The advantage of finding the good in everything, no matter what
How being a Pollyanna helped me through my SMA assignment
My mother dubbed me a Pollyanna many years ago. I loved the 1960 movie “Pollyanna,” but don’t remember if I identified with the orphaned character’s perpetual, cheery optimism or merely adored Hayley Mills, the actress who played her.
In one scene, Pollyanna (sent to live with her wealthy, surly aunt) urges the servants complaining about Sunday to play the “glad game,” in which something positive is found in even the worst of situations. They challenge Pollyanna to think of something good about Sunday. Stumped momentarily, Pollyanna announces, “Because it will be six whole days before Sunday comes around again!”
Atta girl.
Finding ‘one good thing’ before making a good change
I’d worked in a medical office for several years in Fort Worth, Texas, when my husband, Randy, and I learned we were expecting our first baby. I giddily informed my employers that I’d be leaving to become a full-time mama.
And then I had a miscarriage.
I still quit my job, and Randy and I became family teachers at a local residential treatment facility for children. We were assigned boys: two preteens and 10 teenagers. Their reasons for being there ranged from abuse at home to trouble with the law.
Our rigorous training incorporated role-playing. In one session, we were instructed to “find one good thing” to relay to our “charge” who had found himself in trouble (again). Since our pretend charges were belligerent and typically stomped off in a huff, I had to think fast.
I don’t recall what my “charge” had done to warrant a face-to-face meeting, but my Pollyanna roots burst forth. I announced to my “charge” (who, miraculously, was still seated), “I’m proud of you — you didn’t leave!” The answer scored high marks, thank goodness.
Randy and I soon realized we both longed to attain teacher certification. He returned to school first, while I substituted in special education classrooms. At the end of the year, it was my turn to pursue certification in special education.
My inner Pollyanna silently underwent fortification.
Teaching challenges prepare for a whammy of a surprise
Almost as soon as I closed the last book in my certification process, we moved to Columbia, South Carolina, where I taught kindergarteners with orthopedic and multiple handicapping conditions. In my sixth year at Brockman School, my students’ needs warranted a crash course in skilled nursing.
My optimism and faith were tested from the first day through the last. That summer, Randy accepted a job offer away from Columbia, and we left with our two children, Matthew and Katie. I volunteered in their classes but otherwise left the classroom behind. Thankfully, though, the Brockman lessons followed me.
We moved once more to the North Carolina mountains at the end of 1995. On May 18, 1997, we welcomed Jeffrey, a beautiful baby with an uncanny resemblance to Matthew. He was incredibly easy and adored by all. His legs were so strong the first few days, I proclaimed him healthy. For eight weeks, I thought nothing of his weak cry and cough, falling asleep almost as soon as he began nursing, and his lack of squirming.
On July 13, my physician brother’s brief exam found a dull-sounding lung and no reflexes. The following afternoon, we were referred to a pediatric neurologist at Brenner Children’s Hospital.
The nurses and doctors-in-training who came in to observe the new little patient were professional but personal. Thinking about the diagnoses of my former students and others at Brockman sparked a mixed bag of emotions. Optimism lingered until the pediatric neurologist revealed his probable findings: a severe case of the deadliest form of SMA.
If the tests confirmed it, Jeffrey likely wouldn’t be with us for long.
The ‘glad game’ in the middle of despair
On the way home, Randy and I pondered what we dared. We hooked up to the internet and investigated alternative treatments. A friend connected me with families in various stages of their own SMA assignments. I sent letters to everyone for whom I had addresses, asking for prayers and information. I enclosed notes in all correspondence mailed out.
Our brief SMA assignment was terrifying on numerous occasions, yet the harder SMA played, the harder I prayed, and the easier the “glad game” became. I was thankful Jeffrey wasn’t in pain and appeared to know how much he was loved. I was thankful I could be a full-time mama despite necessarily refreshing some nursing skills from Brockman. Although witnessing Jeffrey’s overall decline and episodes of respiratory distress was excruciating, our wonderful hospice nurse — and morphine — provided comfort.
Nov. 4 was miserable. Jeffrey was ready to go. I begged God to take him (granted, a far cry from my original prayers just a few weeks earlier), then realized I hadn’t given Jeffrey permission to go on. With surprising calm, I did just that, and in two quick breaths, the baby who changed our lives was free.
A bittersweet twist in the “glad game,” for sure.
Note: SMA News Today is strictly a news and information website about the disease. It does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. This content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or other qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website. The opinions expressed in this column are not those of SMA News Today or its parent company, Bionews, and are intended to spark discussion about issues pertaining to spinal muscular atrophy.
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