Little Miss Tenacious K

As of Monday, we will be one quarter of the way through Katelyn's twelve-week stint in her plaster cast.

A lot of people have asked how Katelyn is doing since her operation, and my best response is "she's adapting". And so are we.
Not a day goes by where I don't marvel at Kate's willingness to accept being confined to an awkward, uncomfortable and heavy cast and her determination to make the very best of her time in it. Little Miss Tenacious K.
The first few days at home were hard for us all. The passing of each hour without tears (from anyone) was something to be celebrated. Our glass 'whiteboard' on the kitchen wall became Katelyn's medical chart where we recorded each administered dose of a suite of 'special medicines'. We found this was the only way to keep track of where we were up to as fatigue blurred our consciousness. The days became an endless three-hourly cycle of shifting Katelyn's position (from spica chair, to tummy, to back, to bed, repeat) and changing her double nappies. The nights were long and, at times, lonely, because all though Grant and I have been taking turns sleeping in our bed with Katelyn and being 'on shift', dealing with the frequent wake-ups and continuing the three-hourly ritual on your own can make you feel as if you're the only one in the world awake at 2am. And 3am. And 4....
And then it got better.
I quickly figured out that Katelyn (like her Mummy) is happiest when she's got something to do and places to go. That first week at home saw us visiting our friends at work, taking in a trip to Oakvale Farm and a commencing a staged return to daycare. We found out that Katelyn's frequent wake-ups (there was one night where she woke every 3-5 minutes until 3am) were the result of muscle spasms (which are common side-effect of osteotomies) and were prescribed some Diazapam to help Katelyn get better rest at night. Following an unfortunate spate of poo-nami's during our first week at home, the nappy-changes suddenly didn't seem as daunting and we can literally now do them in the dark (and in Katelyn's sleep). Before I kiss her goodnight, Katelyn shows and tells me where I need to put the rolled up blankets which go under her knees to support her legs and prevent bed-sores. And, exactly two weeks after her operation, Katelyn started to commando crawl and is all the much happier for it.
Don't get me wrong. It's still hard-going. Despite being the fittest and strongest I have ever been, I have aches in muscles I never knew I had from lifting and carrying Katelyn, who, in her y-shaped cast, weighs close to 20kg. Katelyn has reverted to the very clingy baby she once was and doesn't like us to leave the room, so it's hard always being 'on', especially on those longs days when Grant's at work and I have all the kids on my own. And, if I thought the daily 5pm 'witching hour' was trying before Katelyn was in her cast, well, let's just say that bedtime now can't come quick enough.

Kate playing with her vintage Family Tree-house. 

A change of scenery in the front yard. She's showing off her ubiquitous bed hair. We're going through a lot of  'detangling' spray right now!

Cheeky xx

Making a friend at Oakvale Farm.

Beautiful afternoon - nice break from the rain.

Painting our nails!

Sleeping beauty with her 'Jaime' doll xx

Rocking her tartan look

Forget 'Princess Grace' - this is 'Princess Kate!'

But, I'm glad to say that Kate, with her family, is 'adapting' and we are 'adopting' our new normal. 

One week down, eleven to go

Wow.
If I could describe DDH in one word, it would be "rollercoaster". Sheesh, what a week, probably best illustrated by a recap of my Facebook posts. I'll draw a breath while you read ;-)


Monday

Striking a bit of a pose in her gown

What I said: Incredibly tired, but elated that our baby girl's surgery went well today. She was soooo good, despite a 5hr wait for the 4.5hr operation. Kate's surgeons are very pleased with the outcome and she was transferred to the Ward tonight around 7pm. She had a tenotomy, a reduction of her hip and a pelvic osteotomy; and has a lovely purple cast. Dolly has a matching pink one. She was so amazingly brave, and we are completely in awe of her. She is still drowsy from the anaesthetic, but is no pain, thanks to her epidural. Daddy is doing the night shift...hope he gets some sleep! We will try to upload some pics as we go. Thanks everyone for your messages. It means a lot xx

Way too much energy for a little girl who'd been fasting for ten hours!

