Therapy Begins

We saw the neurologist when Anna was about 8 months, and she recommended physical therapy regardless of the ultimate diagnosis from the MRI. So we made an appointment right away and started the Monday before Thanksgiving.

The physical therapist evaluated Anna for about 45 minutes by manipulating her, watching her and talking to me. She determined that it was neurological but, of course, could not tell me anything else.

Well as a lay person, neurological definitely seemed serious and meant a lifetime of therapy, doctors, procedures, difficulties and possible paralysis, maybe even mental retardation. In other words, I thought the worst. I didn't know that neurological could mean anything but a horrible prognosis. Which is why I was so annoyed at the complacency shown by both the neurologist and physical therapist. I couldn't believe they they could be so heartless about my daughter's life.

The first few sessions of therapy were spent doing range of motion exercises and trying to encourage Anna to play with some basic toys. I kept trying to solicit words of encouragement from the therapist but felt that she was just going through the motions. So after three or four sessions I went shopping for a different physical therapist and occupational therapist.

The first therapist was in a hospital about twenty minutes away with a woman whose name I can't even remember. I found a therapist closer who were willing to see her quickly so I made appointments with the pediatric OT and PT.

I was initially happier with the new place. Everyone was friendly and sweet to Anna. And they seemed to take a different approach. They stressed Anna's need to be on her belly and offered different ways of going about it. They seemed more open to my constant theorizing and more sensitive to my concerns. But even they couldn't asuage my greatest fears.

Anna's stroke was diagnosed a couple of weeks after we started seeing these new therapists. I guess I figured that the diagnosis would shed a lot of light onto the situation and the therapy would change to reflect that. But we continued along the same route. I wanted a quick an easy fix and wanted to see immediate and huge improvements in a small amount of time.

Well, that certainly didn't happen. But I did everything in my power to speed up the progress. I bought a foam wedge to aid tummy time. And Anna and I did three half hour (at least) sessions at home as well as two half hour sessions a week at the therapists. We also did two stretching sessions a day consisting of about six exercises - we did each three times for thirty seconds each.
Initially it wasn't too hard to do the stretching. I would put Sesame Street on and she would watch while I stretched her right hand, arm and leg. Sometimes she would protest a bit but for the most part it was painless. Tummy time was definitely a different story!

I pulled out all of the stops. I tempted her with toys, music, silly noises, faces, words of encouragement. It didn't matter - she hated it. The foam wedge helped a little as it wasn't as hard to be on an incline as it was to be flat on the floor. I was happy for a little relief from the crying but still found the constant therapy draining.

I passed on everything that I learned to the therapists: She does better on the wedge. She likes to look at herself in the mirror. She responds better after her nap and before eating as she is still a bit of a 'spitter'. Maybe the rug at the therapy office isn't plush enough; perhaps a mat would work better. I thought all day about ways to improve at-home and in-office therapy. And gratefully the therapists listened and responded and so did Anna, however slowly. . .