I have been inspired.
It's been in my head since we started our journey that others might be interested in it. Don't know why. In the grand scheme of things, we're really just three people on this earth living life the best way we know how. Maybe I chose now to share because I have wished and prayed for someone with whom I could connect, someone who really gets what it's like to parent the way we do. The way we HAVE to. Maybe it's because resources for families like mine are so darn difficult to find, so we have to reach out to each other.
Or, maybe it's because exactly one week ago today, in the lobby of an airport hotel in San Francisco, I met two women who have forever changed the course of my life with their friendship, empathy and humour. We share a unique experience.
Oh, and they blog, too.
Which, I hope, explains my inspiration. They are amazing and I will never forget how much I learned in the three short days that we spent together. Thank you, ladies.
I am a mom to a daughter whose brain has been forever altered by her birth mother's use of drugs and alcohol while pregnant. I am so sad. It's still so hard to say, even though I suspected it within the first few weeks of her living with us and the verbal diagnosis came almost eight months ago. But then, the written report was in our mailbox waiting for us upon our return from San Francisco. A diagnosis. In black and white. A firecracker hidden withan the confines of a plain manila envelope. Our daughter has full blown FAS. Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. The only cause for this disability is alcohol use by a woman during her pregnancy. It is entirely preventable. There is no safe amount of alcohol during pregnancy. There is no safe time to consume. The effects are lifelong. There is no cure. I am so sad.
In addition, the diagnostic team also identified her as having an intellectual impairment (developmental delays (DD)), which isn't always the case with kiddos diagnosed on the FASD spectrum. Another blow.
And, added to the assault on her brain in utero came consistent abuse and neglect from her primary caregivers during the critical early years of her life. 10 critical years. Ten. Ten. Ten. She rarely had the interactions needed to develop the potential of her already damaged brain. When she did, she was never able to learn that adults are safe. They hurt my baby. Badly. The impact is tremendous. Our daughter has RAD. Reactive Attachment Disorder. Another tough one to swallow.
Alphabet soup.
So, where does that leave us?
Today, now that we have the diagnoses all figured out, we're much better off than we were 2 1/2 years ago. That was when our beautiful, then 11 year-old daughter came in to our life. Completely misunderstood, we were in for a real surprise when, after only 3 weeks, the tell tale signs of FAS and attachment difficulties started to get unpacked along with all of her material belongings. Where was the behaviour coming from? Why had no one told us? Didn't anyone see it before? Undiagnosed prior to her move with us, we have spent the last two years running from appointment to appointment, burning the candle at both ends trying to get a proper diagnosis. Why label, one may ask? Well, as some one much smarter than I once said, without knowing what we're dealing with, how does one know how to create effective treatment? So, the label is out there, like it or not. But, at least we have a starting point. It may have taken 28 months but finally, the mask has been unveiled and so the journey to healing begins.
