Gigi’s a Grownup?
Gigi Turns 18 Today!!!
As many of you know, I post this note every year on March 9th. To see previous versions of this note, see the links at the bottom of the page.
Today, Abigail (or Gigi, as we all call her) turns EIGHTEEN.
What?!?! Gigi’s a grownup now? Yikes!
For those who have followed along in previous years, welcome back. If you’ve been here since the initial roller coaster ride that was Gigi’s birth and the 4-month exhausting NICU experience, you know how monumental every birthday is for our little princess. For those that haven’t heard this story, let me start there.
Gigi was born at 3 am on March 9th, 2005. I was out of town and got the first call at about 2 am Florida time telling me that Vickey was having a miscarriage. She was bleeding at only 23 weeks.
When she arrived at the hospital, the doctors checked her out and knew two things. Gigi was still alive, albeit barely, and time was of the essence. Vickey had a placental abruption (where the placenta separates from the uterine wall). Vickey was hemorrhaging, and Gigi was not getting any oxygen.
After an emergency c-section, the doctors resuscitated our little girl; her heart started to beat, and she started breathing (with the help of a respirator). Abigail weighed in at 1 lb. 7 oz and was 11 inches long. My wedding ring could go all the way to her elbow.
The neonatologist warned that too long on the respirator would weaken her barely formed lungs to the point of no return. After trying numerous medications and techniques, the situation looked bleak. The doctor acknowledged they would continue to try another round of medications for a 3rd time, but in his nearly 20 years of experience, none had survived after the first two rounds with little to no progress. About 3 hours later, the doctor came to me, teary-eyed, shocked that the 3rd time was the charm. We saw for the first time Gigi’s fighting spirit.
About 3 hours later, the doctor came to me, teary-eyed, shocked that the 3rd time was the charm. We saw for the first time Gigi’s fighting spirit.
To go through every detail of the next four months would require a novel. Basically, every chapter in prematurity and what things could go wrong happened with Abigail. The first blow came a week after Abigail was born. Abigail got a helicopter ride to the larger NICU in Fort Worth because her intestines were perforated. Again she failed to respond to numerous medications and fluids being pumped into her. At the night's end, the doctors advised us to give up and say goodbye.
We didn’t.
For several weeks, we were consistently told she likely wouldn’t survive. If she did, we were told she would never walk, talk, eat solid foods, etc. She had about a dozen surgeries during her first two months in the NICU.
She got better, then sick again.
She went on ECMO (look it up…scary).
She almost lost her eyesight.
Fast forward nearly two years to January of 2007, and Abigail was diagnosed with cerebral palsy. We learned she had virtually no cerebellum, the part of the brain responsible for coordination, balance, and depth perception.
Today, she’s EIGHTEEN, and for anyone who has a teenage daughter…you can relate. She talks with attitude. She plays with attitude. She can run her iPad and play video games better than most adults. She has diverse tastes for music, musicals, television, and movies. She can not only recite songs from many musicals, but she can also tell you which actress sings each song. She has seen all eight seasons — 193 episodes — of Full House at least two dozen times. (I’m not exaggerating, as I’ve watched most of them with her).
She continues to hold the princess title within the Wilson home. Even her brothers often cannot resist her gentle, sweet way of asking for help (ok, not always that sweet). Her two favorite furry friends, Bosa and Tucker, often compete for the best spot on the bed at night. She’s realizing that Bosa’s getting older and having more difficulty jumping on the bed.
Abigail is, in many ways, like any other 18-year-old young woman, though I’m not sure where she got all the stubbornness from — it must be Vickey.
That said, through exhaustive therapies and complex, costly contraptions, Abigail cannot walk. She also has many cognitive delays. She can read relatively well, all things considered, but hasn’t progressed past the chapter books her brothers started reading in third grade. Her math skills are significantly lacking, but Mom’s not great at math either, so that might not be related to her CP.
