Let the countdown begin

Easter Hat Parade Fun!

Harry liked the Parade. And his lollipop.

Loving it!

Happy 5th Birthday Will!

Although I have to drag myself out of a chocolate-induced coma to update my blog, we Bailey's had a egg-cellent Easter.

And talk about busy! Over the Easter 'break'. we:

• attended Katelyn's pre-op 'Family Meeting' at the Hospital (more on that later)
• sighed with relief that Will's first parent-teacher interview at Preschool went well
• oohed and aahed over the very clever Easter hats on show at the School Hat Parade
• celebrated Will's fifth birthday on Good Friday with a scrumptious breakie at Nan and Pa's and the family, a 4WD trip to the beach with Muz, Amanda and the kids and dinner at Kerri and Justin's that night (gosh, I love our family)
• mopped up vomit and diarrhoea (Katelyn)
• hosted one of our famous Pizza Parties with some of our neighbours
• installed brand new shelves in our bedroom and made-over the laundry with some built-in shelves and cupboards (never thought I'd be so joyous about joinery)
• mopped up more vomit and diarrhoea (Harrison)
• washed two cars and a very hairy dog (I think the Nissan went into shock)
• drunk w-a-y too much wine
• watched Will learn to ride his first training-wheel-free 'big boy' bike in one afternoon (he doesn't get that from me)
• forgot to do the groceries (and in fact, should be doing them now)

Kate's appointment went really well on the Thursday before Easter. It was basically a round-table discussion with the two surgeons, the paediatric registrar, the head clinical nurse, the physiotherapist and the occupational therapist.

We continue to be in awe of our beautiful little girl. She just lay quietly on the table as the doctors conducted their examination. And by 'examination', I mean they dislocated, and relocated, her hip, again and again. She didn't even cry; she merely winced and turned her head to look at me as I stroked her hair. It's fair to say she won the heart of everyone in the room. Such a brave little princess.

It was great to meet the other members of the team who will be helping us to care for Katelyn. They're all absolutely lovely and we have every confidence in their ability to everything they can to correct Katelyn's hip.

We're booked in at the Hospital for the morning of Monday 28 May 2012. Doctors Ho and Tewari will do the operation, which will be administered under anaesthetic. We won't know how long the operation will go for until it's over, although we're banking on about four hours. This is because the doctors won't know for sure what they'll need to do until Katelyn is on the operating table. It is likely that the procedure will include:

• an adductor tenotomy (a small cut will be made to a tendon near her groin to allow it to stretch enough for the doctor to do a reduction)
• an arthrogram (an X-ray with dye injected into the hip to learn more about its structure)
• an open reduction of her left hip (the doctors will surgically open the hip socket and put the femoral head – or the top of the thigh - back into the hip socket)
• a Salter osteotomy (the doctors will cut Katelyn's pelvic bone and will rotate the entire hip entire socket into a better position on top of her thigh-bone after they do the relocation)

We learned that when she wakes from the operation, Katelyn will be very cranky and upset, and will be in the full plaster cast from belly button to both feet. A lot of that crossness will have to do with the effects of the anaesthesia, and she will have an epidural to manage her pain for about three days. 

The whole team seems incredibly supportive; they will teach us how to change her nappies, bathe, lift and shift her position and will modify our pram and stroller while we're in the Hospital. Although she's a very petite little girl for her age, Katelyn will be really heavy when she's in the spica – she'll be pushing 20kg – so it's a good thing Grant and I have been doing so much weight-training!. The Hospital will also loan us a special spica chair so Katelyn can sit up to eat and play with us at home. Just not having to worry about the logistical stuff like the car seat and the stroller is a huge weight off my mind.

We also got the chance to meet another lovely family who have travelling the the DDH road for a number of years. The down-side of that is, though, that as we swapped stories and shared tips and tears, we also found out that it's very likely Katelyn has always been in pain from her condition. The Mum let slip that after her (now seven year old) daughter had her first operation to fix her hip, she became a much happier little girl because she wasn't in pain any more. It was one of of those heart-plummeting, breath-taking, sick-feeling 'oh, f*&k' moments. I think if the nurse who was there at the time could have pressed a mute button so we didn't hear that, she would have. Having said that, even though we were initially reassured that Katelyn wouldn't currently feel pain from her condition, its spectre has been lurking in the deepest, darkest places of our minds since her diagnosis. And at least now we know we're making the right decision.

I think we're all starting to feel more prepared, physically, mentally and emotionally, for the start of our own DDH journey. Let the countdown begin.

When all else fails, bake some brownies…

Two beautiful, busy babies. Kate and cousin, Evie.

Bit of a wardrobe malfunction, but still cute!

Watching the bubbles

Rah!!!!!!!!!!

Hmm. They're interesting.

I’ve always thought that chocolate chunk brownies – especially when they’re still warm from the oven – are quite miraculous. And it’s not just because of the astounding number of calories which can be crammed into one tiny tidbit of brownie bliss. I also now appreciate how wonderfully distracting it can be just to shut the brain off and switch the taste-buds on to making something devilishly yummy for a half-hour.

