Outreach
Katy held tightly to Kris’s hand while the pediatrician spoke to them in a low, calm voice about their son, Kaleb.
In June, they had celebrated Kaleb’s first birthday with another couple’s child, Jeremy, who was the same age as Kaleb. That’s when Katy realized something wasn’t right.
While Jeremy could walk holding his mother’s hand, and pick up Cheerios with his thumb and forefinger, and take steps holding onto the furniture, Kaleb wasn’t yet even able to sit up without support. Kaleb’s legs were stiff, and when she or Kris stood him up, he automatically walked on his toes.
Kaleb still had fine bones, and was tiny for his age - that fact was driven home all the more when they placed the two babies beside each other to blow out their birthday candles. Katy had always entertained the possibility that when Kaleb caught up in size, he would catch up in other ways. She always figured it came with being born prematurely, and she and Kris weren’t all that big themselves. Maybe Kaleb was just small.
While Jeremy went for the cake with both hands, Kaleb licked his lips, spit, and opened his mouth wide, seeming to understand when Kris showed him how to blow the candle out. Kaleb tried to mimic blowing, while Jeremy was just all about eating.
Katy knew Kaleb was smart. He could say “Mama”, “Dada”, “milk” (which sounded like “nope”) and “more” (which sounded like “moley”). And Kaleb understood a whole lot more than he could say. So far, all Jeremy could manage was “hockey”. His parents were over the moon.
Now, they were getting news that Katy imagined every parent must dread. Her mother’s intuition had been right. Something was off with their little boy.
--
Kris sat beside Katy, holding her hand and feeling numb. He felt like he was trying to breathe through a straw, and the air was too thick. He heard only snatches of what the doctor was saying.
“Neurological problem…Further testing needed…level of impairment…More common in premature births…”
On Kris’s lap, Kaleb slept, oblivious to the changes going on in their lives, and in their world.
“Does it have a name?” Katy asked, sounding shell-shocked. “I mean, do you know what it is?”
“Cerebral Palsy.”
The words hit Kris in the center of his chest. His beautiful little boy, who had already overcome so much, now had one more thing in front of him.
But Kris forced air into his lungs and blew it out. “Well, what do we do now? What’s the cure? Does he need medicine? Time in the hospital? What?”
“I’m going to refer you to the specialists at the University hospital. Kaleb will need to undergo further tests, but I’m sorry Mr. and Mrs. Allen. There is no cure.”
--
On the drive home from the hospital, Katy wept.
This had been the longest day she had ever experienced, and that included when Kaleb was born, and Kris was away. They had put Kaleb through all kinds of tests, but the scariest had been the MRI to see if he had any neurological damage. White, they were told, was good. Black wasn't.
Kaleb's scan came back looking like a starlit sky, with just little pinpricks of white, overwhelmed by darkness.
Katy felt like a horrible mother. Just days ago, she had marveled at how smart Kaleb was, but maybe it was just because that was what Katy wanted to see. Obviously, Katy had missed some pretty big sign along the way that told her Kaleb wasn't developing like he should have been. Where was her mother's intuition?
If she had only been able to keep Kaleb inside her for longer like he needed, he wouldn’t be facing any of this right now. He would have legs that would bend and balance that worked, and he would have parents who knew what the hell they were dealing with.
--
Behind the wheel, Kris clenched his jaw, listening to Katy’s quiet sobs, knowing she was blaming herself. He focused on the road, glancing at his baby in the rearview mirror.
Kaleb was perfect and beautiful, and smart as any twelve-month-old Kris had ever seen. There couldn’t be something wrong with him, and definitely not something that Kris hadn’t been able to see coming.
He had thought all their time in hospitals and waiting rooms was over. Kaleb had only come home six months ago. He deserved more than a label attached to his name. He deserved the most out of life that he could get.
But just like that, one diagnosis had drastically changed Kris’s dreams for his son.
Because Kaleb wouldn’t be a professional baseball player, he probably wouldn’t even play Little League. He wouldn’t be able to go into landscaping, or climb a big hill. He and Kaleb couldn’t go camping or hiking together…
Kris hit the steering wheel as the light in front of them turned red, bringing all three of them to a screeching halt.
“Father, help us…” Kris breathed, while, next to him, he heard his wife whisper a broken prayer of her own:
“God. Why?”
--
When Kris parked the car, neither one of them could move, despite the fact that Kaleb was now awake and chattering to himself in his car seat.
"I can't do this, Kris..." Katy wept. "I can't even look at him. All I see is that horrible brain scan, with all the black... What did we miss?"
Determined, Kris breathed, and got out of the car, urging Katy with him, and unbuckling Kaleb from his car seat. He led Katy inside by the hand and sat on the couch, settling Kaleb in her lap.
"The black and white thing doesn't always mean what they said, remember? We know he's smart."
Katy's red-rimmed eyes took on a fear Kris couldn't recall his wife ever possessing. She looked hesitant to even hold onto him.
"Ma-ma-ma!" Kaleb babbled cheerfully, patting Katy's hand with his awkwawrd little one.
"Hey," Kris told her, leaning forward. "This is our son. No diagnosis or scan or test is gonna change that. He's the same little boy he was before all of this. He's strong and smart, and he deserves every chance grow up knowing that he can do anything he sets his mind to."
Katy sniffed and rested her head against Kris's shoulder.
"Listen," he said softly. "I'm not saying don't be upset. I don't even know what I am right now. But trust that God's here with us, and that he can get us through this, okay? You're not alone in this," he kissed the crown of her head. "And it's not your fault."
