Tag Archives: LP

Keep Pushing

I was unable to find anyone who recorded (or even took a picture!) of the LPA Speakers’ Night, but I wanted to share my piece with you. I plan on recording me speaking it, but wanted to share it with you (written) in the meantime. So, without further stalling, here is my LPA Speakers’ Night Piece entitled: Keep Pushing.

#lpaSD2014 #LPA Speakers Night

As I embark upon the birth of my second child, I find the title of my piece ironic.

Keep pushing.

While that’s not my birthing mantra- that one is just breathe- Keep pushing is my mission in life.

Letting ourselves be defined by anything, even things that are so apparent, like our gender, sexual preference, race or disability is no way to live. It’s no way I will let myself or my children live, so why do other people expect me to allow such behaviors from them?

The answer is simple. The answer points a finger. The answer stings. The answer is me.

People treat others as they are allowed to. Sad? Pathetic? Lame? You bet. But it’s the truth. We love to take advantage of life- be lazy where we can be. We often, as humans, forget the implications of our language.

We let people call us homo, fat, crazy, midget, whore. Because as a culture stopping these things is too “politically correct”. We fear that we are being “too sensitive”, we aren’t raising tough kids, or we ourselves do not have thick skin.

“Good luck this time!”
“Good for you- trying again.”
“Sucks you didn’t know before she was born.”
“Is there anything they can do for her when she’s older to make her taller?”

Fellow humans have said these things to me. Why does the world view dwarfism as something to be cured, rather than embraced as a difference?

We don’t want to question what others say. We give up our right to know about ourselves when we don’t ask the hard questions.

“I don’t know.”
“We will learn together.”
“Let’s come back to that.”
“This is my first one.”

Doctors have said these things to me. Why is the education about dwarfism so slim that many medical professionals fear the diagnosis of dwarfism- offering patients little education and less options.

My mantra, Keep pushing. For respect, for knowledge.

Do you see it yet? Do you feel the need to push?

There is change that can be made. There is change that needs to be made. There are generations coming up behind you and me, behind the children being born today and the children following them. There are millions of people yet to be born, and thousands will have a form of dwarfism.

But they will not be dwarfs.

They will be painters and doctors. They will be writers and scientists. They will be political leaders and dreamers and veterinarians. Those born with a form of dwarfism will love and be loved. They will change lives and shape the world for future generations. The way we need to now.

There is a need to define ourselves by what we want as a community and let the masses, not the few, lead the way. Television shows that pigeonhole this community, media misconceptions, movies and comedians are things of the past when we push- and keep pushing- to be defined not as little people, but as people. Height doesn’t make someone smart, or happy, or better than. Average height just makes you average.

Be spectacular regardless. Keep pushing.

When a doctor tells me they do not know, I ask, “how will you find the answer?” When I am given news about a health concern and then that same medical professional attempts to leave the room, I ask for further explanation. I ask what our course of action is. I ask what their medical opinion and experience are. What is the timeline. How do we proceed? I push to know more. I push to make them answer. To make them accountable for their diagnosis. I refuse to let Google do my doctoring. I refuse to leave not knowing.

Too many parents email me with the same story. It goes like this: The doctors told me my baby would be a dwarf. They gave me a packet of papers and told me to make appointments for these things. They told me to be prepared, but not for what.

More often than not, I offer my telephone number. I spend hours each week calming mothers-to-be and new parents. Not giving medical advice, but offering an ear and listening to questions that are left unanswered. Unanswered concerns from a doctor who left their patients with a handout and maybe a few people to call.

This is not OK. This is not how patients should be treated. Dwarfism is not unknown. Specialists exist!

In my hours on the phone I’ve looked up local hospitals with clinics, referred many to our own team in Delaware, and always given out the LPA’s website. Hours spent giving the same basic information that needs to be readily available to all patients with a diagnosis of dwarfism. Support, love and most importantly, knowledge.

Keep pushing.

Keep pushing so that when someone sees a person of short stature they smile, the same smile they offer any other human on the street. Why? Because a person of short stature is any other human.

Keep pushing to make changes, because if there is such an uprising about a professional football team name change, then there should be a change across the nation of high school sports teams named The Midgets. Because other people do not decide what offends you. Because other people don’t control our emotions. Because being sensitive, caring, respectful people is what defines a civilized culture. That is what humanity means. Because even doctors need to learn something new every day. Because bedside manner isn’t dead (and neither is chivalry, if you were wondering).

