Today’s Topic: It can be a challenge when family members or friends do not understand why you or your child needs a feeding tube. However, many family members do a great job of supporting their loved one. Encourage your family to learn about tube feeding, lend their support, and share their story. It can be isolating and challenging to do this alone. Tell people about why their support matters.
When I read my post from last year, I decided I only wanted to change a word or two. So here’s an (almost) encore from 2018’s post about support.
Whether it be a kind word, a hug, an offer to help or a smile… having your support means so much to us. When Henry was little, it was actions – help by picking up groceries, make dinner, ensure Shawn and I were eating and sleeping so we could take care of Henry. Listen as I cried. There was nothing anyone else could “do” to help Henry. There was nothing anyone else could “say” to help Henry. But they could help ensure we were taking care of ourselves.
It was the seemingly little things that matters so much. I still remember the first playgroup we went to through the Infant Development Program – the lady there seemed like an angel. For the first time in months we felt like we weren’t alone. There were other families who could relate, there were people to help. Yes… there was still something “wrong” with Henry, but suddenly our bubble got a little bigger and we weren’t so alone.
I still remember going to the first parent meeting at preschool; so scared because we had to introduce our children. I was so scared to talk about Henry’s feeding tube. Scared what other parents would think. I was sweaty, clammy and could barely talk. And it was fine. People were fine. I just about cried.
Fast forward almost 9 years and other people’s support still matters so much. More than most people realize. It’s the understanding that this is hard. Nine years later and it’s still hard.
His tube still plugs… I still spray food all over the walls… I still go to Science World and forget his tubes so we have to get back on the Skytrain and go home… I still serve dinner and hope deep down that he’ll try some hummus tonight… that today will be the day he decides to start eating. I still cross my fingers behind my back and say a little prayer every time he gets weighed at the doctors, hoping he’s gained 1/2 pound.
And I’m still scared. Scared kids are going to laugh at him. Scared someone’s going to say “that’s gross”. Scared he’s going to be picked on. Scared well meaning (or not so well meaning) adults are going to be rude. And I want to bundle him up, go back inside our bubble, and keep him safe. Yes, I know this isn’t practical. Or realistic. Or even possible. Yes, I know I need to support him to stand on his own to feet and have faith in the world.
So…
– When my Mom comes into town and feeds both the boys dinner… it matters.
– When people serve ice cream with whipping cream on top, so Henry feels he can participate in the meal… it matters.
– when Henry “serves” people appetizers (when they want them or not!), and people recognize this is him participating in the meal… it matters.
– when a stranger at the next table is curiously kind, and stares but not rudely… it matters.
It all matters. The kind and the not-so-kind. It shapes who we are as people, all of us.
I love that we have so many people around us who care. I love that when we need help, there always seems to be someone available. I love that when I cry, my friends cry to, and then they make me laugh. I love that, even though our experience may be different than some, we are not alone.
Cheers, Shelley