It wasn’t huge on the scale of things, but it’s been niggling in the pit of my stomach for a week now.

After being told back in February that Frog’s walking delay was NOT due to hip dysplasia, we had a letter telling us otherwise. After the countless appointments we’ve been to and the blood tests and the physio sessions, this was a setback. And a confusing one at that.

The letter was written by a pediatrician we have yet to see, after he thought that we had failed to turn up to an appointment (we hadn’t, but that’s another story). It was a very pleasant letter, forwarded by our GP, but the sentence at the top of the letter had me in tears.

Problem: Mild hip dysplasia, joint hyper-laxity, mild developmental delay

Lack of sleep combined with confusion just opened the flood gates. And then the tears turned to anger. I went through all the possibilities in my mind, constantly coming back to the one that I most feared. There’s been a mistake. I misunderstood. My two year old does, actually, have a dislocated hip.

The thing is, we have never actually been sat down and told what she is constantly being referred for. The GP originally referred her for suspected hip dysplasia. Given that she was 19 months at the time and still not walking, it seemed like the most obvious answer.

But she was x-rayed and examined and – although a bit clicky – the hip was given the all clear.

So then she was referred to a physio for the flexibility (or hyper-laxity, hypermobility, bendiness – whatever you want to call it). But the specialist nurse requested to see us again, to check progress. By this time (I lose track amongst all the appointments) Frog was actually up on her feet. She’d just turned two and was a wonky walker, but a walker all the same.

But she was sleeping lots. Some nights, there would be up to 17 hours of deep sleep. This concerned the nurse and she ordered blood tests.

Blood tests came back negative of anything scary and again we heaved a sigh of relief. But still the nurse was concerned. And because she’s thorough and wanted to erase all questions, we were referred to a pediatrician.

Or so we thought.

It was then that we received this letter out of the blue. And I started to wonder if the initial x-ray had been re-examined and a problem had been found. I asked my buddies Jane and Emma if they knew what “mild” hip dysplasia meant. I vented steam by writing cryptic, angry posts on Facebook.

I made lots of phone calls, was put through to various different people and was kept on the line waiting a fair few times.

And then, after a week, I got the call I’d been waiting for.

“She doesn’t have hip dysplasia. It was a mistake. You shouldn’t have had that letter. We got our wires crossed. Really sorry.”

I’m too relieved to be cross at the admin error – or whatever it was.

My bendy girl has jumped through yet another hoop. Which is quite fitting really, considering she’s recently learned how to jump and actually take off from the ground, even if it is only a millimetre.

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Honesty and the ability to give it to someone straight. Talking around a subject, fluffing it up with watery phrases like, “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about,” or “Everything’s fine… really”, do not help. Not when everything might not be fine.

As a parent, if there’s even the tiniest thing wrong with your child you want to know about it straight away. You want to know the exact cause of whatever the problem is – whether it’s a rash or a limp, a temperature or a delay in walking.

Whatever the problem, you want to sit in a room with a trusted professional “magician” who can soothe all your fears away with clear, no nonsense facts. You want it to be like exam results day, one quick pull of the plaster and Ta-Da! the bottom line is THIS.

Or maybe that’s just me.

What you don’t want is to be told that, “Everything is fine, but you still need to come back in a couple of months, because everything might not be fine after all.”

What you don’t want is to receive a letter, detailing some facts in black and white, with the assumption that you knew this information, that it’s been told to you verbally in one of your many appointments, only to find that it hasn’t.

What you don’t want is to be fobbed off with sentences that don’t actually mean anything, with the assumption that you wouldn’t understand the technical jargon anyway, because you’re just the child’s mother. And everyone knows mothers are paranoid.

Enough.

Just give it to me straight.

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My wonky toddling almost-2 year old scrambled down from the sofa to walk three steps to the table. In her hands she carried a pot with cubes of cheese. So intent on this cheese was she, that she failed to pay proper attention to her steps.

