A Prophy Day with the Reeves Family

Today, Isaiah worked very hard photographing prophy to help me with this post.  I am very pleased to invite you into our home, and share our prophy routines with you.

Isaiah Reeves, photographer

"Time for prophy!" I call out to the troop.  Everyone scrambles to get their prophy treat from the prophy treat jar.  They are only allowed one prophy treat, and only on prophy days.  Here's Ana offering you a prophy treat.  Everyone gets one, hemo or not.  We're all in this together.  As you'll see in this post, we all have a part to play.  Prophy is a family event.
When everyone gets their treat, it's time to get started.  We keep our stock of prophy supplies in the big bookcase you can see on the left.  There's even excess supplies in the bottom cupboards.  I just forgot to open them up for the picture.  We used to keep the factor in a little fridge.  Well, the fridge broke, and it was soon after that they told us that the factor didn't need to be refrigerated anymore.  So, now, we organize the different unit amounts in the drawer in the bookcase.  Here's Malakai showing you the factor in the picture below:

We also have a "prophy cabinet" (shown below). This is where all the action happens.  There is a little of almost every supply in the drawers of the cabinet, and we set up right on top.  It's on wheels too which is VERY convenient.

Before I set up, the hemo boys get their numbing cream on their port sites.  Eli hammed it up for these pics!

 

After the cream is on, I let Eli choose what he wants to watch for prophy.  When Silas develops an opinion on this, he will get to choose too.  Today, he wanted to watch The Aristocats.  Usually, it's a show, not a movie, but it was fine for today.  Then, it's time to set up.  I won't go into all the detail of each and every step that is involved with this, I'll just show you the finished product.  Here's what the setup looks like for Eli's prophy (below).  The only difference with Silas's setup is the heparin.  Eli uses the yellow.  Silas uses the blue.

We're all set up, the cream is set, and movie is on.  Now, it's time to treat.  Eli goes first.  I take off his shirt, peel off the tagaderm, and wipe off the cream with a gauze pad.  Then, I clean his port site with chloroprep.  He knows to make sure no one touches or breathes on his port while I go wash my hands and put my sterile gloves on.  If anything makes him concerned about his port's sterility, I clean it with another chloroprep.  This has happened a couple times.  When I come back gloved, his port is dry and ready to be accessed.  As you can see in the picture below, he is completely numb and busy watching The Aristocats while I accessed him.

We call the pull back of blood the "little red snake".  Sometimes, the kids (Eli included) call "Come out come out, little red snake!".  Then, Eli tells him to "go back home!".  You can see little red snake in the next pic:

When prophy is over, it's time to snuggle.  Hemos need to hold pressure with gauze on the site a little longer than non-hemos.

After at least 5 minutes, we check to see if there is no more bleeding.  Then, a little band aid over his port means Eli is all done!  Well, after he helps clean up the prophy garbage.  ;)

Eli is done.  Now, it's time to set up for Silas.  After each setup, I take the stickers off of the factor bottles and stick them on the calendar, and now include color coded initials.  There's today's treatment (Well, yesterdays, now) on the 9th:

"OK, Silas.  Your turn now, buddy!"  I put him in his bouncy chair, and Ana gently holds his hands to keep him from touching or grabbing things he shouldn't.  After his cream is wiped off, I wash my hands.  I get my sterile gloves on, and then clean him with chloroprep.  I can't trust it to stay sterile while I'm gone like with Eli.  I give it a bit to dry, access his port with the huber needle, and administer his treatment.  < Thank you, Lord, for that numbing cream! >

When he's all done and deaccessed, it's his snuggle time with Mommy!  Ana did a great job!  Silas's snuggle time is a little less relaxing than Eli's because he just wants to nurse.  YOU try holding a baby while holding pressure on his port, and nursing at the same time!  I've done it.  It's not easy, but it can be done!  However, I opted not to today.  I really could use more than 2 arms!

(The towel on my head is to protect prophy from my hair. It works very well.)

Now, our prophy day is complete!!  Thanks for joining us today!  

Jeff Johnson, "a totally 'normal' hemo" shares his heart on how our feelings can affect our children:

Jeff and his wife, Stephanie

"I'd like to approach a subject here that's been present in our community for quite some time and unfortunately isn't always dealt with as openly and honestly as it could be. I'll warn everyone now that this is challenging, both of and for, parents. Not in a negative way but in a healthy, self examining way. Still, one should probably not proceed unless one is prepared for reflection, self examination and even, perhaps, the rejection of deeply held beliefs and feelings.