What I was too tired to say: we had to arrive at the Ward by 7am but had a five hour wait as we were last on the list. We arrived armed with our books and a swag of toys to keep Katelyn amused and, due to the ward-wide 'no hot drinks' rule, managed to survive the morning without a caffeine fix. We figured if Katelyn had to fast, then we would, too. Still can't believe how well she coped with the demands of hunger and boredom; we think she was just delighted to have both Mummy and Daddy all to herself for the morning! We got the big call-up around 12.30pm and it started to feel real. We dressed her into her hospital gown and loaded her into the bed to be wheeled upstairs to Theatre. A kindly nurse, David, met us there at the Desk and I managed to keep it together as he did all his checks and obtained all his consents. Then he said it was time for me to say goodbye. Our little girl was laying quietly on her pillow, looking up at us. I pressed my face into her chest as the tears started to fall. I just didn't want to let her go. I told her I loved her and I was so proud of how brave she was. As I drew back and reached for a tissue, Katelyn pulled herself up to stand in the cot. She reached her arms up to me and pulled me close for another cuddle. Then she lay back down, smiled and waved bye-bye. That was pretty much the end of me. Poor Grant bravely managed to hold it together as they took her into Theatre to send her off to sleep. Then we both lost it. Big time.

Recovery Room

The hours passed. Lunch was mechanically chewed. Coffee was greedily gulped. An entire book was read. Some more coffee. And as night began to fall, so too did my spirits while impatience began to simmer. Finally, at 5.30pm, Katelyn's Surgeons came to tell us they were happy with the operation and that she was starting to wake. Cuddles with our brave, dozy little girl, and her recovery begins.


Tuesday
What I said: Grant and Katie had a reasonably restful night last night....and I managed to find some zzzzzz's as well. I was on the day shift today, and Kate was really great - played, slept and ate - until about 3pm when we think the epidural needed a bit of help. She was very upset for a few hours, which was soooo hard to watch. On the plus side, however, we have now been initiated into the dark arts of changing a nappy around a hip spica plaster cast. Fun. Not. Anyhow, Grant's just reported that she has now settled into some good sleep, and I'm hopeful that will continue tonight.
What I found out later: humph, 'reasonably restful' is all relative. Turns out Grant somewhat sanitised his version of the nights in hospital in the interests of keeping me somewhat sane. The screaming, which would often start seemingly out of nowhere, was horrible. Our baby was in pain, and there was nothing we could do except keep up the pain medication and cuddle her. Not even ice-cream helped, which is when we knew we were in trouble. The day further descended into disaster as the cyclonic Bailey boys tore through the Ward to visit their sister. The offered her a fleeting kiss before ripping into the play-dough provided by the Play Therapist (Harrison) and hypothesising "how the wee comes out of Katelyn's grub into that bag" (William). Exhausting. The late afternoon arrival of a cheerful bouquet of well wishes from the lovely Ausgrid girls provided us with a real boost when we needed it the most. And the choccies were yum!

All wired up in the Ward

Wednesday
What I said: nothing. 
What I wanted to say: nothing. Can't talk. Too tired.


Thursday
What I said: Following a very welcome move to a private room yesterday, Katelyn had her epidural, drip and catheter removed today and is now, to a degree, mobile!! With both the boys occupied at preschool and daycare, Grant and I got to share some time together today with our little girl. We also ticked a few of the logistical boxes, with the OT modifying our stroller and car seat to fit around the cast. Katelyn enjoyed going for a stroll around the hospital and through the wonderful Fairy Garden before settling in for some serious playing at her new spica chair which is on loan from the hospital for the next twelve weeks. While she still seems to experience severe bouts of pain (or frustration?) and dissolve into tears at times, overall, we're seeing a wonderful return of our daughter's beautiful, bright personality and it's just so good to see. Hopeful, too, that we might only have one more night left in hospital :-)
What I didn't have time to say: thank goodness for our ever supportive family who have spent the week ferrying the boys to and from preschool and daycare. We braved another visit from the boys on the Thursday evening and it was much easier having them contained within our own room. And I had the best spag bol for a late dinner, courtesy of Aunty Amanda.

First wire-free cuddle with Mum!

"Who, me?" Loving her new spica chair

"Home time!"

Watching me make the boys' lunches this morning

TV time

Friday and the weekend

It was wonderful to come home on Friday and be back in our own space. We worked out that Katelyn won't fit in her cot or on her change table, so our bed is now her combined bed/change table. We're taking turns, for the foreseeable future, sleeping on the lounge so Katelyn can have the comfort of a parent and our bed. Her sleep can be fitful with pain and because she needs her nappy and position changed every couple of hours (to prevent spoiling and bed sores respectively), the parent who's 'on' doesn't get the best rest going. Coffee is good the next day. On the plus side, however, I think her pain is beginning to diminish and the smiles and laughs are more forthcoming. But is it too soon to start counting the days?

See you on the other side....

I woke up on our lounge this morning to Miss Katelyn crawling in to nestle under the warmth of the Winter quilt. I had decided to camp out on the lounge rather than risk waking Grant as I tossed and turned and, besides, there was another restless (little) woman sharing our bed last night with flaming pink teething cheeks.


