Never shake a baby
April is National Child Abuse Prevention Month. During this month - and throughout the rest of the year - I often wear a blue ribbon as a reminder of this cause.
It's a cause that is meaningful to me. Permit me to share this story.
My youngest son, "Tater," was born very premature. The normal gestation period is 40 weeks. Well, Tater was born at 26 weeks. He weighed a little over a pound and was 13 inches long.
He spent 74 days in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU). Each day was a struggle. Struggle to breathe, struggle to keep the heart beating, struggle to eat, struggle to grow. I was right there with him every day, doing everything I could to help take care of him. Fortunately the nurses were very kind and glad to get parents involved in their babies' care. Besides, we'd have to know how to do all those things once we got our babies home.
Well, grow he did and eventually he made it up to 5 pounds - one of the thresholds he had to cross in order to "graduate" from the NICU and finally be able to come home.
Even though he was able to come home after 74 days, that doesn't mean he was "well." Far from it. He was still on oxygen and on a heart monitor. I had to keep everything super-sterile because even the common cold could kill him. Feeding him was a challenge. He couldn't digest regular formula or even breast milk. I had to feed him a special, easier to digest formula. Even then, he had reflux and usually threw up more than he actually consumed.
Preemies naturally need more care and attention and Tater was no exception. He cried constantly, except when he was in my arms. I was glad to hold him and never had a problem getting up in the night to comfort him.
My (now ex-) husband also wanted to "do his part" and help take care of the baby. There were times when he insisted I stay in bed... that he'd get up and take care of the baby. I had no reason to think anything odd about this. In fact, I thought it was considerate of him to want me to get a little extra rest while he got up with the baby.
About a month after Tater came home from the NICU, I noticed something strange. One morning as I was feeding him a bottle, I saw his arm jerking, almost like he was having a seizure. He was also throwing up a lot more and wouldn't stop crying no matter what I did.
I immediately called our pediatrician. The doctor said that it didn't sound like anything serious, but that I should come in to his office that afternoon so he could check things out.
By coincidence, Tater had an appointment with his pediatric eye doctor that morning. Right away, the eye doctor knew there was a problem. She looked at me and asked if my baby had been shaken.
Shaken? Are you kidding me? Who would shake a baby?
The doctor looked at me and said that the retinas of Tater's eyes were bleeding and that he was showing the classic symptoms of Shaken Baby Syndrome. She called the pediatrician and I was instructed to go to his office immediately.
I was in a daze. I had no idea what to do. My mind raced. I called my (now ex-) husband and asked if he knew anything about it. He denied everything.
Nobody else had been with the baby. I had asked all my friends and family to stay away because I didn't want to risk anybody bringing any germs into the house and possibly making Tater sick.
I began to doubt myself. Had I somehow gotten up in the middle of the night and shaken my son without knowing it? How could this happen in my family? We were well off (my now ex-husband was a successful executive making upwards of $90K a year), from good families, and had good values. I soon learned that abuse does not discriminate.
I took him on to the pediatrician's office and the doctor made the same conclusion. He told me that I had to take the baby back to the hospital, this time to the PICU (Pediatric Intensive Care Unit). He also told me that he had to notify the police.
I again called my (now ex-) husband and told him to meet me at the hospital. We took Tater up to the PICU and he was admitted into their care.
There were also 2 police detectives there waiting for us. They gave us a paper serving us notice that we no longer had custody of our son... that he was now in the custody of the hospital and that we could not be left alone with him. If we were with him, we had to be in plain sight of the hospital staff.
They took my son away from me and I hadn't even done anything wrong.
I was still in shock. The detectives took my (now ex-) husband and I into separate rooms and started questioning us. I was questioned for 3 hours, and it wasn't fun or kind. The detectives' questions were aggressive, accusatory.
Tater stayed in the PICU for a week and because of the police investigation, nobody would tell us what was wrong with him. All I knew is that he was sick. Fortunately the nurses stayed around so I could be there to take care of my son. That week, I never left his side. My (now ex-) husband was hardly ever there. I was too dazed to notice.
