We were like shell-shocked war victims when we brought Cale home from the hospital this time. We knew we had just landed in an unknown land and we didn't' speak or understand the language. One of my deep, unspoken fears was that someone within our family would somehow see Cale as "less" and treat him as such. I knew his worth whatever his condition but I just didn't think everyone would. I could never stand the idea that anything he might be would not be honored in the same way that his sisters were. I worried that his cousins, grandparents and even sisters might treat him differently. I did a lot of praying in those first few days of this new life. I was angry with anyone who had a child that was "normal". I was angry with anyone who felt sorry for me and I was angry with God who seemed to not be paying attention when this stroke affected my Cale. I still prayed but the relationship was strained. I honored my Father in prayer as I had been taught to but my heart still held back my anger. I went through the motions in my life. I took care of my girls and my boy, went to PTA meetings where caring people told me how they knew if anyone could handle this new side of my life- I could. I kept thinking, 'do I have a choice?' I think in most circumstances the ability to deal with most things is in us all. It is just that we don't think we can do things until there is no choice.

Cale went to therapy, took his daily shots, smiled at us and grew. Still, I didn't know if he really understood us as his family. Looking back, I am sure he did. But then, I trusted nothing. The things I could count on had been taken away. I kept asking the neurologist what the future would be like for Cale and his answer was always, "I can't predict the future." I finally said, "Give me an educated guess." Still, no one had answers. After four months of steroid shots and a little baby that weighed thirty pounds, had hair all over him and panted when he breathed, the seizures continued. We began to wean him off the drugs as directed by the doctor. The withdrawal made him very ill and unhappy. He screamed and cried. When the drugs had been stopped, we sat in the neurologist's office and I asked, "After several months of the steroids, the weight gain, immunity problems and the weaning - the seizures never have let up. They are the same or maybe worse. So why did we do this exactly?" His answer was, "Yeah, it didn't work. But the parents usually feel better that we have done something." I couldn't believe it. We had pumped steroids into my baby with all of the side effects and potential dangers to make us feel better?! You probably think that we stormed out of there and never looked back. No, remember we were in an unknown land and the only interpreter we had was this man in front of us. We came back for four more years. Usually, I carried a pharmacy book and the research I had done on other seizure medications. The doctor would take my suggestion and ask with a pen poised over his prescription pad, "How much do you think we should prescribe?" And, I'd give him my uneducated ideas. You'd also think that I'd have a problem writing that $90.00 check when I left his office each time. I don't know who I was at that time who meekly went on with the process. The years and the crisis' to come would change me into a very different person.

The spinal tap revealed that Cale's injury was an old one. One doctor later explained it by saying that he had experienced a stroke "long before you knew him". He told me that it was the best time to have a stroke if you had to have one - if he had it any later in life - he would probably have died instantly. The doctor explained that his condition wasn't continuing to worsen except that we needed to control the seizures. He was put on steroid shots that were meant to coat the brain and stop or control the seizures. We had to learn to adminster the shots before we could take him home. He cried at first when we gave him a shot but soon he just grinned and laughed about it. We went home to begin living the rest of our lives. We explained to Miranda and Brandy that Cale was having seizures and he would be getting shots daily. We had a "papoose"
board to strap him down so that we could give him a shot. We strapped his head, arms and legs down while he smiled and gurgled and then we gave him the injection. It was a pitiful sight. My sweet mom would come by every morning on her way to work to help me and she cried each time. It was nearly Christmas and she would bring him one of his Christmas gifts each day to
"make him feel better".

The steroids made him gain up to 30 pounds. He was bloated and grew dark hair everywhere. He grew chest hair and hair down his back. He panted when he breathed. I couldn't find any clothes to fit him. My mom and my cousin Ann made him custom made gowns and overalls. Ann even cross-stiched his name on the overalls. I thought he looked like a minature Elvis (older Elvis - not younger). For the most part he was a jolly soul. We had been told that while he was on the mega doses of steroids that we needed to keep him home and away from other people because his immune system would be low. I opted to take him to Sunday worship service because I needed to be in church with him and trusted God to take care of him there. For four months, my mom and dad would pick up the girls for Bible class and I would bring Cale at the worship service. We came in late and left before everyone else was dismissed. In all that time, during the Winter flu months, he never even got a cold. We did therapy with him and tried to stimulate his brain. The seizures continued - they never let up, never got better. I remember praying to God that He would just let him grow up to know how much I loved him. That he would understand that if nothing else. I had seen one of my husband's friend's little girl who was severly disabled. She didn't seem to even know her mom and dad were there. I couldn't imagine how to live through that. I knew he would smile at me but I was afraid that as time went on he wouldn't be able to communicate like that. The doctors just said "we can't predict the future - we'll just have to wait and see".

