There’s a huge difference between “there’s nothing we can do” and “there’s nothing she needs”. As I touched upon in my last post, the difference between the two phrases might not be all that profound, the end result is the same after all. Yet I’ve come to discover that while there might be only a word or two different, there’s a massive disparity in their meaning.
Nowhere was this more obvious to me that at our first appointment at the limb centre this week. The whole experience was entirely different from previous appointments we’d had elsewhere, from the moment we stepped into the building to the moment we left. And it was different for the better.
At previous appointments in numerous different hospitals, Hero has always been different. We’ve sat in waiting rooms full of two handed people, more often than not she’s been an object of curiosity. I don’t mind that so much, nobody has been rude to us there. Yet when we grabbed a seat in the limb centre waiting room, we found ourselves opposite a little boy with a hand just like Hero’s. Perhaps she’s too young to notice the similarities just yet, but I was very aware of it, and so was he. The little boy immediately engaged with her, he started making faces (using his hand and his little arm to pull a wide smile) and she started following him around the room, enraptured. It was such a beautiful but simple moment, I hope it was the same for the little boy’s mum too, to see our kids playing and comparing with no need for questions or staring.
In the appointment room it was pretty toy-tastic. Hero was very clearly comfortable in there and wasted no time in cruising up and down the walking bars and even admiring the brightly coloured artwork on the walls. She absolutely loved meeting her two doctors, Hero is a big fan of adults and children (babies, not so much). They were so incredibly positive about Hero and particularly about her ability with her little hand. She chose a good moment to demonstrate her Duplo skills; how she carefully positions one block between her little hand and her chest before clipping on a second block with her free hand.
The appointment was only ever a meet and greet and I was neither surprised or dissapointed to be told that we don’t need to see them again for another year. Because this time, exactly as I’d hoped, there was no “well, there’s nothing we can do”. They’d not come into this appointment with a “how can we fix this” attitude. Instead they agreed wholeheartedly with me that trying Hero out with any kind of prosthetic would really hamper her development at this stage. And why bother when she’s already finding her own ways of using her hand so effectively?
Previous consultants have talked about how her little fingers wouldn’t ever have any functionality. About how she wasn’t a good candidate for toe-to-hand surgery and about how there was very little to be done to improve her hand’s function. At the limb centre, however, it was simply a wonderful appraisal of all of the ability she does have in her little hand, with n’er a mention of what she doesn’t.
As the Reach tagline says; it’s ability not disability that matters and I couldn’t help but feel that the folks at the limb centre, be they staff or visitors, really and truly understood that and wanted to ensure that everyone else did too.