Fear.
Every day we live with the fear that we got too lucky. That the scariest parts of being the parents of a stroke survivor aren't really over. Sometimes I just stare at him until he gets a shy smile and asks me "what!" as only a six year old can.
When Brayden was 2 years old, he had a stroke in the lower right part of his tiny brain. I was a day behind my wife and Brayden on a visit to my in laws. I received a phone call that Brayden was having a hard time grabbing stuff with his left hand and he was drooling a bit.
I knew it was nothing. I was the tough parent. Hadn't been to the doctor in years, and had to be missing a limb to get me to make an appointment.
We all discussed it and waited until the next day to take him in. Fear had begun to creep in on the edges of my conscious thoughts when my brother in law who is a firefighter said it sounded like the tell tale signs of a stroke.
We took him to the local emergency room that day, and were slightly relieved when we were told with confidence by the doctor that kids don't have strokes, and he probably hurt his hand. Give it a day or two on some amoxicillin for his sinus infection (must be causing the drooling) then take him in again if it doesn't get better.
We went home that night, and we knew something was wrong. My wife took him to the local Children's Hospital as she got home first. I sat in my living room waiting for word on the CT scan they were running.
I will never forget that night for the rest of my life. My wife called me, hysteria barely contained as she told me with a shaky voice that they saw something on the CT, and were transferring him to Seattle Children's Hospital. My best friend was there at the house with me helping me keep my mind right while I waited for word. He also gave me a hug while I cried uncontrollably for five solid minutes. My mind was working overdrive and a new thought found purchase and wouldn't let go.
My son's life was in real danger.
I jumped in my truck and raced to the Hospital where they were doing an MRI to find out more. His iron was dangerously low.
My baby boy was sick. Really sick.
The MRI results came back and the doctors sat us down and gave us the news.
We were there for nearly a week meeting with some of the best doctors I've ever met. We would meet with a team of seven (SEVEN!) Neurologists while they broke down everything for us. He was diagnosed with Factor 2 Prothrombin genetic mutation. Which it turns out came from me.
He was so small, and so fragile. I held him time and time again as we drew blood, inserted a catheter as he hadn't urinated since he'd been under. My wife and I took strength in each other, and felt helpless as our small boy lay sleeping in her arms.
Dr. Amlie-Lefond with the Seattle Children's Stroke Program, gave us the outlook that she expected a near full recovery of all functions, and from the tests they'd run at the hospital didn't see any immediate neurological limitations, but we would need to continue to monitor him.
So here we sit, nearly four years later. Fear lives permanently within me, though it's boxed neatly in a corner. A shadow in a well lit room. But the only reason I'm able to contain that fear is because of the strength Brayden has shown.
He's had to take Iron daily for four years, along with multiple blood draws, physical therapy, speech therapy, a few check up MRI's, and a dietary plan as we continue to try and chase down his anemia issues.
Despite that, Brayden has done nothing but excelled at sports, shown above average aptitude for academics, and inherited an exceptional sense of humor and empathy from his mom. He doesn't realize the extent with which life has thrown him a curve. That strength can't be taught, only earned.
His strength has been forged through trials he's experienced that many adults would fold under. His fire red hair a testament to his will. He's the reason the fear stays at bay. He is my first born son. My light.
He is my Warrior.
~Travis Greenwood AKA "Dad"
Every day we live with the fear that we got too lucky. That the scariest parts of being the parents of a stroke survivor aren't really over. Sometimes I just stare at him until he gets a shy smile and asks me "what!" as only a six year old can.
When Brayden was 2 years old, he had a stroke in the lower right part of his tiny brain. I was a day behind my wife and Brayden on a visit to my in laws. I received a phone call that Brayden was having a hard time grabbing stuff with his left hand and he was drooling a bit.
I knew it was nothing. I was the tough parent. Hadn't been to the doctor in years, and had to be missing a limb to get me to make an appointment.
We all discussed it and waited until the next day to take him in. Fear had begun to creep in on the edges of my conscious thoughts when my brother in law who is a firefighter said it sounded like the tell tale signs of a stroke.
We took him to the local emergency room that day, and were slightly relieved when we were told with confidence by the doctor that kids don't have strokes, and he probably hurt his hand. Give it a day or two on some amoxicillin for his sinus infection (must be causing the drooling) then take him in again if it doesn't get better.
We went home that night, and we knew something was wrong. My wife took him to the local Children's Hospital as she got home first. I sat in my living room waiting for word on the CT scan they were running.
I will never forget that night for the rest of my life. My wife called me, hysteria barely contained as she told me with a shaky voice that they saw something on the CT, and were transferring him to Seattle Children's Hospital. My best friend was there at the house with me helping me keep my mind right while I waited for word. He also gave me a hug while I cried uncontrollably for five solid minutes. My mind was working overdrive and a new thought found purchase and wouldn't let go.
My son's life was in real danger.
I jumped in my truck and raced to the Hospital where they were doing an MRI to find out more. His iron was dangerously low.
My baby boy was sick. Really sick.
The MRI results came back and the doctors sat us down and gave us the news.
We were there for nearly a week meeting with some of the best doctors I've ever met. We would meet with a team of seven (SEVEN!) Neurologists while they broke down everything for us. He was diagnosed with Factor 2 Prothrombin genetic mutation. Which it turns out came from me.
He was so small, and so fragile. I held him time and time again as we drew blood, inserted a catheter as he hadn't urinated since he'd been under. My wife and I took strength in each other, and felt helpless as our small boy lay sleeping in her arms.
Dr. Amlie-Lefond with the Seattle Children's Stroke Program, gave us the outlook that she expected a near full recovery of all functions, and from the tests they'd run at the hospital didn't see any immediate neurological limitations, but we would need to continue to monitor him.
So here we sit, nearly four years later. Fear lives permanently within me, though it's boxed neatly in a corner. A shadow in a well lit room. But the only reason I'm able to contain that fear is because of the strength Brayden has shown.
He's had to take Iron daily for four years, along with multiple blood draws, physical therapy, speech therapy, a few check up MRI's, and a dietary plan as we continue to try and chase down his anemia issues.
Despite that, Brayden has done nothing but excelled at sports, shown above average aptitude for academics, and inherited an exceptional sense of humor and empathy from his mom. He doesn't realize the extent with which life has thrown him a curve. That strength can't be taught, only earned.
His strength has been forged through trials he's experienced that many adults would fold under. His fire red hair a testament to his will. He's the reason the fear stays at bay. He is my first born son. My light.
He is my Warrior.
~Travis Greenwood AKA "Dad"
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