There isn’t a facet of our culture that doesn’t need advocacy from our community, so be that voice. Never stop pushing because it doesn’t bother you anymore, or because you think one person can’t make a difference. One voice. One community. One change at a time.

Keep pushing because letting ourselves be defined by anything, even things that are so apparent, like our gender, sexual preference, race or disability is no way to live. It’s no way I will let myself or my children live, and I won’t being defined by anyone but myself.

 

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Filed under Achondroplasia, Community, Educate/Adovocate/Make Change

Marvelous Monday

So much to say about what’s been going on, but I keep reflecting on our wonderful experience in California.

If you followed my social media pages, you may have noticed #lpaSD2014 making it’s way around with pictures, quotes, and events… all leading to the LPA National Conference in San Diego. It was amazing.

It is also something that we could not have participated in without the help and support of our parents and my aunt and uncle. Both my parents and Dave’s helped us get there (via flyer miles, rewards, food, and accommodations). I am also extremely grateful for my dearest, who works his tail off at work and then each weekend doing repairs to save up for the cost of eating away from home (yes, a BLT in San Diego is $10!). But it is more than the money. It’s the understanding. My mother-in-law was initially going to come with us (she will be attending workshops with us in Boston in 2017!), but decided that it was just too much for her… however, she still supported us going, which means the world to our family. San Diego is an awesome vacation spot, but the conference, the LPA organization and the knowledge and friendships we gain each year are invaluable to us.

#Aisforadelaide #lpaSD2014 #family #friends #dwarfism

Addie was blessed this year with a gift from a family who lost their child to a rare(r) form of dwarfism with a Lifetime Membership to Little People of America, and we could not be more thankful. Knowing  that Addie will always have access to the best advocacy, community and medical advice, even after Dave and I are not here to guide her, eases my heart. There are so many lesser known facets to the LPA organization that I hope she explores- including scholarships and a deep-rooted community- that having this membership offers her access to all this and so much more- forever! #aisforadelaide #lpaSD2014 #LPANationalConference #SanDiego

With that, the opportunity to go to as many regional (local) and national events as we can gives us all opportunity to learn, play, educate and be educated. Last year, I was a part of a panel that focused on social media and how we present ourselves as a community, and this year I spoke about why I keep pushing (advocating) for more education and awareness. Dave got to learn about different home adaptations and how he can make our house more comfortable for Addie without making it difficult for us. Even the grandparents got to go to some workshops and learn a bit more about what it’s like to grow up as someone with dwarfism, the things they can help Addie with, and just take part in the community.

#aisforadelaide #lpaSD2014 #expo #travel #sandiego

All-in-all… this was an amazing experience. Made that much better by our trip a few hours north to see my Aunt Donna and Uncle Ted. While I am forever grateful to the LPA and being able to experience national events, being able to see my Uncle Ted meant more to me than I can express. My Mom did not find her brother until she was in her 20′s. Adopted at birth, she was able to reconnect years later with a lot of research… and I am so glad she did. My Uncle is amazing- traveling to see us a lot in my youth- and coming to stay with us for much longer than he anticipated, when my Dad passed. We often joke in my family that I was a wild child, but that didn’t really happen until my Dad died. My Uncle saw firsthand how out of control I became and how quickly I down-spiraled. But still, he stayed. Day after day he supported my Mom and did everything he could to help with the daily running of the house, and the big things that my Dad had been too sick to do in his last months of life. Going out to see him, hug him, talk to him and see the spark in his eye was more than I could ask for.

#aisforadelaide #lpasd2014 #family #vacation #travel

He’s sick. I hate that. I hate seeing a man who has rocked the world, serving our country, playing a major role in aerospace development, advancing the programs that offer guide and service dogs to those who need, and most of all being an amazing family man- he’s diminishing in body… but never spirit. I was afraid he would be fragile and was instead surprised to see him, stout as ever, never batting an eye when he needed oxygen or apologizing for needing a break. Quite simply, as Ted has always been, he just is. Maybe that’s where I get my no apologies life-view from… I am who I am, be damned if it upsets you or makes you uncomfortable. And my Aunt Donna, his rock, she’s kind of amazing, too. Her love, support and drive are inspiring. A teacher for years, she set Addie up with all the fun stuff while accepting oxygen deliveries, getting towels for Addie and I to swim, her beaming smile never fading.

