The report said cerebral atrophy. I knew all along something was not right. Kevin was nine months old when he had that CAT Scan. From the time he was five months, his head circumference did not increase.
It was right before Christmas, 1988. Cerebral atrophy. I couldn’t stop the thoughts in my head. I kept seeing a grown man with a head size of a five-month old. Atrophy? What did that mean? Was Kevin’s brain wasting away? My baby was so little and so adorable and he looked fine and…
I was angry and sad and Christmas was coming and I was supposed to be happy.
Kevin had microcephaly.
I hated microcephaly.
Eventually, the shock of Kevin’s microcephaly faded. Kevin was still adorable and he was still Kevin! He still laughed when we tugged on his pacifier. He still enjoyed falling backwards into my arms while he sat on my lap. His contagious belly laughs were still just as contagious.
Little did I know that I was slowly learning the first lesson as a special needs mom: Perspective.
In the big picture, nothing had changed. Why did a piece of paper with some writing on it have so much power over me? I let that piece of paper define the next twenty years of Kevin’s life.
Now, those words don’t mean very much to me. Kevin does have a small head and a small brain, so what? He is happy.
Kevin is happy.
That is what matters.
It’s Microcephaly Awareness Day and we’re wearing our yellow! And we’re happy.
You can find more information about microcephaly here.