Head Games

Today I am too tired to be funny. Or poignant. Or reflective.

Actually I'm too tired to be writing this, but I have to find some way to pass the time while I wait for coffee to brew. Not that coffee is really going to help matters. I'm more than just that kind of tired.

As I've alluded previously, in his first twelve weeks, my little baby Alex has been a bit of a fixer-upper. First, there was the search for an agreeable formula. Then the thrush. Then the reflux. And somewhere in there we started the Pavlik harness for his hip dysplasia. Then the thrush made an encore appearance. And now, one day after he finished with the Pavlik, I am putting off calling the pediatrician about our next little obstacle: craniosynostosis.

Sounds serious, doesn't it? Yes, well. Well, well, well. It could be worse. Seems that one of the sutures in Alex's skull has fused prematurely, and that (if left untreated) will cause his head to grow all wonky, which could not only lead to years of playground ridicule, but to seizures and other brain-related maladies. Generally the fix is a craniotomy, where the skull is broken, thereby releasing the suture. There is a less invasive endoscopic procedure available in certain cases, but we don't know yet if anyone here in Omaha offers the option. If not, we are prepared to travel (assuming that Alex's case qualifies), but that begs a whole list of other questions: If we travel, who will travel? Who will take care of Lucas? Could I bear staying behind? Could I bear making the trip? I have no answers.

Nor will I have answers until I start the ball rolling by making the first dreaded call. Then, there will be a visit to our pediatrician. There will be a referral. There will be meetings with the pediatric neurosurgeon, the plastic surgeon. There will be me looking at my beautiful boy and trying to imagine his skull broken. Even though I know better, there will be me trying to figure out what I could have done differently to prevent it. I will picture complications. I will dream he is healed.

When all is said and done, I know Alex won't remember any of this. Not my tears over seeing his little legs in the Pavlik harness for the first time, nor my panicked fingers tracing his ridged skull over and over as though to erode the seam. I keep reminding myself that kids are resilient, that I am the one with the real issues. Alex smiles up from the bouncy where he has been sleeping. Alex, master teacher, your mother has lessons to learn.