"The subject I'd like to discuss is the attitude that having hemophilia makes one less than normal and warrants feelings of guilt or regret in a parent or should be viewed as "bad news" and cause for mourning or distress. Now, I'm pragmatic enough to admit that yes, hemophilia is a whole different level of lame and I'm not demeaning my own condition. Bleeds suck, especially when they prevent an activity or life choice from playing out as we would have preferred. And it is expensive, of course, and time consuming. Yes, it has numerous challenges. But at the same time it is important to maintain perspective. There are countless conditions worse than hemophilia and in the grand scheme of things being born a hemo is far better than being born with MS or cancer or sickle cell anemia or so on. While a challenge, hemophilia isn't any longer a death sentence or even condemnation to a life that is less than normal. Our factor today is amazing, as is our care. Compared to previous generations and the trials they experienced, today hemophilia is barely even a disorder, which is why I often joke that "hemophilia is the new asthma!" While it may seem, to a clotter, that we hemos are afflicted with this terrible curse and will never experience the life which others would have wished for us, the reality, despite even the fears of a mother, is that there is absolutely no reason to believe that a hemo's life, especially today, will be any less full or rich or adventurous or rewarding than the life of our fully clotting peers. This isn't romanticizing either. Hemophilia has in many ways become an affliction of the soul and mind just as much, if not more than, of the body, and it's important that we treat it in those regions as diligently and bravely as we do the body.

"Which brings me to the part where I am going to challenge parents. When a parent (or grandparent, uncle, aunt, guardian, etc.) makes a statement that they feel guilty or regret that their child has hemophilia, what they are really saying is that they feel bad because their hemo is less than they could have been. Argue the point if you like, but tracing back from these statements, which I see often, that is the only logical end point. If one feels guilty for the condition of their child, then one sees reason to feel guilty, which means one sees in their child a condition in which that child is diminished or held back from being the something more they would be were that condition not present, which means that they see their child as being less than they could be. As a hemo, I must admit, that when I see someone expressing feelings of guilt because they had a hemo, or a refusal to have children because they're a carrier, or sharing the "bad news" that someone had a hemo, I feel demeaned and somewhat offended, as the greater idea those statements convey is that we hemos are less than we could be, less than our parents hoped for, less than our siblings or peers, less desirable. Less. This is simply not the case. As I discussed earlier, we hemos are equally capable today as any clotter. With modern treatment there is simply no challenge, activity or experience partaken by clotters which it would be impossible for a hemo to participate in. We are active, we are strong and yes, we even play football and hockey now. Yes, that really happens. But to get back to my main point, it is more attitude that restrains us today than hemophilia. We face far more challenges in overcoming the perception that hemophiliacs are fragile creatures at risk of greater harm than our clotting peers than we do of actually being held back by our condition itself, and this perception finds its home in the fears and guilt of parents and guardians.