And so it came to be that while the rest of my family snoozed away a summery Saturday, I found myself baking another batch of brownies in a desperate attempt to get my brain to switch off.

Since Katelyn’s surgery date has been set for Monday 28 May, I have lurched from feelings of calm to calamity. It’s great that we now have a date for her operation – in a strange way, knowing that that’s it – and that despite my best efforts there’s nothing more I can do get it shifted forward – is kind of good. Yeah, sure, life, as we know it is on hold for another two or so months, but at least there’s now an end to the wait in sight. We know it’s going to be 28 May and can plan – what we can – around it. Even though we're 'private' patients, the procedure is classified as major surgery and is not performed outside the public hospital system.

So, smooth sailing 'til then. And then the waves of worry wash over and try to tug me down. They usually crash over and dunk me when I'm least expecting it – quite literally 'out of the blue'.

"Will we still be able to fit Katelyn in the (already crammed) back seat of our car? Will we need to get a new car-seat? What about our pram? Will we need to get a new one of those? If she can't have a bath, how will we keep her clean? Turning her over day and night every couple of hours do she doesn't develop sores.... I’m already a scary ogre on not enough sleep – am I going to turn into Fiona from Shrek? How the hell are we going to change her nappy? She won’t be able to wear regular clothes because the plaster cast will be so wide from her tummy down both legs – and then there'll be that weird metal bar between her knees in the cast. How will we get clothes around that!?!?  Will I still be able to spend quality time with the boys? What are they going to miss out on? How will they cope with having to hang out at the hospital? They're so young themselves – how will they understand that she can't wrestle with them any more? Is all of this because of something I did? Or because of something I didn't do? I find myself looking at other little girls her age who are tearing around the place and find myself feeling resentful. And then I feel bad about that too. I must be an awful person to think things like that. And OMG – the operation. Will she be scared? How will she feel when she wakes up? Will she be sad? Will she be hurting? What will we be able to do to help her? 

And what if she doesn't stop crying!?!?!

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

Stop!. 

Take a deep breath...

..and smell those brownies.

We have been told to expect answers to all of these questions (plus probably heaps we haven't even thought about, yet) at a 'family meeting' at the Hospital on 5 April. Grant and I will attend this special appointment to go over the operation in more detail and learn how we'll need to take care of Katelyn once she's home from her one-week Hospital stay. We'll get to talk to her two surgeons (we have now met both Dr.s Ho and Tewari, and they're lovely) and the paediatric physiotherapist, orthopaedic specialist and a social worker whose role it will be to arrange support (including in-home care) for our family.

But, until then, I'm doing what I can to remain calm, strong and in control. Keeping afloat, rather than being sucked under.

And, on the up-side, I guess if you have a hankering for Brownies, at least you now know where you can get some. You may just have to get past Will for a piece, though! Like his Mummy, he's rather passionate about chocolate. ;-)

It's time to get personal...

Baby Kate, Christmas 2011.

Hey, and welcome. I'm really glad you've taken the time to come and check out my blog :-)

I've been thinking about getting a blog started for a while. They've always rather appealed to me as they are, in a way, a kind of digital scrap-book...and, I'll admit it, I'm a quite the scrap-geek. I have mountains of scrapbooks crammed in our bookshelves at home; and I'm pretty sure the pile of scrapbooks for each child is taller than each kid! I love taking photos and enjoy making things look pretty (Kindy-glitz, anyone?), so scrap-booking is perfect – I can preserve all our family's memories while indulging my craft cravings!

However, while I can paper-punch and emboss in my sleep, when it comes to the blog-front, it's taken a while for me to press the 'Publish' button.

You see the thing, is, I'm actually a professional communicator. I have, for the most part of my working life, been paid to write.

Our baby man, Harrison, January 2012.

Craft a carefully worded report which says a lot but gives nothing away? Yup, I can do that.

Translate trisyllabic engineering speak to make electricity poles and wires sound like sex on (concrete) legs? Easy done.

Write a ten-minute speech for the GM on a topic you know nothing about? From a half-sentence brief? Oh, and he's going to present it at a big do tomorrow full of very important people? No problemo. This happened not all that long ago. On my first day back from maternity leave. Welcome back! 

But, in writing a blog, it's time to get personal. When you write a blog, you have to write about yourself and feelings and stuff. Yikes!

Our big boy, Will, February 2012.

Until about two weeks ago, I really had little to worry about. Apart from juggling a crazy-busy schedule as a working Mum and nursing some sadistically-satisfying sore muscles from the gym, things were all good. A wonderful husband, three children I adore, a supportive extended family and a well-paid job where I get to do what I'm good at with talented colleagues who make me smile and let me still do the preschool drop-off.

Until a no-big-deal visit a fortnight ago to the paediatric physiotherapist at the John Hunter Hospital in Newcastle, NSW. And so the story begins. But first, some background.

Wheeee!!! Slippery-dip fun in January 2012.

Grant and I have three children who are – well...we think - delightfully energetic, bright and affectionate. 

