aftermath: dealing with the diagnosis

Disclaimer:  This story is all from my perspective.  I can only speak of James' actions, not always the thoughts behind them.  Someday, I hope he will tell his story, but until then, this is my version of it.  

After James and I were educated about our son's diagnosis, my first reaction was basically, "handle with care."  I tried to hold him closer and kiss him more, and appreciate every smile.  I tried to think of all the things he could still do, rather than consider what he was unable to.  Walking out of the doctor's office, James seemed angry.  He made a few remarks that made me angry in return, because I felt like he was blaming Keagan for something that he could not control.  I can only imagine how hard it is as a father to hear that your son can't play football, or even jump on a trampoline.  Most of James' dreams for Keagan at that time, I think, involved a ball in his hands and a cheering crowd.  I can't imagine having all of those hopes ripped from you in an instant.

As time has passed, James seems to have let go of a lot of his anger, and eventually we have learned to come together about everything.  We've begun to balance each other out-- James doesn't allow me to coddle him overly, and I don't allow him to be harsh with him or feel sad that he can't play football-- we'll just channel his killer throwing arm over to baseball (which he can play)!  It's still trial and error, because when Keagan starts holding his head and acting strangely, I assume something is wrong.  James encourages me to trust my gut, but also to wait it out and look for more signs than just a headache.  Our son is not broken, but we do live our lives with the possibility that one false move could change our lives forever.  We make every effort to keep the quality of his life the same as any other little boy, although at his age there isn't much he has to miss out on... yet.  Neither one of us is looking forward to the day when Keagan asks to sign up for pee-wee football, or when he goes to a friends' house and has to be told why he can't simply jump on the trampoline with his friends.  We still argue about who has to field that conversation-- rock, paper, scissors at this point has the job falling to him, but I'm sure it will be challenged in the years to come.  Since it's not an obvious issue, and I'm unsure how much pain it actually causes him day-to-day, I can imagine Keagan will try to defy us, but I pray that there is never a consequence for the natural and inevitable defiance of an already independent child trying to test his limits.