Special Beauty

    “Look at me, Sandy,” the doctor directed, with a firmness in her voice that I wasn’t used to. “Don’t look at the mirror. Watch my face,” she said calmly as the last few minutes of delivery unfolded. 

    I was confused as to why she wasn’t encouraging me to observe with the mirror like she had done during the birth of our son, three and a half years earlier. Memories of the final minutes before he had been born swept through my mind. I had been tired and in pain. It was then that my doctor had directed my attention to a cheval mirror that was used in routine deliveries as encouragement for the laboring mom. . . Why, I wondered, didn’t she want me to see what was in the mirror this time? 

    I brought my focus back and did as I was directed. Soon all of the pushing, breathing and sweating were done, and we had a baby girl! 

    My excitement began to fade as I watched the doctor’s face. It wasn’t as joyous as I had anticipated. Her brow furrowed and her lips were tense. “Just a little problem here. Nothing to be too worried about. Nothing that can’t be corrected,” came her calm words. 

    My spirit sank as questions began swirling through my mind. “Problem? Worried? What’s going on?” I thought as I watched the doctor hold our newborn and carefully wipe and inspect every inch of her. When she turned our baby around to face us, we could see the cleft. Her lip was open to the nose. Her face was bright red and swollen from delivery. 

    I could faintly hear the doctor saying something about how terrific the local children’s hospital was. I stared at my newborn. “What did this mean? Was the baby okay? What would have to be done to correct this? Why did this happen?” The questions jumbled together, one on top of the other, in a heap in my mind.

The doctor was saying that the hospital could do amazing things with babies like Haddey. At the time, neither my husband nor I knew what any of this meant, but we were soon to get a crash course. Within 10 days, we found ourselves one of the newest families at the Children’s Mercy Hospital Cleft Craniofacial Clinic.

Walking into the clinic that first day, we were completely unsure of what to expect. The place was full of mostly young children, from infants to kindergarten age, in various stages of cleft repair. Some of the children hadn’t had a repair yet, and others had obviously undergone some surgical treatments. I had known all along how truly blessed we were with the birth of our new daughter, but walking through the halls of that hospital reinforced my gratitude. My heart spilled over with thankfulness. I was reminded all over again that each of us, as we go through the various stages of our lives, is called upon to experience things other people never will. 

    At that first appointment, we were given much information about treatment for cleft lip, statistics involving people born with the condition and a mini-course in genetics as it relates to birth defects. 

    We were told that Haddey also had a deviated septum. She would undergo at least two surgeries to make the repairs. The first when she was four months old, and then a revision, probably right before her kindergarten year. Annual appointments would be necessary between surgical procedures, speech therapy was probable, and since the cleft had impacted the baby’s gum line, dental work would need to be done at a later date as well. 

    Once again, questions whirled through my mind. I fast-forwarded 10 weeks to see myself handing over my baby to a surgical nurse in scrubs. I knew there was nothing that I could do to fix this problem, and that my baby would be placed into someone else’s arms for care. Someone else would be responsible for watching the monitors and all of the medical equipment to make certain my child was safe. I would have to let go. My heart felt as if a thick blanket were encasing it. It was one of those times in life when you’d rather hear something else. You’d rather have other options, other choices that don’t involve risk or pain or fear or sadness. It was one of those times when you have stare straight ahead and walk into the future. 

    I could tell you about the operations Haddey has had, and the heartache my husband and I experienced as we taped and untaped her lip in preparation for surgery. I could describe for you all of the apparatus that adorned her when she came home from surgery. Things like plastic nasal stents that were stitched into her nose, elbow splints that kept her arms permanently straightened, and wire head gear that squished her cheeks and lips together to keep all tension off of the stitches. I could share with you many things you may not know about birth defects or cleft lip. 

    But the most important thing to take away from Haddey’s story is a reminder. A reminder that regardless of the scars we may carry from the past, each of us has a special beauty that is all our own. So the next time you see someone who looks a little different from you, look a little deeper. You’ll surely find that special beauty.

Sandy Brooks lives in Lee’s Summit with her family. Haddey is a beautiful elementary student who enjoys reading and writing. . . just like her mom!