This is particularly important when you’re a child of the hypermobile variety and steps are still an issue.

Everything slowed down, as she tripped and her head came crashing down, down, down…. to land smack on the corner of the table.

Cue huge screams and desperate hitting of the forehead, as if she’d been stung by a large bee.

No bee, but an ever-increasing swelling the size of a large egg. Angry and red, turning purple.

On calling the (self-proclaimed) Northern Love Machine and announcing, “We need to go to A and E. Now,” I was met with exactly what one doesn’t do in a crisis. Especially not when a screaming child is involved.

NLM: What’s up?

Me: She’s hit her head, we need to go to hospital.

NLM: Is she OK?

(On seeing her) NLM: *wails* *cries* *sobs actual tears* Oh NO! NOOOOOO! NOOOOOOOOOOO! What should we do? I don’t know what to do? Oh God. GOD! Is she going to die? Is that her brains? What should we do? I don’t know what to do! NOOOOOO! *sob*

Fifteen minutes later, safely esconced behind the wheel of the car, the NLM was laughing. “I’m not very good in a crisis am I?”

I didn’t like to say anything.

(The egg swelling, 3 hours later and home from hospital.)

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Tomorrow.

Tomorrow I should find out what is wrong with my little girl, if anything. Tomorrow I should find out if my non-toddling toddler is just a late walker or if there is, indeed, a more sinister reason for her lack of mobility.

Tomorrow we shall navigate our way to a room in a large hospital in the centre of a busy town, to sit with a consultant who will examine my beautiful baby.

He will tell me if there is a problem with her hips. A problem which will require an operation. A problem which will require a cast. For months. A problem which could – worse case scenario – see me have to give up my job to look after my special daughter.

Or he could tell us there is no reason for her wonky stature and lopsided gait. He could tell us she just isn’t ready to get up on her two feet by herself yet. He could tell us that, at nearly 2 years old, my little Frog is just a bit behind.

He could refer us to someone else, an expert in another area, to look at another reason for the fact she’s been up on her feet for 6 months now, struggling desperately to make it on her own, without holding her mum’s hand.

Or there may be no conclusion. I don’t know which is worse. The answer I dread or not knowing at all.

Desperate to walk alone.

The post Tomorrow appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

Frog turned 20 months old yesterday.

She’s still not walking.

Unfortunately for my child, she’s been blessed with rather wonky feet and very long lanky legs. Just like her dad.

Also, unfortunately for my child, every pavement in Britain isn’t littered with a permanent handrail on which to balance while trying to negotiate life on two feet.

Each trip out of the house is fraught with anger and frustration. As other small people wander around, wreaking havoc on the world, my non-toddling toddler can only look on in dismay.

We’ve gone past the “Who gives a monkeys?” stage now. Instead, Frog is jealous and upset. She wants to join in but doesn’t know how. She has the language to demand other children take notice, but is left sitting in the corner, alone, as they skip off to play.

And as a mum, I now feel very much alone too.

The knowing smiles and reassurances of, “She’ll do it when she’s ready” have disappeared.

At baby swimming, I try to prop my daughter up to help her jump from the side, rather than simply flopping off the edge. All the other mums stand a metre or so back, waiting for their children to splash into their arms. Frog sees me trying to help and bats me away. Again, the tears and frustration.

At the baby sing-along class, the other toddlers march, hop and skip about the room to the beat of the music. My child is the only one still clutching her mother’s hand. Occasional attempts at letting go result in a wobble and fall to the ground. She’s left confused as the other children dance around her.

Now that we know there may be a problem, I’ve stopped mentioning the non-toddling status of my toddler to other mums. I’m sick of explaining away the raised eyebrows when the question of her age comes up. Instead, I let them make up their own minds. Is her speech just highly developed for an 11 month old? Or is there something wrong with her?

I leave the question hanging in the air between us.

