Effortless Effervescence

You may have already heard about Brielle Garrison, the baby born last October without eyes. I just heard about her last week from a friend at work* and I’ve been thinking about her ever since. One of the big to-dos about the story is that Brielle’s condition was unknown and undiagnosed prior to her birth. Her mom, Taylor, had adequate prenatal care, including at least one ultrasound, but this rare condition is almost never diagnosed in utero.

Frankly, I’m a little weirded out by the media’s focus on the “Oh my GOSH, can you believe the doctors missed this?” angle. Perhaps I’m reading a little too much between the headlines, but there seems to be a subtle implication: “If only the mother had known about this ahead of time, she could have had it taken care of.” Wink wink, nudge nudge, say no more.

I don’t know what choice Taylor Garrison would have made if she’d known about her daughter’s condition ahead of time. However, I am encouraged by one of her statements to the press, because it echoes my own feelings on the situation:

“A lot of worse things could have happened and thank god they didn’t,” Garrison said. “I see her just as any other baby. She does everything any other baby would.”

She’s right on. Some babies are born without hearts or brains. A child whose life ends just as it’s beginning is a profound tragedy. Blindness isn’t a tragedy - it’s a disability. And a disability is not the end of the world.**

I think those of us who are able-bodied tend to forget that not only is it possible to live without sight or hearing or the ability to walk or an Ivy-League I.Q., it is possible to have a GOOD life without those things. People do it every day, and have done it for as long as human beings have existed. Some of us have overwhelming physical or mental challenges, but those challenges cannot keep us from enjoying life unless we let them.

I have never had to make the incredibly difficult choice of whether or not to continue a pregnancy after learning that I’m carrying a special needs child or a baby with a fatal deformity. One of the reasons I’ve decided to forgo many of the common prenatal screenings is that I don’t want to be faced with that choice. You know the old saying that it’s easier to get forgiveness than permission? Well, I think it would be better - not easier, but preferable - to deal with a problem at birth, when all that can be done about it is to love my child as best I can. At least, I think that’s what would be better for ME - many other mothers would want time to think, to grieve, to prepare themselves before welcoming a differently-abled child into their family. Some other women may decide that they don’t have anything close to enough strength or patience to care for a child whose needs may, at times, be overwhelming. Those moms need as much grace as Taylor Garrison does - perhaps more.

This is one of the issues that makes the sharply defined lines between pro-this and pro-that blurry and gray. Regardless of what we each believe to be true and right objectively, most of us can think of a scenario that would challenge us to make a choice we’re not proud of. I’m glad that Brielle has a mother who loves her, who is grateful to have a perfectly imperfect child. And I hope that I will love my own child in the same way - without condition, with complete abandon.

Also interesting and heartwarming: another family welcomed a baby girl with a similar condition last year. Her parents are blessed to have a church family that has supported them and their daughter Faith from day one. Follow their story online at Super Baby Faith.

* As a general rule, I’d recommend NOT telling a pregnant woman about babies with rare deformities, because many ladies would FREAK OUT about it. Thankfully, I was having a good week, and I was able to think about the story rationally (very rare condition, probably won’t happen to my baby, and even if it did we’d all be just fine) but there’s no telling what kind of hormonal mess I would’ve been on an off week.
** I recognize that it’s really easy for me to say that a disability isn’t the end of the world, since I’m not disabled and I’m not a caretaker for anyone who is. However, I’ve heard more than a few disabled persons (and caretakers) express this sentiment: Dude, don’t feel sorry for me - feel sorry for someone with REAL problems.