Everybody copes differently with hardship and pain. We also cope
differently with different trials. But because life doesn't ever stop,
or slow down for that matter, we must cope...somehow, some way. When my
husband left for Korea, I knew things were going to not only be
different, but challenging. But I knew that we were tough and we would
get through it. After all, I grew up hearing the words "Suck it up!"
whenever things were becoming difficult, so I figured that I would just
continually be repeating that little phrase over and over in my mind.
But sometimes life throws you a curve ball and before you are even able
to try and swing at it, in comes a fast ball followed by a sucker punch
then a left side tackle. Then everything eases up just long enough for
you to take a breath and also for you to realize that you are no longer
on solid ground, but you are now out in the ocean trying to keep your
head above water staring straight into an enormous title wave.
This is the road my life took very soon after my husband left.
Unfortunately the words "Suck it up!" just wouldn't cut it. So I did
everything I could possibly do to keep my head above water and breath.
In the process, I buried a lot of what happened deep inside so I
wouldn't have to cope with it. I tried so very hard to ignore it and
pretend it didn't happen. But no matter how hard we try to ignore or
forget, the truth of the matter is, it happened. And truth cannot be
buried or forgotten. Somewhere down the line it will come back up and
you will have to deal with it.
Now that my husband is
back from Korea after 1 very long year, we have spent many nights up
talking about some of the hard things that we had to go through. We
have shed many tears and have shared many comforting hugs. I have
realized now that I cannot ignore or hide from what happened with my
son. So for now, I am going to start the healing process from the
inside out. So please know that I am writing this (or more correctly
typing this) not for sympathy or pity, but to get the truth out for
myself. So it is no longer something that I am constantly pushing back
and trying to ignore and pretend never happend. Because it did.
Emmry Cort Franklin was born on
November 2, 2011. He weighed 8lbs 10oz
and a full head of dark brown hair. We
were very excited to have him here. We
were able to spend almost three weeks together as a family before Camarron had
to leave for a one year tour of duty over in Kunsan, Korea. Everything was just fine when he left. I went into a bit of shock the first week but
mostly was determined that we would get through this deployment. The second week was hard because Sammantha
realized her daddy wasn’t going to come home and she broke down, so of course I
broke down too and we spent a lot of time crying. Week three came and we picked ourselves back
up and week four was spent trying to keep ourselves busy and realizing that we
can do this. By this time Emmry was
about seven weeks old. He was a
wonderful happy chunky little baby. He
ate as much as he could as often as he could and he slept like a champ. He was making it 6 hours through the night
already. However, he chubby cheeks
started to break out in a rash. I didn’t
think anything of it because Sammantha had the same thing happen when she was a
baby. We discovered that her rash was
due to food allergies. Since she has so
many, I figured that Emmry was suffering from the same thing. So I tried to eliminate things from our diet
to see if it would help. The rash just
got worse and continued to spread. It
spread from his cheeks to his whole face and his head.
 |
| Emmry with Grandpa and Braxton. Emmry is the chubby one. |
Being a firm believer in natural and holistic medicine, I
tried everything I could do to help get rid of my son's rash. It didn't
seem to bother him; he just continued on with everyday life. But it
sure bothered me. Then things changed a little bit. His rash become
inflammed, very itchy, and oozed which would then crust over. We went
to the doctor. Emmry's pediatrician told me that he just had severe
form of eczema and that if I used these certain creams it would go
away. However, it didn't go away. It just kept getting worse. The
rash spread from his little face down his arms and it also had broken
out on his legs. Emmry no longer slept and if he did it was for 20-30
minutes at the longest. I had to keep him swaddled as much as I could
while he was awake because he never stopped itching. He always wore
little mits and he also always screamed.