It is the craziest thing but I remember being devastated that Danny wouldn't get the boy that he wanted to play football. From the time we found out that we were having a boy, Danny would talk about how he would one day watch his boy play High school football and he would be really good. Danny hadn't been allowed to play football in high school so he was excited to live it through his son. Danny is a wonderful man and he assured me that it didn't matter to him anymore, but I felt that he was going to miss out on this. In all the years to come Danny would say, "Cale is everything a son could be. I am so proud of that boy." I truly believe that who Cale is - is exactly the son Danny wanted and needed. He didn't miss out at all. He, like me was blessed.

Cale's "episodes" were relentless now. We had been in the hospital for what seemed like an eternity while we waited for results. Finally, the neurologist, Dr. Chien, came to see us. He looked very serious when he showed us the CAT scan. I am not a regular subscriber to CAT scans and such so I'm not sure that I would have interpretted them the same way without his help. Dr. Chien said that it appeared that Cale had suffered a massive stroke at some point in his short existence that had shut off the blood flow to one side of his brain. The CAT scan revealed that the right side of the brain was shriveled ( like a shrunken bean) and apparently there was no activity coming from that side, nor would there ever be. I believe he went on to tell us that there was a chance that the "good" half of his brain could take over some of the functions that had been lost but truthfully, I didn't hear it at the time. All I knew was that he was telling me that my boy would not grow up normally; he'd not be like everyone else. I had no way of knowing then that very point would be one of the richest blessings I'd ever be given.

I remember looking over at the sweet boy in the bed who looked up at me and smiled and being sure that somehow I had caused this terrible thing to fall upon him. I reasoned that I was his mother, I had either neglected to do something, or had in fact, done something to cause it. I had to look away from him because I just couldn't face his trusting eyes - eyes that believed I could do anything for him. I couldn't even begin to contemplate what his life would be. The doctors tried to give us information but I know that they sensed our desperation and so chose to keep some terminology from us in order to help us take one thing at a time. They never said the words "Cerebral Palsy". It would be two years later before I came to understand that this was the name of Cale's overriding problem. That was most likely a good thing since I was drowning with the information I had at the time.

Cale was scheduled to have a spinal tap the next day to see if the stroke was recent or a very early insult to the brain. Seizure medicine was ordered. Physical Therapy would be stepped up. A "Let's wait and see" attitude was prescribed by the doctors. All the while, a little boy looked at his bewildered parents and smiled at them, letting them know that in his heart, all was well. As it would always be.

Cale was a chubby, beautiful, baby boy who smiled often. That October, my husband, Danny and I decided to go away for the weekend, leaving the girls with their "Granny and Papa Buff". We took Cale with us because he was still a nursing boy. We went to the Smoky Mountains and enjoyed the weekend among the fall colors. It was the last weekend of innocence for us. All was good and there were no scary thoughts in our minds that Saturday and Sunday. The pictures we took show me hugging and kissing Cale's chubby baby cheeks. I remember thinking that we had weathered the problems a new baby brought and were doing fine. The next Sunday between church and Sunday dinner at my Mom's, I noticed that Cale was reacting strange. He would jerk his head to the left, his left arm would fling involuntarily out also. He looked a little dazed and then he would smile. These episodes happened in a series of seven or eight. I was not really concerned. I just thought it was something I might need to mention to my Mom and then probably his doctor. When I showed him to Mom, she was more than a little concerned. She thought we should see the doctor immediately. Dr. Miller was at his office that Sunday afternoon and he agreed to see us. He also seemed very concerned. He wanted us to bring him to the hospital the next day for some tests. He thought it might be seizures. Still, I thought seizures would just be something he'd have to take medicine for and life would go on. I rode by the local high school on the way home to tell Danny, who was playing football with some friends. He was worried but as always, calm. That was October 30th. The next day would be Halloween. Being the crazy mom that I was, I was really worried about how the girls would go trick or treating with me at the hospital. That was not the kind of thing their dad would take them to do. So, I dressed them up that night in their costumes (Miranda was a tooth fairy, Brandy was a princess and Cale was a clown. ) and took their pictures in our living room. I called my sister Susie (who has always been there for me whenever I needed her) and asked her to take the girls with her kids out trick or treating. I told the girls that I'd be gone for a day or two but there was nothing to worry about.