"I will break here and state that yes, being a parent is incredibly difficult and the fears that a parent faces are sometimes insurmountable. We all know this, whether we are parents ourselves or not. At no point do I intend to convey that parents don't have a tough, demanding job and in no way am I demeaning a parent's emotions, fears or feelings. They are all reasonable and understandable. What I am hoping for, however, is to challenge some parents to engage in genuine self examination and to really confront how their emotions, fears and feelings affect the hemos they are experiencing those feelings for. To delve into themselves and ask themselves questions which many parents eschew, such as "Are these feelings beneficial? Is the way I feel good for my child? Even though I feel this deeply, is it really best for my child or is it creating an attitude that is detrimental to my child?" These are difficult questions, yes, but they are good ones to challenge one's self with. Quite often in my experience in the hemophilia world I have been confronted with parents who don't take this step and instead express their fear/guilt/regret/what-have-you and then stop there and wrap themselves in the mantle of parenthood, stating that "As a parent I am allowed to feel however I want!" Well, yes, we all are. And that's the catch. As a parent one is absolutely entitled to feel however one does, but parents are not released from the consequences of their feelings and the affects which they have on others, just as a pebble cannot be expected to be dropped into a pond without causing ripples to emanate and flow away from it. One's feelings of guilt for having a hemo may feel entirely legitimate to them, but in their child they may cause feelings of inadequacy. While a parent is mourning that their child has hemophilia they may be subconsciously communicating to said child that they are not as special and capable as they could have been born. The ramifications of a parent's attitude, even if not explicitly stated or expressed, are profound. I've seen, too many times, proof of this at summer camp. I've attended hemophilia camps since the mid eighties as a kid myself, and have worked as staff since the nineties. Every year, without fail, I observe at least one hemo who comes into camp meek and apprehensive. They're unsure of their potential and afraid to fully engage. As the week progresses and we work with them to instill courage and empowerment, they come alive, and by the end of camp they are running, jumping, climbing rock walls and living with the gleeful abandon that they deserve. It's glorious. But then, on the last day, they retreat back into themselves, especially when their parents show up. Now that Mom is around again it's time to go back to being a hemo, a defective kid who isn't "normal." It breaks my heart every time because it doesn't have to be. Many parents don't even realize that they are doing this, which is sad as well. They think they've contained their guilt, their fears and their regret and that their child is completely unaware, but that's merely an illusion. Their child is very much aware of how Mom and Dad feel and so, out of his love for them, he plays along. "Mom feels guilty that I have hemophilia so I'll be good and not do anything 'dangerous.'" "I don't want to make them feel worse so I won't try out for soccer." And so on and so forth. They don't live up to their potential and their parents never see what their child is really capable of. Hemophilia hasn't held them back; the attitude and perception that it is less than normal and cause for guilt has. I see it all the time.

"So again, I challenge parents to really look deeply into themselves and examine their emotions and feelings. Ask yourselves if how you feel is really, legitimately warranted and if it is the best way to feel for your child. Examine why you feel a certain way and whether or not it is based on fear or reality. Reject the comforting but unhelpful sanctuary of "I'm a parent and can feel however I like" and instead proceed with the attitude of "Even how I feel inside affects him so what is the best way to look at life? And him?" Of course these kinds of exercises are difficult, but so is learning to self infuse, which your little hemo will have to do regardless. Consider this "prophy for the soul." I promise you, it's for the best, for everyone. Hemos who grow up in homes where the attitude is "You just have hemophilia, not 'made out of tissue paper syndrome' so get outside and play" flourish.

"In closing I'll pose the question, "What is normal anyway?" Not having hemophilia is normal? I call shenanigans. From my perspective, it's clotters who are abnormal. They freak out at the thought of getting stuck with a needle, a bruise gives them panic attacks, they think a limp is a sign that it's time to see a doctor, they usually can't wrap an ankle to save their lives. Poor clotters... So far from normal... See what I'm getting at? There is no normal, so there is no model of normalcy to hold a child up against. We all have conditions. We are all imperfect, and in this lies our perfection. So from a totally "normal" hemo who hopes to one day live free of the perception that I am less, please challenge yourselves to no longer see us as less. See us as more. See us as normal.

Or I'll stick you."

SCAR +++++

So much has happened since my last post, the biggest being Silas's port surgery.   He had a joint bleed and a muscle bleed, and we needed to get him on prophy to prevent more bleeds. Everything went well.  We were very impressed with all the doctors, nurses, and staff at Peyton Manning Children's Hospital in Indianapolis.  The picture I posted to the left is my favorite.  Silas is such a sweet tempered baby.  He even smiled and waved when the child life specialist was taking him away for his surgery.

We had a lot of support.  My friend, Tiffany watched the older 4 children when I had to take Silas in for pre-op meetings.  My parents came down to watch the children at home while I was with Silas for surgery.  Matt couldn't come right away (clinicals).  So, my Dad stayed with us in the beginning.  While we were in IN, our life long family friends, Tom and Virginia even came down to help.


The hospital was amazing.  They took excellent care of Silas with so much love and compassion.  They also took care of me as the mom.  I was well informed during the whole process, and I could tell that they cared about all my concerns and desires as the mom.

Matt came to the hospital that evening.  He brought Eli with him.  Eli needed prophy while we were gone.  So, it made sense to bring him and treat him there.  It was a sweet time.  Eli and Silas really bonded on a new level.  Their hemophilia gives them a unique bond, and now they would both be on prophy.  Eli has just blossomed since Silas got his port.  He is thinking of Silas now, not just himself.  So, he sticks his chest out more, and never whines or complains about the needle.  Silas watches him.  It is precious.

