When Master Hand Grenade was little, he became deathly ill. When he was 8 days old, he was airlifted to our local trauma hospital with a dire prognosis. After telling Sir Knight and I to say our goodbyes, the neonatal trauma team went to work in an attempt to save our son, whom they had labeled a "rag doll". Two terrifying days later, the doctors told us that Master Hand Grenade would live - maybe, but he would be terribly "compromised". After walking into the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit to see my son's body racked in seizures, I knew we were in for a long haul.
Hand Grenade's prognosis was dim. He would "down-look" for the rest of his life. He would never hear, never walk and be mentally retarded. He would suffer from seizures and his neurological system had been compromised to the point that his movements would never be "normal". Many hours were spent in prayer and petition. I thanked God for saving our son's life and begged him for the strength to bear the burden of raising a disabled child. I knew that life would never be "normal" again. Our family had a new normal.
After we brought our precious bundle home, we learned a whole new way of life. Now, rather than happily picking my son up from a nap, I entered his room with fear and trepidation. I was terrified to find a cold, blue baby in place of my downy, sweet son. Trips, even to the grocery store, were punctuated by continual screaming. I would drive with tears streaming down my face.
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In charge of operation
"Gravel Driveway" |
As my little son grew, it became evident that we was not developing as other children did. He couldn't sit up, feed himself or even roll over. He regularly had seizures, turning his lips blue and practically stopping his mothers heart. He didn't respond when we called his name, unless he happened to be looking at us at that moment. The doctors couldn't tell us anything. They shrugged their shoulders and said "you're on your own". They did, however, repeatedly direct us to social services so that we could get State Aid for our "disabled" son. But the truth was, God gave Master Hand Grenade to us, not to the State. He would provide a way for us to take care of him.
After much study and research, we chose to take Master Hand Grenade off the anti-seizure medication he was on. It was a long haul (they never told us it was addictive) watching our little boy go through withdrawals, wondering the whole time if we were doing the right thing. Amazingly, one week after we administered his final dose, Master Hand Grenade fed himself. Within two weeks he was rolling over and a month later, he sat up for the first time! And the best part - he never had another seizure - ever!
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Being bandaged by a buddy (they
were filming a video) |
It took longer for Master Hand Grenade to walk than a "normal" child. We knew he didn't hear well (although he did hear). He had no sight problems, and, as far as we could tell, he didn't have any problems with intelligence. We were completely on our own. Nobody could tell us what he was capable of or if he was limited in certain areas. We kind of made it up as we went along. As he became more stable, I took him to "Mommy and Me" gymnastics to help him with his balance. We taught him how to play close attention to us so that he could hear us when we spoke to him.
In his early years, I was never sure what I could expect him to be able to do. Sir Knight and I talked into many a night discussing how to best ensure a productive future for our son. Finally, we decided, we had to make him normal. We would treat him like the other kids, expect the same things from him and, when things were especially difficult, teach him a new way to accomplish his goal. He had to be a productive member of society and it was our job to make sure he was.
Finally, it came time to potty train young Master Hand Grenade. Could he do it? Would he be able to tell when he had to go? Should I just let it go until he decided to do it on his own? What was a mother to do? But in the end I knew. He had to be potty trained. It was a matter of health (disease can be spread through fecal material), psychological well-being (it would be embarrassing and psychologically damaging to still be in a diaper when your friends used the bathroom) and familial harmony had to be maintained (without him being potty trained, someone would always have to clean up his mess). In that vein, potty training commenced and Master Hand Grenade scored yet another victory.
It has come to my attention that the world is full of adults in diapers. Babies are cute and sweet and we willingly attend to their every need. But as they grow in awareness and they become physically larger we no longer think their poopy pants are cute. We realize that we had better take the time to train them so we are not stuck cleaning up their messes forever. Our country is full of people who never had to learn to use the toilet, so they just go wherever they are and we clean up the mess. They have all kinds of excuses, "I was in too big a hurry", "I forgot", "I was too busy playing", but the result is the same, they make a mess and we clean it up. Of course, there are people, just like children, that require special help, but by and large, the people making the messes are more than able to control themselves, they just choose not to. And the messes they are making are causing massive societal illness. Rage, antipathy and dependence is spreading from one person to another wreaking havoc on our society. The people who are cleaning up the messes are getting tired of it. They want to know why the other people aren't required to poop in the toilet, or at the very least clean up their own messes. The answer is that our government, acting as overindulgent parents, aren't requiring people to clean up their own messes. The mess is growing and has spilled out onto the street. There doesn't seem to be enough grownups to take care of it anymore.
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Do we want to be a
nation of this? |
You can forgive folly in a child, but the mess that has become our nation is unforgivable. We need to be productive members of society and not disabled children. I have known many "disabled" people who take more responsibility for themselves than the majority of able-bodied people on the welfare rolls. It is time for us to quit messing ourselves, clean up our act and be part of the solution, not part of the problem.
By the way, Master Hand Grenade is a wholesome, handsome, God-fearing young man that is capable of anything. He never lets his "disabilities" slow him down (in fact, you would never convince him that he has any disabilities). He is all that is good in our country. He will never join the ranks of adults in diapers.