This had been going on now for a couple of months. I was
getting scared, but I didn't want my husband to get worried, so I tried
to put on a strong face for him and convince him that everything would
be fine and I was taking care of it. It was quite obvious that things
were not fine. I was exhausted from being up all night with a screaming
baby and his rash continued to get worse. So we went back to the
doctor. This time they sent me to a dermatologist. When I got there
the first dermatologist that saw Emmry was shocked. He did not agree
with the pediatrician's diagnosis of severe eczema, but he told me he
hadn't ever seen anything this bad so he went to get a few other doctors
to consult with. Three other dermatologists came in and examined
Emmry. They all agreed that he had a very severe form of eczema. I was
so discouraged and frustrated. They perscribed me more gels and
creams. But I KNEW something else was wrong. And as a mother I should
have known to follow that instinct and pry more, but I didn't. These
people were doctors who had gone through years of medical training.
They knew best. I did however ask the first dermatologist that we had
seen (who if you recall did not agree with the diagnosis) if we could
have some blood work done on my son. Even though I didn't know what was
going on with him, I had done hours and hours of research on my own and
I did know that if there was something really serious that his blood
work would show it.
The dermatologist ordered the
blood work and a nurse came in to draw Emmry's blood. Those of you who
know me probably know that I have a terrible phobia of needles.
So my heart was racing as the nurse entered the room because I was
heartbroken that my little baby, who was already in a lot of pain and
extremely uncomfortable, now had to be poked and prodded with needles.
Because his rash was so bad, they had to have 2 other nurses come in and
poke him 3 different times to get enough blood. The whole time he
screamed and the whole time I silently cried, trying to be strong for
him on the outside. On the inside I was wishing there was someone that
could have been there to be strong for me.
This was
about the time where I started to go into panic/defense mode. I left
the clinic that day angry. Something was wrong and I just wanted
someone to tell me how to fix it. But after 5 doctors telling me the
same thing (even if one of them didn't really agree), I was getting
nowhere fast and my son was getting sicker. I went in hoping to find
some answers and relief for my suffering child and I left as a
protective and very defensive mother and I was ready to fight anyone who
questioned me about my son. Even though I had been by myself, I now
felt it. I was on my own now and I had to do it all myself.
It
was a real challenge that took an emotional toll on me. Every time I
would go out into public, people would just stare at Emmry and ask what
was wrong. Then they all had to add in their two cents about how they
thought I should fix it. "Have you tried this, have you tried that?"
and the list went on and on. I wanted to scream back in their faces,
"IF THIS WERE YOUR BABY, WOULDN'T YOU HAVE TRIED THAT?!!!!!" I was
beginning to doubt myself as a mother. If they had only known the
things I had tried, the hours of research I had put in, the sleepless
night and tears I had cried. But I had to keep reminding myself that
people were just trying to help. I wanted help. I needed help, but
nothing came.
 |
| With Cousin Braxton |
I was extremely anxious to get the test
results back on Emmry's blood work. The night the doctor called me I
finally felt a small amount of vindication. He told me that his blood
work was very abnormal, but until they got the results of the other
tests being run they wouldn't really know much. I would have to wait at
least another week. At least now I had proof that there was something
else wrong with my son other than this stupid "severe rash" excuse
everyone was giving me. In the few days after that phone call, Emmry's
appetite dropped to almost nothing. His legs also became very swollen.
That weekend I attended my nephews baby blessing. My nephew, Braxton,
was born 6 weeks after Emmry. Every time we had been to see Braxton,
Emmry looked like he was 6 weeks older. But this time he looked sickly,
weak, and much younger than Braxton. So we took him into Primary
Children's hospital. I wasn't going to wait any longer for blood work.
I was scared, literally, for his life.
When we got there, they took us right in. When they weighed Emmry we
realized that he had dropped almost 4 whole pounds. At almost 4 months
to the day, my son weighed in at just over 11 lbs. He had lost 20% of
his body weight in a matter of weeks. They admitted him right away and
immediately called to have lab work done. Several doctors and different
teams were in and out constantly asking questions and examining Emmry.
This whole time I was trying to be strong. Thankfully my mom was with
me or I don't think I would have survived. Once again I had to sit in
agony as they tried to extract blood from my baby. I would hold his
little hand and try and comfort him telling him how sorry I was as he
screamed and tears dropped from my cheeks to his. And once again, they
had a hard time drawing blood because he was so weak and dehydrated.