By the next morning when it was time to go to the hospital, Cale was having episode after episode with little let up. When we got him checked in a room at the hospital he had an episode that really scared me. He had about ten episodes, one after another and for the first time he didn't seem to know what was going on around him while it was going on. Tests began that night and continued into the next day. He had a CAT scan, EEG, X-Ray and other tests that I didn't identify at the time. We managed through the second day and night waiting for the results to come in the next day. I knew this could be serious but I remember thinking that the really bad things didn't happen to me. You know, just mini-bad things. The bad things were reserved for someone else.

"It's blue! The stick is blue!" (OK, maybe I added another adjective there.) How could anything being blue change my life forever?!? It did. I was not planning on another pregnancy. I had my life planned out. I was a stay-at-home mom and had finally gotten everyone to sleep all night, was able to keep my head above the laundry on a regular basis, I could bathe daily again, and besides, I only had two bedrooms for kids!! How can anyone be in control with more kids than they have bedrooms?!?

But it was blue and that was the day that changed all others. That was the day I began to learn the real lessons of life. I was a different person back then. I literally went to bed and cried for two days because I would have to make my girls share a room. I was racked with worry about how I would be able to remain a "homeroom mother" with a new baby. How would I be able to attend field trips and be an active member of the PTA? That was the kind of mom I was. I did all that stuff. I was in control. Little did I know that within a year my worries would change from those 'serious' concerns to thoughts of whether a little boy with only one half of a brain would ever know who I was and how much I loved him.

I knew something was wrong during the pregnancy but I didn't know what it was. I got very sick about 2 weeks after the 'blue stick' incident. I didn't have normal morning sickness like I had experienced with the second baby. I just couldn't seem to eat anything. I didn't have the strength. Just getting out of the bed was too much for me. In fact, I could hardly raise my head off the pillow. I ended up in the hospital with dehydration that the doctor kept saying was a result of me throwing up from morning sickness. I kept trying to tell him that it wasn't morning sickness but he really didn't listen and I was not very aggressive because it was just too taxing to be aggressive when I really wanted to lay down. Even when I felt better and returned home, the feelings that all was not right did not leave me. I prayed that God would understand my heart - that I didn't plan this baby and I had worried about how having him would disrupt my life but I really wanted him and loved him. I had some spotting early on and I begged God to let me keep this baby. - Not another baby later on - but this baby. He was mine and I loved him dearly. Things got better but I still carried the feeling that something was not quite right.

Jonathan Cale was born on May 10, 1988. I had an amniocentesis the day before to make sure he was ready to be born. (My first daughter had been breech so I had three C-sections.) The one thing I will always remember about the first few minutes of his life was that he was crying and his Dad had him. He held him close to my face and I said, "Hi, buddy. It's OK. I'm your Mom and I love you." He stopped crying, turned his little face to me and looked at me. Somehow he understood the connection we would always have.

His sisters, Miranda (7 years old at the time) and Brandy (4 years old) loved having a new baby in the house. I think Miranda was especially happy to have a brother. Brandy loved him but was more interested in playing outside than being in with a crying baby. Cale watched them and laughed at any attention they gave him. The first few months seemed wonderful, the girls were at home and it was a sweet time. Still, at six weeks, when I had his picture taken, it was obvious that Cale would not turn his head past midpoint to the left. We'd get him looking straight ahead and he would turn back to the right. The photographer said, "Something is wrong with this baby. You need to find out what it is." I was so angry. How dare her say something was wrong with my baby?! What did she know?! I told my mom and sister about it and I was so outraged that I didn't notice that they wondered if there were a problem too.

A few weeks later, I asked his pediatrician about it and he began sending us to a physical therapist for torticollis (a tight neck muscle). I think deep down I knew it was just the 'tip of the iceberg'. I remember sending the girls to Wednesday night church service with my parents and staying home to rock Cale and put him to bed. I kept rocking him and crying, thinking how stupid it was to cry about a tight neck muscle. So began our physical therapy sessions. Life went on until he was about 5 and a half months old.