my son came home there was no guarantee that he’d be … well, we just didn’t know what to expect yet. I had stopped taking things for granted. He’d probably come home on oxygen or a trach. He’d probably not be so easy to go jogging with. I envied this mom and her baby. I envied that they didn’t know life could be any other way. I longed for my full term pregnancy.

By this point I was passing them. What was the point? I couldn’t put him back in my womb. I shouldn’t think about what could have been. I sighed. And then, well, I couldn’t help myself. I turned around and looked out the back window of my car, knowing it would hurt. But I had to, I wanted to, I would take a peek at the baby in the jogging stroller and the radiant mother. I wanted the full picture in my head, even if it only compounded my sorrow…

The Rest of the Story

Laura will be back tomorrow to describe what her peek at the baby in the stroller revealed. Until then, leave a comment on Laura’s story so far and visit her website to learn more about her family.

The Jogger, Part 2

Do you like what you see at DifferentDream.com? You can receive more great content by subscribing to the quarterly Different Dream newsletter and signing up for the daily RSS feed delivered to your email inbox. You can sign up for the first in the pop-up box and the second at the bottom of this page.

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Laura Maikata lives in Grand Rapids, Michigan. She is mom to three fantastically unique children, the youngest of whom was born far too soon. Within months of finishing a MA in Teaching English to Speakers of Other Languages (TESOL), Laura found herself as a student, instead of teacher, of a different kind of foreign language – the language of medical professionals. Her son’s unexpected beginnings have forever shaped her professional and personal aspirations. She writes and speaks about issues of prematurity, including the difficult decision to resuscitate a child on the cusp of viability. Her blog can be found at momofa23weeker.blogspot.com.

Author Jolene Philo

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Hiram Went for a Run Yesterday

Hiram Went for a Run Yesterday

by | Jan 16, 2012 | Family

Yesterday afternoon, Hiram went for a run.

The event hardly seems worth mentioning when compared to news of the cruise ship that capsized near Italy, the secretary general of the UN chastising the king of Syria, the race for the Republican presidential nomination, or outgoing governor Haley Barbour pardoning more than 200 convicted felons during his last hour in office.

But Hiram’s run is worth mentioning.

Because this is January in Iowa, a month written off by most joggers as too icy and cold for running outdoors. But this winter, the roads are still ice free and the temperatures much warmer than usual.

But excluding the weather, Hiram’s run is still worth mentioning.

Because it is a grace beyond what many men my husband’s age have been granted. We are surrounded by evidence of this reality. Hiram cares for patients who can’t walk because of serious heart issues. The memory of my wheelchair bound, fifty-five-year-old father in the nursing home never leaves us. We are praying for friends our age and younger who’ve recently had knee surgeries and hip replacements.

But Hiram’s run is worth mentioning for another reason.

In the past year and a half, four friends have lost their husbands. One to cancer. One to suicide. One to the effects of Agent Orange exposure in Viet Nam. One to a brain aneurysm. Two of them were younger than Hiram. Two were older, but not by much.

But Hiram was alive yesterday and went for a run.

His run is worthy of more than a mere mention. It is worthy of thanksgiving, even when my alive-and-well husband who went for a run yesterday forgets to take out the garbage. It is worthy of gratitude, especially when his sweaty running clothes in the bedroom hamper make the room stink. It is an event for which I am usually not grateful enough.

Except for today, when I thank God for my husband who went for a run yesterday.