As any parent of a special needs child will tell you, this life is full of contradictions. Every day you appreciate how blessed you are to have such a beautiful, unique miracle. Yet, simultaneously, you have the sharp realization that that uniqueness carries lost dreams with it as well.
There are disconnected realities of being a special needs parent. Don’t get me wrong. I know it could have been much worse. And we are so blessed, so very blessed, to have Abigail here, when we were told by so many she wasn’t going to be. However, this doesn’t remove the bittersweet reality of being a special needs parent. If you haven’t experienced it, you can’t truly understand it.
This brings me to the poem, Welcome to Holland by Emily Perl Kingsley. She equates having a special needs child with planning a trip to Italy, but instead being diverted to Holland.
“The important thing is that they haven’t taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It’s just a different place.So you must go out and buy new guide books. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met.
It’s just a different place. It’s slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you’ve been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around…. and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills….and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts.
But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy… and they’re all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say “Yes, that’s where I was supposed to go. That’s what I had planned.” And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever go away… because the loss of that dream is a very very significant loss.
But…if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn’t get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things…about Holland.
— Emily Perl Kingsley -
We started homeschooling Abigail following the third grade — a decision we do not regret. But as she turns 18, there will be no college tours. No prom. No formal walk across a stage in a cap and gown.
Abigail’s social bearings are regressed in many ways. Her ability to interact with girls the same age is challenging. She wants to connect with them but often does not know how. I’ve discussed that Abigail has made friends. Relationships ebb and flow for all of us, but Abigail remains almost paused intellectually and with her maturity. She makes friends. Those friends grow…learn…mature…and move on.
As I mentioned, Abigail loves movies, music, and television. With that, she loves celebrities. She has a running list of all the celebrities she wants to invite to her house for Christmas, her birthday, or just a Saturday movie night. At last count, this list had over 30 names, including Sofia Carson, Lin Manuel Miranda, Idina Menzel, Selena Gomez, and her favorite, Olivia Olson.
She talks about this list daily and asks us regularly to send email invites to the group, which we do. Parents of special needs children can relate. We do these things because 1) you never know, and 2) you embrace every little moment you can to make your child feel special and loved. As parents, we all do this, but it feels especially important with a special needs child.
Plus, Abigail doesn’t really take “no” for an answer.
Abigail perseveres in ways I only wish I could. When she’s determined towards something, nothing can pull her away or convince her to give up.
So after eighteen years, I continue to count the blessings. The remarkable things that make Abigail…Gigi…the only Gigi in the world. Her personality is fantastic, almost always talkative, playful, and friendly (I said almost always. She is still a teenager, after all). But perhaps I come home exhausted after a long day at work, and all I want to do is sit and chill for a bit. Then a little voice calls out, “Let’s watch a movie.” (one we’ve probably seen a dozen times) or “Let’s play”. I have to remind myself there’s no more fantastic sound in the world.
How many dads still have that with their 18-year-old daughters?
It’s great. As are the hugs, good night prayers, and when I tell her my back hurts, forget what day it is, or can’t remember which Full House episode we watched last (every) night…“That’s because you’re getting old, Daddy.”
As always, I end with a song. I’m not a huge country music fan, but there’s a song by Martina McBride called In My Daughter’s Eyes. I really suggest a listen because it’s a beautiful song, especially for anyone with a daughter. But for me the part that always chokes me up is when it says:
“This miracle God gave to me;
Gives me strength when I am weak;
I find reason to believe; In my daughter’s eyes”.
I often hesitate to call Gigi, our miracle baby. I say that not because she isn’t a miracle, because she is. Instead, she reminds me that all children (and for that matter all of us) are miracles.
Gigi surviving and becoming her own person is a miracle, but truthfully, the fact that so many children are born normally everyday is the true miracle. So please wish Abigail/Gigi a super happy EIGHTEENTH birthday today, and blow her a big happy birthday kiss.
Thanks for listening and Happy Birthday, Gigi!!!!
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