At the end of that week, the detectives came to me and asked me point-blank if I had shaken my baby. I said, "no." They asked me if I would care to go to the police station to take a lie detector test. I agreed. Anything they wanted. I left right then with the detective and he drove me to the station. The polygraph test showed that I was telling the truth.
The detective took me back to the hospital and told me that they were going to call my husband and talk to him. I went back up to the PICU to be with my son. Soon, the detective came to me and finally told me the extent of my son's injuries.
Bruises/bleeding on the brain
Bleeding in both eyes
Broken wrist
12 broken ribs
I broke down, horrified. Scared to pick up my baby boy and hold him in my arms because I was afraid that I'd be hurting him.
The detective then told me why he was now able to tell me about the injuries. My (now ex-) husband had confessed, just before they strapped him to the polygraph machine. His confession was violent - he had shaken the baby more than once and even slammed him against a door facing.
The detective then told me that I had a decision to make right then. My son was well enough to be released from the hospital. Either my (now ex-) husband could move out and I could get back custody of my son, or my (now ex-) husband could stay and the state would take custody.
It was a no-brainer. I got my son. My (now ex-) husband hit the road.
I wish I could say that was the end of the story and my son is now enjoying a happily ever after.
But that's not the case.
Nine years later, my son struggles as a result of the trauma he received. He has cerebral palsy. He can't grip a pencil. He has hand tremors. His legs are stiffened. His vision is severly impaired. Every few months it seems like more problems arise. He is a very smart boy, but because his body can't do what his mind wants it to, he's failing school. He will be repeating third grade next year.
I look at that sweet boy and my heart breaks... because I know that all the crap he's going through now was completely preventable. It didn't have to be this way.
But, then again, I smile... because I know how lucky he is just to be alive.
He really is a survivor. But there are so many others that don't survive. There are so many others that live to face struggles much harder than his.
Please - never, ever shake a baby. Spread the word and check out: http://aboutshakenbaby.com
It's a cause that is meaningful to me. Permit me to share this story.
My youngest son, "Tater," was born very premature. The normal gestation period is 40 weeks. Well, Tater was born at 26 weeks. He weighed a little over a pound and was 13 inches long.He spent 74 days in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU). Each day was a struggle. Struggle to breathe, struggle to keep the heart beating, struggle to eat, struggle to grow. I was right there with him every day, doing everything I could to help take care of him. Fortunately the nurses were very kind and glad to get parents involved in their babies' care. Besides, we'd have to know how to do all those things once we got our babies home.
Well, grow he did and eventually he made it up to 5 pounds - one of the thresholds he had to cross in order to "graduate" from the NICU and finally be able to come home.
Even though he was able to come home after 74 days, that doesn't mean he was "well." Far from it. He was still on oxygen and on a heart monitor. I had to keep everything super-sterile because even the common cold could kill him. Feeding him was a challenge. He couldn't digest regular formula or even breast milk. I had to feed him a special, easier to digest formula. Even then, he had reflux and usually threw up more than he actually consumed.
Preemies naturally need more care and attention and Tater was no exception. He cried constantly, except when he was in my arms. I was glad to hold him and never had a problem getting up in the night to comfort him.
My (now ex-) husband also wanted to "do his part" and help take care of the baby. There were times when he insisted I stay in bed... that he'd get up and take care of the baby. I had no reason to think anything odd about this. In fact, I thought it was considerate of him to want me to get a little extra rest while he got up with the baby.
About a month after Tater came home from the NICU, I noticed something strange. One morning as I was feeding him a bottle, I saw his arm jerking, almost like he was having a seizure. He was also throwing up a lot more and wouldn't stop crying no matter what I did.
I immediately called our pediatrician. The doctor said that it didn't sound like anything serious, but that I should come in to his office that afternoon so he could check things out.