After a few days, we came home, and continued the post-op factor treatments.  When we got home, we were blown away at the amount of work my parents and Tom and Virginia had done in the house: cleaning, repairs, new improvements.  Words cannot express how thankful we are for the work they've done.

Silas's surgery was two weeks ago, now.  We have had several perfect prophy treatments at home, until yesterday.  He has developed a hematoma over his port.  We're not sure why this has happened, but until it's cleared up, we are treating the bleed peripherally [via ER :(  ], then he will undergo a dye study to check his port for leaks.  If there is a leak, his brand new port will have to be replaced.  This is such a heavy burden on all of our hearts right now.

Yesterday, soon after a sponge bath, Silas's steri-strips finally came off.  So, now his scar is visible.  It looks very healthy, but it is still a big ugly scar on my baby's little chest.  Late last night,  as I was nursing him in the recliner, that scar was staring me in the face.  It (along with the newly developed hematoma) was making me sick to my stomach.  Nobody wants to see their baby's perfect little chest with a big scar on it.  It broke my heart, and I was tempted to mourn over this.  I couldn't let myself.

I started to think about all that scar represents:  All the hours of prayer and discussion over the decision to get a port, all the thought and love that motivated us to go ahead with the port, all the sweet nurses who tried (and often failed) to treat him peripherally for a bleed at the ER, the 3 1/2 years we've worked with Elijah's port, the intense training we received during Eli's post-op hospital stay those 3 1/2 years ago, the amazing support from all of Silas's brothers and sister, all the hard work that went into developing the technology of the port, all the years of study that Dr Kokoska (surgeon) and Dr Bush (anesthesiologist) spent in medical school, my parents and Tom and Virginia coming to help from Michigan, Bubble Wrapped Birth and all the love and support here, all the people around the globe praying for Silas, freedom to treat bleeds at home, and prevent bleeds with prophylaxis. . . The list is virtually unending.

So, I have a choice.  It's all about perspective.  I can choose to weep over my baby's now scarred chest, or I can choose to rejoice over that beautiful unending list of blessings when I look at Silas's scar.  So much love and care is represented there.  I just hope and pray that his port is o.k., and he doesn't need it to be replaced.  One step at a time.  God promises to take care of us, and we have to choose if we will trust Him or not.  I have to trust Him.  If I didn't, I couldn't get through this.

Thanks, Mom and Dad.  You both have taught me to have the correct perspective, and you were the inspiration for this post.

Silas and His Placenta (September 27, 2011)

Matt took these beautiful pictures after he got home from running the cord blood to the lab.  We were in the herb bath, and it was at least 2 or 3 hours after the birth.  

Our hematologist was worried that he may have received too much blood.  So, the next morning we took him in for a head ultrasound.  He slept through it and the results were normal.  One great thing about physiological cord clamping as opposed to delayed cord clamping is that the baby doesn't just receive more blood, he/she receives the perfect amount of blood.  See, the cord gives and takes.  The process is designed to regulate the perfect amount of blood for the baby.  So, the baby may actually get a little less blood if you wait longer.  It doesn't clamp off until the baby has all the blood he/she was intended to have, not any more and not any less.  

We did learn some things about physiological cord clamping with a hemophiliac.  After the cord is emptied of blood, the cord naturally clamps itself with the Wharton's Jelly that is produced in the cord.  This usually happens within hours of birth.  We waited until that evening to cut the cord (about 8 hours).  After a while, it ended up filling with blood again and oozing.  So, we had to clamp it off.  Next time, we will wait a full 24 hours before cutting the cord.  This will make sure the cord is well sealed within itself.  

Silas is so healthy and strong and smart.  He is almost 10 months now.  I would definitely do this again.  I love my baby getting the perfect amount of blood meant for them.  

I hope you enjoy the pictures and share them.  I wanted to get these out there because so many people don't get to see the beauty of a baby still connected to their original life support hours after their birth. 

S.t.r.e.n.g.t.h.

The truth is, I can handle it. The task before me is not greater than the strength within me.

For years, I have had an inner voice telling me:

"I'm not good enough. I will never be good enough. I can never reach my goals. I am a total loser. Everyone else has it together, but I always screw things up. Why do I always fail? I don't deserve this job."