"It's because he was early..." Katy objected, her voice thready and tearful.
"Katy, we don't know why it happened," Kris whispered gently.
"But I should have protected him," she cried, her voice breaking.
Kris only held her closer.
I should have protected you both, he thought.
--
Kris knew that when some men were stressed, they worked out, or fixed something. But Kris just withdrew, spending hours a day rocking Kaleb. Talking to him and playing with him. Reading him the same books again and again, because he could tell Kaleb liked them by the way he slapped the pages and squealed.
He knew that Katy had to deal with this in her own way, and she was. She had already been on the phone with Joan countless times. She tried to offer it to Kris, but he always pretended to be doing something with Kaleb that required all of his attention.
The truth was, he just couldn't face anybody about this.
He knew it was irrational to be ashamed of something that Kaleb couldn't help, and that Kris wasn't to blame for, but it hurt deep inside in a way Kris couldn't name to look at his little boy and know how much harder he was going to have to fight, just to do what other kids did without even thinking about it.
--
When there was a knock on Kaleb's door after three days, Kris glanced up, and blinked in shock.
"Adam?" Kris managed softly. He hadn't heard anyone at the door. He hadn't heard anything but Kaleb babbling into his toy telephone. "What are you doing here?"
"Why'd you turn your phone off?" Adam asked, rubbing Kaleb's head affectionately.
Kris shrugged, sitting in a straddle with Kaleb supported between his legs, but Kaleb had so little core strength that it did little good. Kaleb was constantly toppling over, and getting frustrated. Giving up, Kris set him in the walker, where he was more fully supported, even if it meant he walked on his toes.
"Just didn't feel like talking to anybody..." Kris admitted. "Katy tell you?" he asked, sitting with his shoulders hunched.
"Joan told me. This was the soonest I could get away."
"You didn't have to come, you know?" Kris tried, sounding defeated.
"Yes, we did," another voice answered, and Kris did a double-take as Allison came into the Kaleb's room, picking him up and making him squeal. "Otherwise, we would've missed playtime."
Still holding onto Kaleb, Allison bent and kissed Kris on the head. "Me and Special K are gonna go see Mama, aren't we?" she asked Kaleb.
His face split into a huge grin.
Then, she sobered a minute and told Kris, "He'll be okay. He's got great parents," before spiriting Kaleb out of the room, and closing the door behind her.
--
"So, how are you?" Adam asked, trying to get comfortable. He hadn't sat on a floor strewn with toys, probably since they were all in Costa Rica together. Minus Katy and Kaleb, of course. Absently, Adam touched the side of his neck where the skin was discolored, raised and puckered in a scar. On his right hand, he still wore his black compression glove to reduce the scarring there.
"Fine," Kris nodded, distracting himself. He dialed his home number on Kaleb's pretend phone. "I told you. You really didn't need to come like this."
"Kris, you barely stuck your head out of this room for three days. You're not fine," Adam pointed out.
"Katy has a big mouth," Kris grumbled.
Adam kept quiet, waiting. He knew 90% of being a good friend was just being there. Just listening.
"Well, it's not like I can be out there," Kris said softly, gesturing toward the kitchen where he knew Katy was. "I can't be strong all the time, Adam. And not about this."
"Do you really think she expects you to be? All of you just got dealt a really shitty hand," he pointed out.
"Well, someone's got to be strong, or else we're not going to make it." Kris forced the words out. They sounded harsh and final. And broken.
"You don't believe there's something bigger out there, being strong for you already?" Adam asked, his face open and curious.
Kris didn't answer. He couldn't. Because Adam had scooted closer to him on Kaleb's blue carpeting, and laid an arm across his back.
Again, Adam waited, silent, just being there.
And Kris finally let himself grieve.
--
When Kris finally emerged from his son's room, it was as if the world had transformed in his absence. The blinds were open and sun streamed through the windows. This, he attributed to Allison. When Kris had stuck his head out before, the house had been shrouded in darkness, and Katy moved silently as a bedroom shadow.
Now, though, Kris could hear them both laughing, as Allison stirred a pot of something on the stove, doing an impression of her mom, cooking. Complete with the accent.
"She was like, 'Allison, why does it look like this? What's wrong with it?' And, you know, I didn't have any damn idea. I've never made chili!"
"You never made chili," Kris told her, leaning over the pot to check out the contents.
"No," Allison denied, shaking her head.
"What do you call that?" Kris asked, pointing.
"Chili, is what I call that," Allison told him, grinning.
"I made that, honey," Katy called, holding Kaleb. He could hear the smile in her voice.
"Mmm, I love your chili," he told her, closing the distance between them and kissing her tenderly. "Thanks for making dinner. Sorry I've been so far away from you lately."
"Not that far," Katy reassured between kisses. "I knew you were here if I needed you. I knew where to find you."
"Either one of you know where to find a takeout menu?" Adam asked, his eyes watering. He forced a smile.
"Hey, now!" Katy reprimanded. "That's not very nice. Kaleb, what do you think of Mama's chili?" she asked him seriously.
"Mmm!" he said enthusiastically.
"That's my boy," Kris said proudly, a genuine smile appearing on his face for the first time in days.
"There's a pizza magnet here," Allison reported. "Want me to call?"
"Sure," Katy agreed.
"Adam? Allison? You're staying, right?"
"Of course!" Alli announced in a deep voice as she took out her phone. "Who can say no to pizza?"
Adam caught Kris's eye, and then looked to Katy. "We'll always be here. Don't be afraid to reach out."
And with that reassurance, Kris felt himself letting out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding.
They weren't alone in this.
They had never been alone.