Frog has one month to go until she passes the family record set by her dad for non-walking. As a bum-shuffler, I’m told the (self-proclaimed) Northern Love Machine didn’t even stand until he was 21 months. But Frog is a crawler. She’s been standing and trying to walk for months now. Trying but failing.

And then I see the hospital date deadline looming in the future. 4th April.

Will the wonky feet have corrected themselves by then? Is there a hip problem? Will it all magically disappear one day as Frog gets up and puts one foot in front of the other, by herself? Or are we facing yet more months of frustration and tears?

If I could walk a day in my daughter’s shoes, I would.

I would stand for her and leap about and chase the other children she’s so intent on playing with. I would reach for things that can’t be reached on all fours. I would open cupboards and climb on tables and run through parks.

I would let go of my mother’s hands and embrace freedom.

***

Nominations are now open for the Brilliance in Blogging Awards. If you would like to nominate me, you will need my name (Mother’s Always Right) and my URL (http://mothersalwaysright.wordpress.com). There are 11 categories. I like the look of Lit but I wouldn’t shun a nomination in any category. Even the one for Daddy Bloggers. Although I rather think the actual dads may have something to say about that…

The post 20 months and still not walking appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

Frog has always had wonky feet.

The day she was born she came out all big feet and long skinny legs. She had Correctional Talipeze, meaning there wasn’t enough room for her long old feet in my womb, so they came out a bit like flippers.

Fast forward to today and at nearly 19 months Frog still isn’t walking.

I’ve attempted the Mother Earth approach. In fact, I’ve taken it too far.

So eager to take the “She’ll do it when she’s ready” path, I’ve deliberately shut my eyes to the fact Frog has very wonky feet and walks in a decidedly odd manner. A bit like a duck. When she’s walking that is – which is very rarely and, even then, with a walker. She has yet to stand on her own.

Today I realised I couldn’t put it off any longer. So I took a trip to see the health visitor.

I shrugged off that nagging doubt in the back of my mind and calmly told the lady I was sure it was nothing, but her feet were a bit funny. And by the way, when she was born someone mentioned something about clicky hips. But, you know, I was sure it was nothing.

The woman asked me to strip Frog from the waist down and walk her across the crowded waiting room. And, as my perfect baby waddled her wonky way through the packed room, it dawned on me that there could be a problem.

“I’d like you to take her to see the GP as soon as you can”, said the health visitor. “I think there may be an issue with her hips and feet. I think she may need to be referred to a specialist”.

Oh.

Of course I knew this. Deep down I wasn’t surprised. Every time someone told me “They’re all different”, I could hear a little voice at the back of my head. But I thought it was Paranoid New Mum. I thought it was the competitive one that needed to be ignored. Turns out I should have paid her more heed.

So we saw a GP this evening. And we’ve been referred. But Paranoid New Mum has been shelved for a little while longer as Earth Mother holds onto the doctor’s parting words: “Don’t worry, I’m sure it’s nothing. I’m sure she’s fine.”

Mother Earth loves that doctor.

The post The day my daughter was referred to the hospital appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

I’ve got the lurgy.

Nothing too traumatic, I’ll survive. But it’s days like today when I wish I could get a sick note and have the day off.

Lesson #43: there are no sick days when you have a baby.

It makes me realise what a tough nut my mum is. The only time I ever remember her being poorly was when she came off her bike and fractured her pelvis. I can clearly see her lying on the floor in the living room, with just her feet poking out from behind the sofa.

Apparently it was the only place she could get comfortable as she couldn’t make it up the stairs. But I have my suspicions she was trying to find a hiding place from my sister and I. I’m not sure our constant cartwheels and requests of “Can I bandage your leg, mum?” were particularly helpful.

Anyway, I’m off to recline on the sofa and put a cold compress to my brow.  I have a feeling, though, that as soon as I get comfortable, Frog will wake up and demand something or other. Oh well, at least she can’t do cartwheels yet.

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