I have had this voice in my head and heart for as long as I can remember. It has prevented me from so many things, damaged relationships, destroyed my education, and causes me great pain.

One of the reasons I love birthing so much is that it is one time when I overcome this enemy within me. When I am birthing, these words shine from my soul:

"I am good enough. I am reaching my goal. I am a champion. I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.* I am doing great. I was made to do this."

The task of birthing my child is so great, I don't let the negative voice ever have the microphone. EVER. My child needs me, and I can do this.

I was recently reading over a letter written to me by one of the dearest friends I've ever had. She wrote in response to a conversation where I shared my discouragement with her. She told me she loved me and reminded me of Elijah's birth. Eli's birth was and is still the most spiritual birth I've ever experienced. You can read the whole story HERE. Here's an excerpt:

The contractions were so intense. I tried a little push with one contraction. No, it wasn't time yet, but I could tell that this was going to be harder than Ana's birth. I thought, "I CAN'T DO THIS". At this time, God impressed on my heart not to speak and claim those words of defeat, but instead to call out to Him. It was between contractions. Everyone was totally quiet. I was facing the wall and couldn't see anyone in front of me. It was just God and me and my baby. I prayed out loud, "Father, thank You for giving us this baby. Thank you that he's coming today. 'I can do all things through Christ Who strengthens me.*' Thank You, Lord. You bring this baby out. This is all You. Come on, let's go!" After that I was on top of my pain (because my Jesus was carrying me).

Just reading that again brings tears to my eyes. I was so close to God. What has happened to me?

I've always desired to know and understand everything. This makes faith a challenge. Well, here's what I know and understand:

1.  When I try to be successful in my own strength, I fail, I disappoint, I even hurt people to accomplish my goal (i e: yelling).

2.  When I let go, trust Jesus to give me strength, love others, and just steadily keep trying, I am a conqueror and a blessing to my family.

I want live my life like I birth my babies. My family needs me. I can't let let that negative inner voice have the microphone anymore.


"I am good enough. I am reaching my goal. I am a champion. I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.* I am doing great. I was made to do this."

*Philippians 4:13

Isaiah, #1

Isaiah

There was a time when there was just one.  One who stole my heart.  One I spent every moment of every day and night with.  One child.  I was always holding him, rocking him, laying down with him, nursing him, bathing him, "slinging" him, changing him, kissing him, reading to him, singing to him, or dancing with him.  He was my day and night.  He was our baby, the one and only.  So special.  What an amazing, smart little guy.

I remember nursing him when I was pregnant with Ana until my belly filled my lap and it was pretty awkward to hold him sometimes.  Then it would bring on the contractions, OUCH.  The night Ana was born, Isaiah got right in the pool with us.  He loved her instantly.  I nursed them together right there in the pool, the expert and the rookie.  He was still sleeping in our bed when Ana came along.  I put a mattress next to the bed a couple months earlier so he could get used to his own bed.  He did a really good job because I was right there and he knew he could count on me if he needed me for any reason at all.  He often climbed up to our bed or I went down to his.

Isaiah holding me through my labor with Elijah

A couple more years past and I was having our third child, Elijah.  Isaiah wanted to help me so much, and held me through each contraction.  His little pajama shirt was getting wet from my arms.  He held me tight.  He was such a great big brother to Ana already and was so happy to now have a little brother.

When Eli was 4 months old, we found out that he had hemophilia.  We were so scared.  I didn't know anything about hemophilia.  Isaiah was scared too.  It became apparent that he was having some anxiety about keeping his baby brother safe.  He was worried that he or someone else would do something that would hurt him and make him bleed.  Isaiah was only 4 years old.  That is a heavy burden for such a little guy.  Of course, we talked a lot about it, but nothing could really take it completely away.  The fact remained.  His baby brother had hemophilia.

Isaiah and Elijah at NHF Denver 2008

The next year was the hardest for our family:  My husband lost his job. Eli had his port surgery.  I found out I was expecting #4.  We moved from the West coast to the East coast.  In my third trimester, I had to make quick decisions for a birth plan that now included possible hemophilia in the mix.  Ultimately, we decided on a hospital birth with a midwife, but fought for a waterbirth.  A few weeks later, our fourth child, Malakai was born making history as the first waterbaby at Women's and Children's Hospital of Buffalo.  He did not have hemophilia after all.  We brought him home the next day.  Isaiah, Ana, and Elijah were absolutely thrilled with their new baby brother.