This time it took 5 tries. They poked both feet, his arms, and they
even tried veins on his head. It was terrible. There has never been a
time where I needed my husband more. But that wasn't an option. So I
kicked as hard as I could to keep my head above water, to keep
breathing, and I pushed on. I was able to talk with my husband. He was
very much aware of the situation. And I am not sure who had the more
difficult position, me or him. He knew what was happening (at least as
much as I knew) with his little boy that he had only really known for a
couple of weeks and could do absolutley nothing.
We
stayed in the hospital for four days. They ran test after test after
test. Even then, no one was able to give me clear answers. They had
explained that Emmry had most likely had a severe allergic reaction to a
food that I had eaten and he in turn recieved through my breast milk.
His little body pretty much shut down. (By this time however, my milk
had dried up because I was trying to pump and elminate foods that I
thought he would be allergic to. And becaue I never got any sleep and
very little to eat, my milk dried up. I had been making his formula for
a couple months by this time because I knew that Sammantha was allergic
to regular formulas, causing us to learn how to make our own, hence I
put Emmry on the same formula in hopes we wouldn't make things worse and
maybe find some improvement.) They weren't able to give me an
explanation as to how or why or even how to help him. All they knew was
that he was basically starving to death and that we needed to find some
sort of food that his body could metabolize. Being in Primary
Children's was both a blessing and a curse for me. The doctors there
saved Emmry's life-hands down. However, many of the doctors that worked
with us looked at me and acted as if I was crazy for taking such a
natural and holistic approach to helping my son. One of them even said
to my face, "You realize that this is your fault. The reason your son
is dying is because of the food you have been feeding him." After this
woman left our room, I and sat down and sobbed. Every part of me as a
mother had been broken. I had given every bit of strength and
determination that I had into helping my son get better. By that time
even my adrenaline had worn off. I had nothing left. That was the
lowest I have ever felt and as I looked at my son, I did take all of the
blame. I really thought that I was a terrible mom who unknowingly was
killing her child.
Luckily the head doctor that was
helping us was from Austria and his main area of study was complementary
medicine. His timing couldn't have been more perfect that day. My mom
had gotten there that morning to find me sobbing because of what I had
previously been told. And soon after, our head doctor, Dr. Fassl, poked
his head into the room to check on Emmry. He saw how upset I was and
came in to see what was wrong. When I had told him what I had been told
he ran over and gave me a huge hug. He held me so tightly and told me
over and over that this was not my fault. He then sat down with me and
explained that there was no way of knowing why Emmry was so sick or how
to fix it (because they still didn't know) and he recognized that I had
done everything I possibly could to help my little boy. As someone who
studied natural medicine, he told me that everything I had done made
sense to him. He told me that I was an excellent mother and I couldn't
have done anything more. I wanted to give up, but he helped me through
it. I needed to hear that from a medical professional.
l
Emmry finally gained enough weight by day 4 that we were
cleared to go home. We were directed to go to a new pediatrician who
was to watch Emmry very closely and continue to help us. Unfortunatley,
when we went to see her a few days later, Emmry had lost all of the
weight he had gained while at the hospital. When I heard this my heart
sank to the floor. My husband had been wanting to come home this whole
time, especially while we were at the hospital, but because he had shown
improvement while there, he decided to hold off. (Or should I say I
convinced him to hold off. I couldn't bear the thought of him coming
home and then leaving again. As badly as I wanted him home and with me
through everything, I knew it would kill me if he had to leave again.)
After this doctor's visit, I knew that I had to tell my husband to come
home. There was nothing left for us to try and I didn't want to deprive
my husband of time with his son if he really was dying. So I called
him and gave him the news. He told me to go to the base and start the
paperwork immediately. (The military isn't quick about anything, so we
had to get on it right away because even on an emergency leave it would
take Cam about a week to get home.) So I went to the base. Nobody knew
what I was going for but Camarron and I. When I got there and I was
directed to the people who were supposed to help me. I explained my
situation to them very bluntly and breifly and asked what I needed to do
so my husband could come home. They were extremely helpful and I left
feeling good because my husband was going to be able to come home and
help.
