A Diagnosis At Last (Part 1)

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A year ago this month, we made the decision to walk away from seeking out a diagnosis for what had happened to our daughter. After eighteen doctors and four hospitals who kept reading each others’ notes and refusing to test or look with fresh eyes, we decided that the search for a reason and a name for all of this was pointless. It didn’t matter to us any longer what had happened. Giving it a name wouldn’t change it at this point, as we were 18 months past onset and past the prime time for all the possible treatments we could find. There was just no point to continuing to drag her and ourselves through it all

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I’m the 40-something-ish wife of my beloved Computer Guy. I’m the adoring and incredibly proud mom of nine children…two saints…seven in training. I’m my brothers’ sister and my parents’ daughter. I’m a devout Catholic, an avid political junkie, able debater, aspiring home-maker, amazing friend, and I make the meanest Chicken Fried Steak you’ll ever have the pleasure of eating. I’m a homeschooling guru, a writing addict, a sometimes public-speaker, and an advocate for staying true to the person God created you to be. I can’t live in a house with white walls, sing Billy Joel songs while I wash the dishes, will read anything you put in my hands, and am completely obsessed with rhinestones and cute shoes. I am just like moms the whole world over, and then some.

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