A year later, I was expecting again, and we were moving again.  My husband was going back to school to get an RN, and eventually go into hematology to help other families with hemophilia.  So, we moved to the midwest and had an awesome homebirth for our fifth child, Silas.  Cord blood testing showed that he did have hemophilia.  When I told Isaiah, you know what he said?  His eyes lit up and he ran out to tell Eli that he had a hemophilia buddy now.  That boy is just amazing and full of love.

My dad, Isaiah, Me
Eli, Ana
Malakai, Silas

He is 8 now, and older brother to 4 little ones.  He is a cub scout, brilliant mathematician, avid reader, scooter and bike rider, gardener, my righthand man, video game champion, and he loves to take care of people.  Sometimes, his "older kid" needs are set aside because the baby's or another little one's needs are more pressing at the time.  I want that to be different.  Not only is Isaiah loved and important just because he is our son, he has given so much to his family.  He has dealt with a lot in 8 years.  I love him so much, and I appreciate him.   Tonight, after the younger 4 were in bed, I hung out with Isaiah on his bed.  We read his Sonic the Hedgehog comic book together.  It was so nice to have that special fun time with just him.  We need more moments like that.  And I really need to learn to catch properly with a glove because the last time Isaiah was trying to teach me. . . I totally stunk.  ;o)

Why Hemophilia Isn't Stopping Us from Having More Children

Ana 2010

Soon after Matt and I got married, we agreed that we would have as many children as God gave us.  We put our faith in God, trust in Jesus and believe the Bible.  God always refers to children as a positive thing: gift, blessing, treasure, reward, inheritance, etc.  We were both uncomfortable with any form of birth control.  It just didn't seem right to us to try to prevent a possible gift, blessing, treasure, reward, or inheritance that God might have for us.

So, we were very delighted to find out we were expecting our first little blessing right before Thanksgiving, just 5 months after our wedding.  Then, we were filled with grief when we buried that sweet baby just a month later.  I have given birth to 5 healthy babies since then, and I can tell you that the pain of miscarriage is the pain of death.  The pain of birth is life, and so much easier.

Malakai, Eli, Isaiah, and Ana 2011

God filled our hearts with joy once again when we found out our little Isaiah was on the way.  We actually heard his heartbeat on our first baby's due date, an unexpected gift from God.  That day would've been very hard otherwise.  Then, after Isaiah was a year old, my womb was full again.  This time with Ana.  Isaiah got in the pool for her birth.  I caught her myself.  So priceless.  Then, our not so little Elijah came (10lbs 14oz!) less than 2 years later.  His birth was the most spiritual I've ever experienced.  It gives me chills to this day.

It was when Eli was 4 months old that we were introduced to the world of hemophilia.  He had a couple hematomas along his waistline.  Blood tests showed that he had less than 1% of factor 8, severe hemophilia A.  A few months after that, I was tested.  I thought he probably had a spontaneous mutation.  I didn't have any family history of hemophilia at all.  Well, I remember getting that call like it was yesterday.  The test came back, and I was a carrier.  My heart sank.  Was this my fault?  Could I have more children in good conscience now? What does this mean for my home births? All these questions and more weighed me down immediately.

Our family of 7 with Matt's Mom and Grandma 2011

We reexamined our original decision:  We trust that God would give us as many children as we should have, and He would give us the specific children we should have.  Had all that changed since hemophilia?  The truth was that if it had changed, then we'd never truly believed it.

So, we stuck to our plan.  A few months later, we were blessed again.  This time, birth planning was a lot different.  We chose to get an ultrasound to find out if the baby was a girl or a boy:  BOY.  Then, we started interviewing midwives.  It definitely puts a twist in the interview when you mention, "Oh, by the way, our baby has a 50% chance of having a severe bleeding disorder. . . "  It wasn't so easy finding a caregiver this time.