That same day, a dear friend had called in a favor and got
Emmry and I into see a naturopathic doctor that she believed could
help. Sure enough she did. For the first time someone was able to
explain what was going on and how to fix it. Emmry's small intestines
were not functioning and as a result he was not absorbing any
nutrients. She gave me some homeopathic drops to start the healing
process and some supplements to help him gain his strength back. She
also was a huge blessing to me emotionally. She ran some tests of her
own and told me that she believed that the only reason my son was alive
was because of the food that I had been making for him and the natural
things that I had been doing because the other stuff wasn't working.
She really helped buoy me up because I had been so broken inside.
Because Emmry responded so well at the appointment, Cam and I decided to
wait a little longer to have him come home and see if he would improve
with this new found light. I went back to my parent's home (where I had
been staying since the hospital visit) with a new found hope that I
hadn't felt for months. When I returned home and shared the good news, I
went to go take a long needed nap. Not 60 seconds had passed after I
laid down when I got a phone call. I ignored it but felt promted to
listen to the voicemail. It was from the Division of Child and Family
Services and they said that they were currently at my apartment and
needed to meet with me. I was extremely confused and thought there was
some mistake, so I called them back. (Please remember that I am still
very much like a mama grizzly bear here.) Once I realized that it wasn't
a mistake and that someone had really reported me to DCFS I just about
lost my mind. What could have I done wrong to deserve this? I refused
to meet with them at first, but then realizing that if I didn't
cooperate that they had the authority to come in and remove my children
from me, I decided to listen. I met with them that night and in the
couple of hours that I had before this meeting I discovered that the
personel from the base that were "helping" me had actually reported me.
They had access to Emmry's medical records because of the paperwork
that they were doing for Camarron to come home and they thought that I
was intentionally starving my son so that my husband would be able to
come home from his diployment.
When I mentioned earlier, "you think life
eases up for a minute, but then you just realize there is a big tidal
wave about to come crashing down," this was that moment. I couldn't
believe what was happening. Even now as I am typing this, it feels
unreal. I now had a DCFS case opened against me and they were
investigatng me to see if I was a fit mother to take care of my
children. Once again, Camarron was in the process of getting ready to
come home. If I was found "guilty or unfit" then he would have to be
the soul caretaker and could no longer be deployed. The next day I was
also called in by the Family Advocacy Group from base. I thought they
were going to try and help me through this mess. But after talking to
the person in charge of my case (yes another case), I realized that they
were the equivalent to DCFS for the military. They had a case open
against me as well and they were the "advocate" for my son, whom I was
apparently abusing.
Yes, by this time I had gotten
myself a lawyer and was trying to fight back. Thankfully Emmry really
was starting to improve. It was very slow improvements, but it was
there. He was no longer losing weight and slowly starting to gain.
However, the legal battle ensued. I once again found some comfort in
the fact that my husband was going to come home and help me. But once
again, my hopes were dashed. The night before my husband was supposed
to get on a plane and come home, he got called into his commander's
office and was accused of lying. They refused to let him come home
because somewhere they had gotten information stating that I was being
defiant and uncooperative with doctors and this was all my fault.
Camarron was shocked and didn't know what to say. But he had to call me
and tell me that he wasn't going to be able to come home. So I again
had to pull it together and trek through alone.