By coincidence, Tater had an appointment with his pediatric eye doctor that morning. Right away, the eye doctor knew there was a problem. She looked at me and asked if my baby had been shaken.
Shaken? Are you kidding me? Who would shake a baby?
The doctor looked at me and said that the retinas of Tater's eyes were bleeding and that he was showing the classic symptoms of Shaken Baby Syndrome. She called the pediatrician and I was instructed to go to his office immediately.
I was in a daze. I had no idea what to do. My mind raced. I called my (now ex-) husband and asked if he knew anything about it. He denied everything.
Nobody else had been with the baby. I had asked all my friends and family to stay away because I didn't want to risk anybody bringing any germs into the house and possibly making Tater sick.
I began to doubt myself. Had I somehow gotten up in the middle of the night and shaken my son without knowing it? How could this happen in my family? We were well off (my now ex-husband was a successful executive making upwards of $90K a year), from good families, and had good values. I soon learned that abuse does not discriminate.
I took him on to the pediatrician's office and the doctor made the same conclusion. He told me that I had to take the baby back to the hospital, this time to the PICU (Pediatric Intensive Care Unit). He also told me that he had to notify the police.
I again called my (now ex-) husband and told him to meet me at the hospital. We took Tater up to the PICU and he was admitted into their care.
There were also 2 police detectives there waiting for us. They gave us a paper serving us notice that we no longer had custody of our son... that he was now in the custody of the hospital and that we could not be left alone with him. If we were with him, we had to be in plain sight of the hospital staff.
They took my son away from me and I hadn't even done anything wrong.
I was still in shock. The detectives took my (now ex-) husband and I into separate rooms and started questioning us. I was questioned for 3 hours, and it wasn't fun or kind. The detectives' questions were aggressive, accusatory.
Tater stayed in the PICU for a week and because of the police investigation, nobody would tell us what was wrong with him. All I knew is that he was sick. Fortunately the nurses stayed around so I could be there to take care of my son. That week, I never left his side. My (now ex-) husband was hardly ever there. I was too dazed to notice.
At the end of that week, the detectives came to me and asked me point-blank if I had shaken my baby. I said, "no." They asked me if I would care to go to the police station to take a lie detector test. I agreed. Anything they wanted. I left right then with the detective and he drove me to the station. The polygraph test showed that I was telling the truth.
The detective took me back to the hospital and told me that they were going to call my husband and talk to him. I went back up to the PICU to be with my son. Soon, the detective came to me and finally told me the extent of my son's injuries.
Bruises/bleeding on the brain
Bleeding in both eyes
Broken wrist
12 broken ribs
I broke down, horrified. Scared to pick up my baby boy and hold him in my arms because I was afraid that I'd be hurting him.
The detective then told me why he was now able to tell me about the injuries. My (now ex-) husband had confessed, just before they strapped him to the polygraph machine. His confession was violent - he had shaken the baby more than once and even slammed him against a door facing.
The detective then told me that I had a decision to make right then. My son was well enough to be released from the hospital. Either my (now ex-) husband could move out and I could get back custody of my son, or my (now ex-) husband could stay and the state would take custody.
It was a no-brainer. I got my son. My (now ex-) husband hit the road.
I wish I could say that was the end of the story and my son is now enjoying a happily ever after.
But that's not the case.
Nine years later, my son struggles as a result of the trauma he received. He has cerebral palsy. He can't grip a pencil. He has hand tremors. His legs are stiffened. His vision is severly impaired. Every few months it seems like more problems arise. He is a very smart boy, but because his body can't do what his mind wants it to, he's failing school. He will be repeating third grade next year.
I look at that sweet boy and my heart breaks... because I know that all the crap he's going through now was completely preventable. It didn't have to be this way.
But, then again, I smile... because I know how lucky he is just to be alive.
He really is a survivor. But there are so many others that don't survive. There are so many others that live to face struggles much harder than his.
Please - never, ever shake a baby. Spread the word and check out: http://aboutshakenbaby.com
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