As the morning sun crept through the crack in the curtains, I relished this lovely quiet moment, choosing to stay awake rather than surrender to sleep. I savoured the sound of Katelyn's steady breathing and the scent of her hair as she cuddled her soft little sleepsuit-clad body against mine. As she murmured and gently curled her fingers around mine in some sweet dream, I watched the early light dance across the room and made plans for the day.


We'll need to be at the hospital by 7am tomorrow for Katelyn's 11.45am surgery. I suppose I'll have to pack our bags, but that can wait. Packing will just make it all seem real, so denial will work for me today.  I'm going to kit Katelyn out in her pink Oobi jeans, her twinkle-toe Skechers and one of her cute little tops which will be too small for her once she's in her cast. The boys are battling the dreaded pinkeye, so we can't venture too far from home. We'll play outside on the swings and let Katelyn go up-and-down-and-up-and-down the slippery dip to her heart's content. We'll have a little disco party so the kids can dance along with me and Grant to bad 90s music clips. I will serve some of Kate's favourites - spiral pasta chicken bake and crumbly choc-caramel tarts - without having to worry about any mess slipping down into her plaster. And tonight, she can have an extra deep and extra long bath-time with her brothers and they can splash around as much as they like.


I am grateful for all the hugs, offers of help and words of reassurance. We are buoyed by the support and I know it will help keep us all strong. See you on the other side xx

Busy, busy, busy - not long to go now

With just over one week to go now until Katelyn’s operation, we’ve been super-busy trying to get everything organised and everyone ready for our hospital stay.

As 28 May draws closer, we’ve been overwhelmed with messages of support and offers of help and it really does help to know we won’t be alone on our journey. I’ve found some excellent support online and have been drawing strength and absorbing lots of practical tips from the worldwide members of a couple of really great DDH Facebook groups.

We have also been, as much as we can, trying to solve some of the logistical problems of transporting, clothing and entertaining a 20 month old encased in a big, heavy plaster cast for three months!

A special temporary mobility permit from the NSW Roads and Maritime Service will allow us to park our car in extra wide spaces and hopefully make it easier to haul Katelyn out of the car and into her modified stroller (without damaging the car next to us!). It was a hard-fought bureaucratic battle, but we won. We learned that doing the research beforehand and being pedantic, polite and firm can has its advantages. The RMS learned that you don’t get in the way of Lion and Lioness Bailey when they’re protecting one of their cubs.

We have also started to amass a whole load of new toys which will be perfect for play in Katelyn’s special spica chair. Thanks to a lovely lady on Etsy.com, I arranged to have one of my favourite (and very hard to find!) childhood toys, the Family Tree-house. shipped over from her vintage store in the United States. It's the perfect height to sit on a table and play with (and the little family is sooo cute!). Reckon I might spend a bit of time playing with it, too! We've also sourced some really cool toys from Educational Experience, such as the magnetic Dressy Baby Set, to help refine Kate's dexterity while she's confined to her spica chair and unable to develop her gross motor skills. Oh, and thanks to a suggestion from my lovely friend from work, Tania, we bought an iPad and have loaded it with heaps of toddler games and applications. I'll also be armed with plenty of baby-sized musical instruments, bubble blowers, play-dough and crayons - but, if you can suggest any other ways I might be able to keep a very busy and bright baby occupied, pleeeeaaaasssse let me know!

Another wonderful long-time friend from work, Inez, has bought us a fantastic portable booster chair with ‘open sides’ to accommodate the y-shape of the cast, and this should allow Kate to sit with us at any table to eat.

Katelyn’s already enviably bulging wardrobe also now has a whole array of tops , dresses and nighties in bigger sizes (2s and 3s) to fit around her body while she’s in the plaster cast. And, depending on how far the cast extends along her feet, she’ll also have a lovely selection of leg warmers (I even found a glow-in-the-dark pair!) to dress up her purple cast. Grant has volunteered to 'engineer' a solution to allow the legwarmers to accommodate the metal bar which will run between Kate’s knees. Even after seventeen years, he simply amazes me. I think he is truly the best husband and daddy in the world.

The Princess, herself, is oblivious to all the activity. She’s had a rough few weeks with the inevitable coughs and sniffles which herald the start of the Winter season and we can see her hip is giving her some trouble. There are some days where she walks with a pronounced limp and others where she’ll fall over, land awkwardly on her bottom, and start to cry. We know we’re doing the right thing. We are going to fix this. And she is going to be perfect.

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.