Accepting A New Role

(There are two parts previously to this narrative if you are interested in reading those. Part 1 – The Job of Acceptance, can be found here, and Part 2 – Acceptance Does Not Mean Quitting, is here.)

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After determining my pregnancy was coming along nicely, I left my office job at the lumber mill to become a stay-at-home Mom. I always knew I wanted to be that for a child. At the same time, I decided to make my equine business official – breeding and training my Arabian horses. I don’t know how I did that; I didn’t realize just how exhausting motherhood would be! Especially having to deal with my own physical issues of poor mobility and balance. Fifteen years later, I am still learning, and adapting.

I was 35 when I gave birth to our only child. Our beautiful August daughter. My husband is eleven years older than I. It was an easy pregnancy, but a difficult birth. I avoided an emergency c-section by a heroic push after too many hours of struggling. My baby was quickly swept off by the nurses. The first time I saw her was in the nursery with tubes administering antibiotics. Scary, but she ended up fine – hooked up to tubes for only a day. With the heart of a lion, she thrives.

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I was pretty much in zombie-mode that first year. I don’t remember much of it. I was also breast-feeding, so everything operated on our new daughter’s, very predictable, three-hour schedule. My life choices consisted of what I could get done within three hours. Sleep, dishes, shower, horses, eat? Usually, sleep won out.

Even though we were both pretty active, energetic people, we were unprepared as new parents. We were exhausted, but grateful. We were proud new parents. You know, those annoying couples who gush over their new child and think everyone should have children, and everyone wants to hear our parenting stories – like we’re the only people to experience this extraordinary miracle! As it should be, I suppose, for the good of any child. (We’re not like that anymore – though we are proud of our daughter!)

When she was less than three months old, my husband left to go on a hunting trip. My friend, along with her new baby, came up to stay with me for a few days to help me out. After a moment of panic at the thought of my husband essentially leaving me alone with the fragile infant, I figured out I was very capable of doing this on my own. I needed this. It restored my confidence, and I never looked back. Of course, I’m grateful for my husband's ever-present help and support, but it’s good to re-establish those feelings of independent aptitude once in a while.

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For most of my first 30+ years, I was convinced that I didn’t want to bring a life into this world, with a high likelihood she would inherit this disease. I realized there is much more for myself, as well as any of my offspring, to offer to this world. This Spinocerebellar Ataxia “SCA” is only a piece of who I am. It is not fatal or painful in my case. Of course, I would not be who I am without it. I like who I am and what I have to offer. I hope our daughter learns the same thing, whether she ends up afflicted with this or not.

What do I have? Brains, drive, determination, a desire to educate and share.

I do not suffer from this frustrating genetic disease; this SCA does not own me. I don’t have chronic pain and am not contemplating a shortened life span. For the most part, it does not even get an introduction when I meet people. It’s just there. It’s always there, like a shadow. It follows me, I don’t follow it. I won’t.