Claire's Story

It was the beginning of November 2009.

We had had some gastrointestinal illness in the family and were homebound for a few days.  Saturday night, we went for a walk, and I came home feeling drained.  "This virus just isn't going away," I commented to Allan.  "I still feel nauseous after a week-and-a-half and have no energy."

Then suddenly, at 1am, on Sunday, I was awake.  Wide awake.

I'm pregnant.

I started to get butterflies in my stomach, and I could feel my heartbeat speed up a notch.

But I can't be.  I have been very diligent with all necessary precautions.

I inched out of bed and rummaged around my bathroom closet and found what I was looking for.  Two minutes later, there was no denying the truth.  I plopped back on the bed, with more gusto than necessary.  It worked.

"What's going on?" mumbled Allan, half asleep.

"I'm pregnant," I replied.

He was instantly wide awake.

Seventeen weeks later, at twenty-two weeks of pregnancy, I had my first ultra-sound.

"Everything looks great, but the baby is smaller than expected.  We're going to move your due date back almost three weeks, to July 18th," the doctor told me.

So, on July 19, 2010, Claire was born.  At 8lbs, 6oz, she was a good-sized baby.

"Someone's been in the oven a long time," remarked the nurse as she gave her a bath.

The first thing I noticed about Claire was her personality.  "She's so relaxed and calm. She isn't an aggressive nurser like my other two," I told her pediatrician.

"But she's very alert," he responded as he looked her over.

Claire didn't grow like my other two.  Brandon and Corrine had both doubled their birth weight within two-and-a-half months (they were in the 8lb range at birth).  But Claire continued to meet all her milestones at "normal" times.  She was rolling over at 3 months and sitting up at 6.  But I worried about her from time-to-time, because she was so small, and so relaxed, like a rag doll.  At her 12-month appointment, the doctor referred her to a physical therapist, mostly because he thought it would be beneficial to have a professional observe her and alert him to any symptoms we were overlooking.

At 13 months, Claire began physical therapy.

The pediatrician also referred us to a neurologist for a consultation.  After observing her, asking dozens of family history questions, consulting with the physical therapist, a heart test, a MRI, aconsult with a Metabolic Specialist, a consult with a Genetic Counselor, and blood tests, Claire was diagnosed with Benign Congenital Hypotonia of Infancy.  Feel free to Google it, but basically, it's non-life-threatening, present-at-birth, low muscle tone that will improve over time   It's a diagnosis that is made when they aren't able to find any underlying reason for low muscle tone.

At two-and-a-half years, Claire is small for her age, but her growth has been steady.  She can climb, walk and is getting closer to jumping.  Her fine motor skills are actually advanced.  She's bright.  She's funny.  She's also too little to pick up her toys. hehe ("I'm sorry, Mommy.  I cannot help pick up my stuff because I'm too little.")

She falls down easily because her muscles are weak and sometimes gets frustrated that she can't run as fast as the other kids.  What she lacks in physical strength, she makes up for in mental tenacity. "Brandon.  Someday, when I get really big, I am going to run fast.  Faster than you."

Sometimes I wonder if we are missing something, but the doctors assure me, that if she is constantly improving, gaining strength and has no additional symptoms, they really aren't worried.

People ask me about it from time to time, but I don't talk about it too much.  Not because I'm in denial, but because I don't want it to be what defines her.

This is Claire's story.  It's not Claire.

In this life, everyone has a story.

The most beautiful thing about stories is that they simply provide another venue for God to show His unfailing love and care.  And with each little glimpse that we get of His goodness, our faith increases.

I'm always so encouraged when I can see others who have allowed God's grace to shine through their story.  My heart squeezes, a get a little lump in my throat, and I praise God for His faithfulness.

Stories like theirs:

And stories like theirs:

And theirs:

And theirs:

And theirs:

And theirs:

And even theirs:

I know there are dozens of more stories I could share.  No one is exempt.

But I don't have to fear the next story.  

Because the goodness of God is always bigger than the worst story.

Doesn't that make you want to sing and dance?