#aisforadelaide #family #LPAsd2014 #sandiego #losangeles #travel

There are some days that are really hard. For everyone. I have a family who has taught me, and continues to do so, that there are way more rainbows than rain if we look for them. I am thankful that we got to Cali this summer… for the sun, sand, friendships, education, family.

Have you done a big summer vacation this year? What was your favorite part?

Happy Marvelous Monday, Reader! I hope you have a beautiful week!

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On being a special needs parent…

I read THIS yesterday as parent after parent on my Facebook feed shared the article. At the time, I was scanning the web from my phone from beneath my dearest Adelaide, softly crying.

Although I’ve posted a few updates on her, it’s been a whirlwind since we’ve returned from the LPA National Conference in San Diego… we landed late Saturday night, spent the day jet lagged, but as a family, on Sunday, then had an incredibly busy Monday running from Addie’s physical therapy, the OB and chiropractor for me, and fielding calls from 4 different doctors (have I mentioned that when an actual doctor calls, it’s usually not good?). On Tuesday morning I said goodbye to Dave as he headed to work, and he kissed me extra hard. The look in his eye told me what I needed to know; it pained him that I would be going through a surgery without him and he had no words. Neither did I. He carried our still-sleeping girl to the car for me and kissed her face and head as he hesitantly closed the car door.

I didn’t even cry. After she was under sedation, I calmly left the room, my head spinning as I attempted to control my breathing. I gathered our belongings for our overnight stay and meandered around the corner to the waiting room where, after spending  a solid 15 minutes staring at the surgical board, called my mom. Then I tried on one long-sleeve shirt, but then I was wearing too much gray, so I took it off and put on the blue one- it was from the 5k I did a few weeks ago. You’re strong enough for this, Chelley. I sat down and got out my work. I use 3 different spreadsheets to track my work, sponsored posts, links, blog posts and the like. I took out a pen and started to cross things off and move things around. I planned for a few days of recovery where I could do some work, but not a lot. I took out my highlighter and crossed off everything I’d done. I felt grateful that I have the option to push work aside when I need to because Dave takes care of us.

#aisforadelaide #specialneedsparenting #motherhood #specialneeds

So back to the article. It’s a few days post-tubes (second set) and adenoidectomy and Addie was on top of me, where she’s been a lot since her surgery. Perched on my chest, or curled up around my belly inciting kicks from her baby sister, inside. She was running about 100º and shaking, her little body clad in nothing but a Bumgenius diaper, snoring and sweating through my own tank top. Every now and again, she would stir and cry in her slumber. So I read, and I softly cried, too. If you follow along with the article, I cried because:

1. Sometimes lonely doesn’t describe it. Even when I have a moment to connect with friends and family I cannot express the fear I feel. The fact that everyone in the world could be there to hold my hand, and I would still feel like I was standing alone- especially when I am there without Dave. Because when we do have time to talk, I want to talk about Addie every moment and not at all, and not knowing how to process your own emotions is a lonely place to be.

2. Dave and I are a power couple. We aren’t changing the world, but we’re shaping our own. And we have to work at it everyday. We discuss a lot of medical things, we sleep very little large chunks… but we do it all together. Sometimes we snap and bite, but the lines of communication don’t close. Sleep, fancy cars, and, yes, even intimacy can wait… but not forever. We fight for that. For this. For us.

3. Enough said. I can go mama bear in 1.4 seconds flat, however.

4. All the time. This is also due to my losing a brother, young cousin and father before I was 13. But even more so, as we look deeper into Addie’s spine and decompression and blackouts and sleep… I feel relief when she wakes up. I hate that feeling. I just want to wake up and not have my heart leap and stop until I see her ribs expand and contract with the sweet sound of her breath. I hope this fear won’t last forever.

She is #aisforadelaide #strength #courage #laughter

5. Sometimes I know that my voice means less than my body. The length of my reach engulfing her body as she cringes in pain or fear at an appointment. The way she melts into my shoulder or tucks into my chest as they try to take another set of vitals, insert an IV, measure another limb. The way she won’t wear a mask unless I gently place it over her face. There are no words… just the touch of mom. Recently I learned skin-to-skin is important past infancy, as Addie craves feeling my heart beat and holding my necklace. She reaches into my shirt just to feel my skin, and I crave comforting her. Touch is so healing and speaks louder than words. When I ask her if she’s ok and she grabs my face into her own kisses me and settles into my arms. Words seemingly, in that moment, mean nothing.