Then, my husband lost his job, and we moved clear across the country from California to New York where he got a new job.  Homebirth just wasn't working out this time, but we had a great midwife who had privileges at the Women's and Children's Hospital.  I insisted on a water birth to give my baby the most gentle birth I could.  They'd never had a water birth, but in the end, they approved my request.  We used our pool, and they moved the bed out to make room for it.  Malakai was born, making hospital history!  His cord blood test came back that he did not have hemophilia.

Malakai and Silas 2012

Malakai is now 2 1/2 years old, and his little brother, Silas was born last September.  Silas is 5 1/2 months old now.  We were able to have a totally awesome home birth with him, and coordinated with our new (moved again!) HTC to get the cord blood tested.  Silas does have severe hemophilia A like his older brother, Eli.  He has shown little signs of his hemophilia so far.

Matt and I are very excited to look forward to the future.  Our beautiful family is growing, and although they keep us hopping, we just love our little crowd!  If God wants us to have more children with hemophilia, then it is what is best for our family.  If not, then that's what's best.  We choose to trust Him.

Matt and I have lots of friends and family whom we highly respect that do not share our beliefs on childbearing.  We believe it is a personal choice for each couple to decide on their own.  I know that I may have lost some people when I mentioned God, but I wanted to share our heart with you, and I can't do that without mentioning God.

Anyway, isn't having any child a risk?  People who don't carry a genetic disorder are not guaranteed a perfectly "healthy" child every time.  Elijah and Silas are just as much a blessing to our family as Isaiah, Ana, and Malakai are.  I believe with all my heart that God has a special plan for each one of our children.  I believe that everything in their lives is there for that purpose, to make them exactly who they are meant to be.  No matter what happens, God always loves us and we can always trust Him.

"Carters Story" by Jenny Fawcett Ruklic

I've been a part of the hemophilia community now for 4 years.  One of the first things that impressed me was how many parents are the leaders in the hemophilia community.  One of these parents is Jenny Fawcett Ruklic.  It was a journey for her to even admit to herself that her son had a bleeding disorder, but she did.  Now she has an organization that is dedicated to raising funds for research to find a cure for hemophilia.  Recently, she posted her story, "Carter's Story", and I wanted very much to share it with you all.  Thanks, Jenny, for sharing your journey with us.  

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"Carter's Story" by Jenny Fawcett Ruklic:


Over the last few months, I have made so many friends via Facebook, and a lot have joined our Page Carter's Quest for a Cure, Mall in the Hall and Bids for Bruisers. The one thing that I think may be missing is our story. So, here is my rendition of what has inspired me to become the advocate I am for my son.

Jenny and Carter

Carter Stephan Ruklic was born June 12 2008, a beautiful 8lb boy with a beautiful head of dark brown hair.  The labour was interesting. I lost a lot of blood, and it took a really long time for the doctors to stop the bleeding, but I never thought anything of it.  I had a daughter 5 years earlier, and it was the same thing.  Everything went fairly smoothly.  We were released from the hospital the next day and sent home.  2 days later, the community nurse came by the house to do the heel prick and weight check.  All pretty routine until I thought of it later.  Carter`s heel bled for a really long time.  Again, I never thought anything of it.  The nurse took her information and left.

Carter and Cassie

The weeks went by, and I started to feel a little emotional, I think the beginnings of postpartum.  On week 4, we had an appointment to have Carter`s circumcision done.  My husband works crazy hours during the summer.  We own a landscape business.  So, he is working tons.  So, when the appointment came, I thought, "I can do this myself no biggie. . . " (Which, if I can recommend now: Take help when someone offers to go with you to this.)  The procedure was horrible, the most emotional thing I had ever had to go through.  I was crying and was so upset for seeing my son cry that way.

After the procedure was done, we went home.  I picked up my daughter from Aunties house, and we went home to spend the day in the wading pool and running through the sprinkler.  Since Carter was born, I was depressed and sad, and Cassie was missing her Mommy.  So, I thought I would spend the day with her hanging out.  Carter slept all the time anyway. Little did I know that this was the day that would change our lives forever.

When we arrived home, I went to change Carter`s diaper, only to find an entire diaper filled with blood.  I called my sister.  I hadn't gone through this.  I wasn't sure if this was normal.  She had a boy. . . She would know.  Tara told me there shouldn't be blood. . . PANIC. . .  All I could think was that the doctor ruined my son.  I called the doctor's office. He told me to go to the Children's Hospital.  I'm sure at that point he kinda knew, but nothing was said.  So, I called the husband, asked him to meet me there. Cassie, Carter, and I were on our way to change our Lives.

