The only Tate with a tiny head.

Some days when it seems like things can’t get any better, they do. Several years ago Hannah started to exhibit some really strange symptoms. I’m not going to lie to you, sometimes they were pretty funny. We would be lying in bed together in the evening and she would tell me, “My head feels teeny tiny and my hands feel huge!” She’d reach her hand over in front of my face for me to observe.

“Nope, they look like the some old normal man-hands you’ve always had.”

“Is my head tiny?” She’d ask.

“I’m not really sure how to answer that question.”

“I feel like I’m floating.”

You might expect similar symptoms from a person on hallucinogens, but it started to worry me. She suffered chronic headaches that lasted for several months and would spike in intensity to an almost debilitating level. We started asking around and my parents informed us that a family friend who had passed away recently with a brain tumor had exhibited similar symptoms. We haven’t had health insurance in years, but there was no way I was going to risk something that severe for the sake of saving a buck or a thousand. She went to a doctor in Amarillo and was almost laughed out of the office by both the nurse and doctor when she shared her symptoms with them. The doctor seemed disgusted as he started to write a prescription for some legal narcotic that I’m sure would have only given her much more vivid hallucinations. She refused because our purpose was not to find a drug to make her feel better but rather to find what the problem was and work from there towards a solution. We insisted that she have an MRI to ensure that we were not facing something as serious as cancer. They performed the test and several days later we received the wonderful news that her head was completely vacant (of tumors that is). The doctor decided that all of her symptoms were stress induced.

               

                I cannot tell you the number of parents we’ve encountered over the past few years who stand passionately opposed to medicating their children unless absolutely necessary, but carry a complete pharmacy in their bags to help them cope with all the stress. Hannah and I were blown away when we went to the autism training center in New England at the volume and variety of the prescription drugs that the parents brought with them. They would all sit around in the evening comparing drugs and swapping stories. I realize that not all people possess the same abilities to cope with stress and not everyone can just go ahead and form an ulcer and move on with their lives like I have. Regardless, it just seems odd to me that these parents who expressed such genuine concern for the well being of their children were willing to compromise their physical and mental faculties with prescription narcotics and then try to raise that same child. We met one parent who sat at home each evening and drank wine to cope. I’m not opposed to drinking a glass of wine, but this particular parent drank at least one bottle a night.

               

                I’m not here to pronounce judgment on those parents. I am here to say that most parents of special needs children are pretty tightly wound. Hannah and I have both battled depression for years. There are days when there is no hope and no reason to get out of bed. Fortunately one of us is almost always sane enough to smack some sense into the other, but there have been seasons where we were both thoroughly defeated and it was torturous. One thing I discovered shortly after the twins were diagnosed was how much I hated hearing, “God gives special needs kids to parents who are patient enough to handle it.” Good golly if you had any idea how untrue that is. I am not patient enough to handle my kids. I want to strangle them some days. Sure they’re cute and all but after they’ve asked me 14.2 billion times what store we’re going to next I want to tie them up and throw them in the trunk, and those battles are easy compared to what we used to fight. If it’s not your kids then it’s some jerk at the store, and if it’s not some jerk at the store it’s something do with insurance or billing or paperwork or something else worthy of gouging someone’s eyes out. I joke fairly often about how high strung parents of special needs children are but I tell you that we are completely justified in it. We might all choose to deal with it differently, but that doesn’t mean that we don’t experience the same nerve tweaking stress.

               

                Hannah has a degenerative disease in her eyes that will likely leave her blind far too early in her life. Once every few months she notices new holes in her vision that weren’t there before. I have no idea how our lives will be forced to change if that happens. We pray that God will spare us that journey, but we have to find hope in the promises that all things work for the good of those who love Him and are called according to his purpose. In many ways our lives have improved immensely over the past 4 years, but for each foe we’ve conquered a new one has risen in its place. We know that our battles aren’t finished and will likely only get tougher as time goes on. We’ve been asked on occasion, “How do you do it? How do you raise those boys along with everything else?” The only response we’ve been able to come up with is, “How do you not do it?” We can’t imagine doing anything less than everything we can to see our boys blessed.