6. While Addie doesn’t have speech issues, hearing your child come out of sedation like a lion screaming for you or waking in an apnea episode startled wanting only you… those are the times I cherish her communication most.

So, in light of her adenoids being removed, which gives off the most horrible breath, and my heightened sense of smell, her small shaking body, feverish and gripping, the hours we’ve spent in the same position (painful for me)… this is just what we do. And after the hours. The physical ache and mental exhaustion… the moments left in between. There’s still a light inside.

#aisforadelaide #sarifices #parenthood #specialneedsparenting

…been laying here for hours. Wouldn’t trade a minute.

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Filed under Achondroplasia, Educate/Adovocate/Make Change, Parenting/Family/Lifestyle

Surgery Day!

So here we are again… Hasbro Children’s Hospital! Addie is headed in for her second set of tubes and an adenoidectomy.  I talked to 4 different doctors yesterday, and though I am pretty much not answering my phone if I see 401-444-#### (which indicates someone from Lifespan Hospital Network calling me), I am thankful that we have such an amazing team, willing to do all the research possible to keep Addie safe and healthy.

As many have read, we’re going through a lot of diagnosing and problem-solving for Addie’s blackout episodes, which included an MRI. Sadly, we did not have full follow through of the order, and Addie will need to undergo another round of imaging so we can get a better idea of what might be happening. For this, we will head up to Boston (in a few weeks)…. for today, we just want to get through the ENT battle.

#aisforadelaide #warriorgirl #HasbroChildrensHospital

After I wrote about needing sedation (Addie is intubated as her airways are constricted), and how incredibly apprehensive that makes me (pregnancy hormones don’t help), many people chimed in. I wish that I could say their words helped, but sometimes they hurt or scared me more. When I lost my father 16 years ago I remember a lot of other people missing “the mark” of things to say- there are a thousand articles about what to say to someone who is grieving, but what about parents and caretakers who are scared? I know that nothing said truly makes anyone feel better, but there are things that have made me feel a bit worse about what’s going on and I wanted to share them with you because many parents have told me they too feel the same way–>

1. Don’t worry.
See, the thing is… I’m WAY past that.
2. It’s not a big surgery.
If my child is in surgery, it’s a big surgery to me. It’s a part of me I’ve entrusted to the Earth in a situation I cannot even try to control.
3. Been there. Done that.
While I am aware we are not reinventing the wheel here, routine surgery for one is not for another. Please, try to not one-up others.
4. I had that, and I was OK. (Or my child did)
I know lots of people with  lots of stories. I know kids that do GREAT under anesthesia. I know kids that have gone into comas from it, too. I know that when Addie wakes up she is a mess, her throat hurts, she’s raspy, she needs to be held and fights needed oxygen. I know that she gets ill, but refuses to drink or eat to help it. I know that she will be OK because we have a handpicked team, but brushing off a parent’s fear doesn’t make them feel better… or at least doesn’t work for me.
5. I know someone who died from that.
No joke. Someone told me they knew someone who had a child who died during a routine surgery- then they IM’d me their prayers. Ummmmmmm… I know things can happen, please don’t share those personal stories with me as I’m scheduling a routine surgery.
6. Try having (insert different procedure here).
This one really gets me. For some society has created a need for constant comparisons. Pissing contests. Who has it harder. I’ll tell you what, I know what hardship is. Maybe it is experience (I am still just a mom to one, and if you think back to those days, you too will remember your feelings were different then than they are now), maybe it’s age, or financial status, or location… or maybe, just maybe, it is how I feel as an individual. And it  is OK for me to feel the way I do. Maybe, someday, I will experience a similar hardship to you- but if you’re that person who feels like your life is harder, it just won’t matter… I’ll never be justified. This is, if you truly think of it, tragic for you.

And now that that’s off the table… I appreciate your kind words, your loving emails, texts, phone calls. So many are pulling for Addie to feel 100%, and for that I could not be more thankful. For those who go through major experimental surgeries, I pray for you everyday and I am thankful for the love and support offered to those families. When any family is going through unusual circumstances, the support system that surrounds them gives them the most strength. Thank you, Reader, for your strength.

lots of love,

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Marvelous Monday

And so… we are back. Many times I spent my Marvelous Mondays writing about what I am thankful for as friends or my surroundings, but today, I want to be thankful for opportunity. We don’t go on date nights, or celebrate with fancy dinners or outings, most of the time the idea of vacation seems intimidating and daunting for the sheer cost factor, but we are never short on opportunity.