Jenny and Carter

We arrived at the hospital, and they took us right away.  They stitched up Carter with 2 stitches, apparently the circumcision split. . . owww, painful.  They asked us to stay for 1 hour just to see if it continued to bleed.  I was confused why would it still bleed.  Are they telling me that they don`t know what they are doing?  Anyway. . .  I sent Will back to work with Cassie.  He was in the middle of building a pond, and there was a storm coming.  So, he left, and I said I would call on my way home.  An hour later they checked and it was still bleeding.  In came the lab to take some blood work. I was so confused as to why they wouldn't let me go home. . . 

Two hours later, the blood work came back, but they are not telling me anything.  My brother in law shows up.  Roger didn't want me to be alone.  I hadn't called Will back yet, and then The doctors come back and say that there was a problem with the blood test, and they needed to run some more.  I tell them, "Fine, but what is going on?"  No one answers me.  Roger calls Will, and my husband is back with me at the hospital.

Around 7 at nite, we have been there for 5 hours. They send a lab tech in to tell us in very broken English that our son has a shortage of factor in his body.  I have no idea what he is talking about.  What is factor?  I just looked at Carter and started crying.  Keep in mind, I was still postpartum.  Finally, the hematologist comes in and tells us that Carter is a moderate hemophiliac. . . SHOCK. . .   He gives us the HTC information and tells us to come for a meeting with everyone on Wednesday, and they will be able to talk about everything and answer any questions.  I then spent the next 48 hours crying and sobbing, asking God why he would do this to Carter and our family.  I just wanted answers.

Jenny, Will, Cassie, and Carter

We went to the clinic and met the entire staff that was going to oversee Carter`s condition.  At this time we are also told that the lab made a mistake, and really Carter is a severe type A and not a moderate. . .  Do these people know what they are doing?  My blood was boiling. . .   They handed us this giant binder filled with really scary things: joint bleeds, muscle bleeds, spontaneous, what. . . , and on and on,  and a bag for the binder.  I felt like we were just given a prize for being the 100th customer.  lol

We went home, and I took the binder and bag and put it under my bed, cause as a child that is where the monsters go.  I spent the next 6 months in a state of depression.  My test came back.  I have 32% factor in my body.  It explains all the bleeding episodes as a child, and knee and ankle problems.  I also had Carter retested. . . denial.  So, 6 months went by, and I didn't want to talk about it or really acknowledge it until Carter had his first bleed:  rolled over on a toy and bruised his back right on kidney area.  So, I started to cry.  Then, all of a sudden, I stopped, looked at Carter, smiled and said, "Mom's got u".  I ran to our bedroom, and got the binder from under the bed.  The monster was looking me in the face, and I needed to help my son.  So, I took a deep breath and did what I had to: admitted that my son has hemophilia.

After that day, I have hit the ground running.  I engulfed myself with information.  We attended the society events and I even went to a women's weekend for women with bleeding disorders.  I met people and talked to everyone I knew about Hemophilia.

"Carter's Quest" Bottle Drop

2 years later, our lives have changed so much.  My son is an amazing little boy and normal.  We are joint bleed free, 2 muscle bleeds, and numerous soft tissue bleeds and head injuries.  He wears a helmet at times and knee pads.  I have managed to train in giving my son his infusions at home, no port, I find the vein 3 times out of 5.  I joined the board for the Southern Alberta Chapter of the Hemophilia Society.  We attend The Parents Empowering Parents weekend, which, if anyone has the opportunity to do, do it.  My husband and I are not anything special, but we love our kids and Carter is no exception.  Aside from the underlining condition, he is very normal.  He loves to cuddle, he loves to jump, and he gets hurt. . . 

I can`t change what we are going through, and I can`t take away the pain that Carter may go through in his life, but I can be his strength.  I can be here to tell him that he is special.  God chose us to be the ambassador to his needs.  I will do everything in my power to raise Carter and Cassie as I would any other children: with morals, strength and courage.  I am strong today because of my children and not in spite of them.

Over the last little while, I have met some extraordinary people, and I will cherish their friendship through Facebook.  I love all my hemophilia friends.  Thanks for being here to help guide my way.

Love to all. . . 

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