I have to pause for a moment and explain what I mean by alone. For
all intents and purposes, in my own world and my own little family, I
was alone. But on the outside there were countless numbers of people
helping me and praying for me. My mother was amazing! She helped me
through some really dark moments and there were a few times where she
had to drag me through it because I didn't want to do it anymore. My
ward family was a huge blessing. They stepped in and picked up all of
the pieces that I couldn't take care of anymore. The rest of my
extended family helped in more ways than I could have hoped for. And
there really were countless others who heard about what was going on
that prayed for my little Emmry and me and I know that it was because of
those prayers that I was lifted through some of the hardest times. And
of course there was my Savior and Heavenly Father. There is only one
time in my life where I remember being angry with God and it was when
Emmry was sick. He had been screaming unsceasingly four hours. I
couldn't get him to eat and I couldn't get him to sleep. I had
repeating this same scene over and over for too many days. Normally I
would leave my crying baby and go pray for strength, but not this
night. I was angry and I wanted to know why He would allow my son to
hurt so badly when all I wanted to do and had been working so hard to do
was make him feel better. So I prayed, but not a prayer of a humble
plea for strength. I prayed a prayer of anger and acusation. But my
Heavenly Father still heard it and he answer me anyway in a way that I
could understand and that gave me strength. I wasn't the only one who
has had to sit and watch their son cry in pain and not be able to stop
it. Even though it hurt more than I can ever explain, I learned to rely
on my Savior and Heavenly Father so much more. And they never left my
side.
After the massive tidal wave hit, the water did
eventally calm down. Social services came and did their
investigation. They realized almost immediately that there never should
have been a case opened in the first place because I was doing nothing
but trying to take care of my children. Through the help of a wonderful
lawyer, the case on the military side disappeared. (Literally, it just
went away. I tried to figure out what was going on and nobody would
talk to me about it and nobody would return my phone calls. Eventually I
found out that it had been closed due to it having "no merit", however,
nobody had the decency to let me in on that bit of information or say
sorry for that matter.) Emmry's health continued to improve and now he
is a healthy happy little boy. My husband did finish his tour out in
Korea and was able to come home and surprise us two weeks early.
Even though we are physically out of the storm and enjoying the
wonderful sunshine that follows, emotionally I am still struggling. It
is very difficult for me to look at pictures of Emmry when he was a
little baby. He was so sick and there is a small part of me that feels I
should have been able to do more. There are few pictures to look at
because I didn't want to remember how bad it was, so I just refused to
take them. But now that it is over, I am angry I didn't. I cherish
those pictures even though it breaks my heart to look at them. We
almost lost Emmry and the thought of having no memory of him eats away
at me. So now I take pictures...and a lot of them.
I am still very sensitive to his physical health. If
Sammantha falls and scrapes her knee, I tell her to "Suck it up!". (Not
really, I go and kiss it better.) But if Emmry even sneezes
differently, my heart rate goes up and I hover over him for a while to
make sure he is ok. We have comepletely changed our lifestyle, even
more so than it was before, to accomodate his physical needs. And Emmry
is still physically behind other children his age. He looks quite
small. As much as I don't want to be, I still am in the "protective
mama bear" mode. When someone asks me his age, I tell them, but I
immediately follow by adding that he was sick for a while and we are
still playing catch up. I don't want them to think something is wrong.
There was, but not anymore. I am very insecure as a mother and I
struggle when people talk about my children or our strange lifestyle.
This is hard for me because I didn't used to be this way. I used to be
very confident. But sometimes hard things break you, and I was broken
in so many ways. But being broken isn't always a bad thing.
“Imagine yourself as a living house. God comes in to rebuild that house. At first, perhaps, you can understand what He is doing. He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on; you knew that those jobs needed doing and so you are not surprised. But presently He starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make any sense. What on earth is He up to? The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of - throwing out a new wing here, putting on an extra floor there, running up towers, making courtyards. You thought you were being made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace. He intends to come and live in it Himself.”
― C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity
I
am grateful for what I have learned from that whole experience. I hope
I learned what the Lord wanted me to because I don't ever want to have
to do it again. I am making a conscious effort to be a better mother
and to recognize that I am a better mother than I give myself credit
for. And I know that part of that effort is letting go of all
the hurt that I have buried deep inside and allowing myself to heal.
This will continue to be a process. Palaces aren't built overnight, but
in the meantime, I am going to try and enjoy every minute of the joys
of being a mother to my beautiful children. I love you Sammantha and
Emmry Cort Franklin.