Much thanks to our parents, who help us do the big things in life. We’d love to cruise the Bahamas, take a trip to Disney, see the Eiffel Tower… but more than that, we want to learn and support this amazing community around us- the reason I even began this blog… we want to be active members of the LPA as fully as we can be!

Last week, we took full advantage of our membership and joined hundreds of others in San Diego.

#aisforadelaide #marvelousmonday #lpaSD2014

I spent hours in workshops, gatherings, meetings and group events… to learn, to think, to take notes, to listen, to share, to dream, to wonder, to play! Addie participated in her first fashion show! I met SO many wonderful people I’d only ever spoken to online. Dave got to SIT DOWN! I spoke… in front of way more of a crowd than I was expecting, and though it was not recorded (to my knowledge), I will share the piece with you soon. We made friends family.

So, what is there to not be thankful for in life? I’m not thankful that Addie will have to undergo another MRI for more imaging. I’m not thankful that we still don’t know why she’s blacking out. I’m not thankful that there are so many questions and so few answers… in general. But who is counting? What this means is that there is more to see, more to know and more to learn. Advocating for our community, for our family and for Addie herself is never done. So let’s start this week in thanks… and get ready to work hard once again!

Happy Marvelous Monday, Reader!

love,

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Marvelous Monday

Oh. Em. Geeeee!!!!!

There’s so much to say and so little time to type! I just want to let everyone know- we made it safely to the LPA National Conference- and I survived another public speaking engagement! We miss our sweet Carter Jay, but he’s having fun with his grandparents and ruling the roost.

If you are here at the conference, please let me know! I would love to meet as many new people as possible! Just leave a comment, or email me through the Contact tab! I will be posting way less this week and appreciate your understanding!

Lots of love and a beautiful Monday to you, Reader!

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Happy Fourth!

We are celebrating our wonderful country by flying the friendly skies! We are heading to the LPA National Conference, as well as a visit to my Uncle Ted (Camille Thea’s honoring him with her middle name), and we are so excited.

But before we go, this beautiful American girl wanted to wish you and your family a Happy (and safe) 4th of July!!

#4thofjuly #aisforadelaide

 

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Reliving those moments…

Sometimes parenting sucks. Not the waking up in the middle of the night, or the food that gets hurled onto your new white shirt. Who really cares about a scuff on those $50 Striderite shoes or the fact that someone cut their own hair with the kid-friendly scissors?

#aisforadelaide #favoriteday

The most awful of times is when we can’t fix it.

It is that thing that you knew was there, or the times you knew would come. Those moments of 2am sickness, fevers that won’t break, flushed cheeks, or in our case, brief spells of total blackouts. Those moments in life where the cliché, why can’t it be me, becomes alarmingly appropriate. I wish I could sacrifice myself. The bedtime routine of her body all arched up in bed and snoring- her throat drying out as she gently falls asleep… and when I want to cry… a big, ugly cry. But she just wraps a sweaty little arm around me in her stupor, I breathe her in, and I can’t help but fall madly in love with that little being. I wish I could fix it.

Our perfect beings somehow become injured, no less perfect, but more vulnerable… making us, as their guardians, more exposed than we knew we could be. Our little hearts walking outside our bodies left helpless for moments we can’t even track, with ailments we cannot heal. We wait for the phone call from some staff member that says, No worries, Mrs. Martinka, she’s just being a toddler. Instead my phone rings and the sweet voice of a doctor comes on.

Oh shit.

It’s all I can think, and as they tell me exactly what I knew and never wanted to hear, I’m dying inside. A piece of my heart is marching around the room in her colorful cloth diaper laughing, and the part of my heart that is stuck in me is screaming- simultaneously stopping and racing at the same time.

#aisforadelaide #thehardestpart #parenting

You know what I am saying to myself as I choke back tears and gather the important information is every curse ever spoken. I’m getting names and numbers, and big words I’ll later look up on Google. The heat in my face is rising and I can feel my unborn kicking me from the inside. Just stay in there, Millie. I can’t keep you safe out here. A piece of my heart is breaking, and yet the silliest part of me is right there, running around, happy and perfect as the day she was born.

