Casting Sucks. Plain and Simple.

Avery is still on a cast break due to the flu until this coming Tuesday, April 10th, three days before his second birthday. This is his last weekend of freedom for the next two months. It’s been a little over a month now since he had the last cast removed, which makes me feel that cast #4 is going to be an absolute nightmare. 

I’m worried. I’m worried that he won’t adjust well, and that this long break may have set us back a bit on his progress. I’m also worried because during the last couple of weeks he has been saying “ouch” and grabbing at his back. He has been leaning on everything when he stands, walking on his tip-toes, leaning to one side when he sits, and he’s been a lot fussier than he was when the cast first came off. His doctor says he could be experiencing mild pain from being unsupported. I just hope this pain isn’t something that will last long after casting is done. 

People keep asking about the next cast, and I cringe every time they do. I cringe just hearing the word, because I don’t want to think about it... But I do think about it. It’s there in the back of my mind at all times, because it’s a part of our life. Casting, bracing, x-rays, follow-ups are all a part of our life and will be for quite some time. We accept it, but just because we accept it doesn’t mean that we are ok with it. 

I cringe because for the past few weeks I have been able to watch my child live like any other child his age, and soon it will be taken away from him again. I have watched him run, climb, and play without any restrictions. He was able to have fun chasing his cousins around on Easter. I have watched him swim and splash in the tub, laughing hysterically because he hasn’t had the opportunity to experience bath time like this in almost a year. I never noticed just how much the cast actually does slow him down, until this extended break. He has been a wild child, the absolute definition of a toddler boy, and I am for sure going to miss that. 

Casting sucks. We know, especially after the last couple of weeks of watching him in pain, that it is needed...but it just plain sucks. Every single part of it...and I am over it. 

Before I sign off for the night, I would like to share a post that was written by another member in the scoliosis support group. She sums up perfectly how it feels for parents like us, and others whose children have chronic illnesses, and what goes through our minds almost daily. As always, thank you for following along on Avery’s journey. Much love to you all who have shown such an amazing amount of support to our little man. Goodnight. 

“Elisabeth Kubler Ross became well known for defining 5 stages of grief in the loss of a loved one. They are: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance. The grief that parents feel who have a child with chronic health issues is different although they may feel some or all of these stages. It is better defined as "ambiguous loss." This is a concept described by Pauline Boss as "a loss that occurs without closure or understanding. This kind of loss leaves a person searching for answers, and thus complicates and delays the process of grieving, and often results in unresolved grief." When a child has EOS a parent has grief and ambiguous loss. It's not often talked about. But they are asking themselves constantly...Did I somehow cause this? Is this going to get better? Is this cast helping? How many casts will we need? What about all the anesthesia? Will my child need surgery? Did I choose the right doctor? How did I not see this earlier? Should we brace soon? Will my child be braced and be made fun of by peers when they are older?...the list goes on and on. There are different things to grieve along the way and you are never quite sure what's going to happen next. You really don't know, at many stages, what your child's loss will look like in the end. It's unpredictable and lacks clarity. You just hang on. It's very hard. It's ambiguous and harder for most to deal with than a clear cut loss because there is not a clear ending, at least not sometimes for years.” — Karen Doyle Buckwalter