William, who is almost five, is a palaeontologist-in-training who is intuitive, empathetic and has an incredible memory. 

Harrison is almost three and he's our charming, cheeky one. We always joke that the girls will be beating down our door in about 10 years' time! He's got some wicked dance-floor moves and is now the proud owner of some really cool Scooby Doo big-boy pants. 

Kate. Wearing a bucket on her head. Of course.

Katelyn is the baby of our family at almost eighteen-months of age. Our “Kitty Kat” is a sweet, fine-boned little girl who said her first word at eight months (hello), loves singing and likes wearing her Daddy's underpants (thankfully, only the clean ones) on her head. And, we know now, that she also has a dislocated left hip, and it has probably been that way since she was born.

Despite being the youngest of three children who are all close in age, Katelyn, though incredibly strong and flexible, has always been a bit behind when it comes to mobility. She only really started crawling properly once she was 13 months old and, at 17 months, she still isn't walking. She does all the normal stuff, like cruising around the furniture and standing up, but when she pushes her baby doll in her pram, we noticed that she would drag her left leg behind her. We weren't worried, just concerned, but, just to be on the safe side, we booked her in to see a paediatric physiotherapist at Newcastle's John Hunter Hospital in mid-February.

Grant and I. 

I was expecting just to be told that I was overreacting and to be sent home with some exercises. Instead, the physiotherapist took one look at Katelyn, called in an orthopaedic specialist and quietly worked through a series of questions about Kate's hips. Where was she born? Did she have any issues with her hips at birth? Had we had Kate's hips checked since since was born? Of COURSE we've had her checked! I am OBSESSIVE about getting the kids' health checks done....at the very least because I like recording their stats as they grow in their scrapbooks. 

The specialists murmured some reassuring words, patted my arm and bundled us off for x-ray.  

I cuddled Katelyn close to me, took a deep, shaky breath and telephoned Grant in tears.

Later that morning, I stood behind the protective screen while Grant held Katelyn still for her x-ray. Watching the radiographer capture the image, I didn't need to be an expert to see that something was wrong. Her hip is dislocated, the orthopaedic specialist said, and you'll need to meet the Hospital's Surgeon tomorrow. We went home, shell-shocked and hardly slept a wink.

We met Dr. Eric Ho, the Surgeon, the next day. A very smart man, who's managed over 40,000 patients, Dr. Ho is regarded in professional and academic circles as quite the hip guru. We had both Harry and Kate with us and he arranged for his nurse to come and take them away for a play before he shut the door. Gulp.

Dr. Ho told us that Katelyn has DDH, which is short for developmental dysplasia (or dislocation) of the hip. The ball at the top of the thigh-bone is not stable within the socket and the ligaments of the hip joint which hold it all together are also stretched and loose. DDH is not a painful condition and it can be present at birth or can develop later. It happens because when they're pregnant, women secrete hormones in their bloodstream which allows their ligaments to relax. This helps the delivery of the baby through the pelvis. Some of these hormones enter the baby's blood, which can make the baby's ligaments also relaxed. This can loosen the hip joint in the socket. I had Relaxin to burn when I was pregnant with Kate, spending much of my time literally 'laid up' with horrible lower back and pelvic pain. DDH is more common in girls, first-born children, babies born in the breech position (bottom-first) and in families where a parent has had a dislocated hip joint. Apart from having a Mummy who had more than her fair share of Relaxin coursing through her body, Katelyn had none of those risk factors.

The problem with Kate is that she has been diagnosed quite late. DDH is usually picked up at birth, or soon after, and the treatment for those very young babies is quite different. It's not near as invasive. Katelyn will need an 'open reduction' surgery, where the hip joint will be moved into the correct position while she is under a general anaesthetic. Dr. Ho will make the hip joint more stable by doing some correction work on the surrounding tendons. And, again, because of her late diagnosis, it's also likely that he will also need to perform an osteotomy on the thigh or pelvic bones to make sure the hip joint stays in place. For want of a better term, this is pretty much a hip reconstruction.

I tried to stay detached and focus on the facts and I think I was okay until I asked Dr. Ho how long the operation would take. When he told me it would take about four hours, I lost it. 

Grant wiped his own tears away and held me to his chest. 

Dr. Ho passed the box of tissues.

“It's okay,” Dr. Ho said, in his funny, matter-of-fact way. “Everyone who comes in here, they sit in that chair, they cry. That's why we take your children away, because you will cry. If it were me, I would cry too.”

The rest of the appointment passed in a blur. 

Lots of anger, questions and frustration. 

Incredulity. This could have been missed had it not been for our vigilance and persistence. 

Talk of a family meeting at the Hospital to work through how Katelyn's condition will be managed over the next year and, as Dr. Ho put it, “the long surgical journey ahead”. 

Finally, a request from Dr. Ho to go home, read up, rest up and talk about whether we'd like to go ahead with the surgery. 

As if there's any question. Katelyn is our beautiful daughter and we will do whatever it takes to make her better.

I only wish I could take this on for her so she could be spared what lies ahead.