The moments of gasping. Blackouts. They have a reason. A cause. And I didn’t want to hear what I already knew.

And I hate it.

It’s another unknown. It’s reliving her diagnosis all over again without the acceptance that it will all be ok… not knowing what is ahead for us and longing for the ignorance that’s kept me company for the past 26 months.

As I hang up the phone, and make another appointment, send another update in an email, request another referral and get another approval code, the routine is different. This isn’t preventative, this is proactive. This is taking the next step. This is fear and hurt and wonder. And I crash my face into the pillow and scream, hot tears saturating the fabric beneath my eyes. Does it mean surgery? It means the possibility…

Because this is what parenting is, some days. And some days I don’t know if I can do it. But it’s possible that I can.

This warrior keeps me strong. She keeps me brave. She’s taught me more about living than I’ve taught her at all… and she’s only 2. This kid knows that happiness doesn’t come from money or things, it’s not all about the places we go and the people we meet. There are days that happiness is a good bite of avocado, kisses from the puppy, splashing in the bathtub, or seeing mama after a procedure. Happiness is what we make it, and this life we get- we sure as hell better live.

So here’s to us. Mamas, papas, guardians. Warriors.

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…and this is why. *trigger*

I have readers I’ve come to think of as family. Men and women who reach out for all sort of reasons. Some have concerns, others a missed diagnosis, some have lost a child or fear they will. And some are seeking forgiveness.

I will tell you, before you read on: this will make you uncomfortable. You might  feel anger. You may want to write and say horrible things. You  may feel sorrow, or pain, or maybe you even relate to the situation. Whatever you feel, please remember I am not just writing here- I am also moderating. While I allow attacks against myself, I will not allow them against other people who write or are featured here, nor against my child. What is ahead is hard to read. It is hard to comprehend as a parent. But I’ve never been where this woman has. Adelaide’s diagnosis came weeks after her birth. Weeks after I knew her sweet face, smelled her breath, nursed her and rocked her to sleep for endless hours.

For all of the moments I publish about general life, family, the going-ons of the Martinka family… that is to show you that even though we have a slew of appointments, tests and therapies- they do not rule our lives… I will also never stop educating and pushing to further public awareness of dwarfism. There are fatal forms, there are complications, but there are also beautiful days, moments that make me so full of happiness I feel I may explode, and most of all, times that are simply humbling to a parent.

Please remember that all decisions we make are done with the most care for our children, and made with all of the information we have at the time. I do not judge a parent for doing their best for their child. I only pass judgment on myself, and hope that my readers will as well. Understanding the plight of a parent in distress is something that we can only speculate reaction to. This is raw emotion.

This reader reached out to me from Greece. At 25 weeks, at the advisement of her doctor, OBGYN and multiple pediatricians, she terminated her pregnancy due to an in utero diagnosis of achondroplasia. She asked me to share this letter (sic) for other parents who may think this is their only option.*

 A month ago I terminated my pregnancy because my baby was diagnosed with achondroplasia. And now, I regret it every second of my miserable day. The reason I write this letter  is to inform women who have all these questions like I had and no time to decide what is the right thing to do. In my case, everything happened so quickly. I don’t really know what happens in your country. Where I am, every doctor and medical expert keep telling me that termination was the right thing to do.
What if it is not? And I think, as a mother that it was not! So keep in mind some things and then decide. You are pregnant to a baby who will be a smart, intelligent human being. Yes it will be small and perhaps will have some health problems that you will have to handle but who can guarantee that this won’t happen to your other absolutely normal babies? You are the mother! You will have the strength and the ability to keep this baby healthy and happy and if you still can’t decide just think of me. I am a miserable person who dies every day. I hate myself just because I was badly informed and weak to decide what I thought it would be the hard road! Believe me… this is the hard road… the road I chose. Just remember that every baby has the right to live. I should have known better…

While this mother is still very hard on herself and feels she should be punished, I left her with this thought, and I leave it with you too, Reader:

#aisforadelaide #educate #advocate #quotes #inspire #nojudgements


* This letter is not written by the blog owner and does not reflect nor represent the thoughts of Chelley Martinka.

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Filed under Achondroplasia, Community, Educate/Adovocate/Make Change, In Other's Words

Wordless Wednesday at #NewportCliffWalk

flowers #aisforadelaide #newport #cliffwalk #spring2014

 

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