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My 14 Ounce Daughter Has Come a Long Way
dloewenstein - 06:17pm May 20, 2007 EST
I always considered myself to be a very fortunate individual. At 35 years of age I was on the faculty at a major medical school and on the fast-track for tenure and promotion. I married a beautiful and sensitive woman who was the love of my life. The only thing missing was a family. After only 20 weeks of pregnancy, my wife started leaking amniotic fluid. Despite desperate attempts to prolong the pregnancy, my daughter Rachel was born at exactly 23 weeks gestation, weighing only 18 ounces. At her most ill, Rachel’s weight fell to 14 ounces and she had many complications including NEC and ROP.
The many hours at her bedside was perhaps more instructive than all of the years of academic training that I had received as a Clinical Psychologist. The illness of a child is the great equalizer. People from all walks of life and from all types of religious and cultural backgrounds who may have once passed each other silently in the streets, now stood together in solidarity and love for their struggling children. Seeing the many months that it took for these babies to heal and recover was a constant reminder of how much more difficult it is in life to build and to nurture rather than to discard or to destroy.
Looking upon the faces of these innocent children in the NICU reminded me about how much more similar we are as human beings than different. Not one of these infants was born with hatred, spite or intolerance. That is something that only exists in the hearts of adults.
It has been ten years since Rachel came home and she is doing remarkably well despite some challenges with mild cerebral palsy, visual and hearing deficits. She is the fifth grade and is the most happy and loveable child imaginable. My wife and I went to China to adopt an adorable little sister Amy who is now six years of age. We now do what many other families with disabled children do every day, love our child, try to maximize her potential and to realize that she is a special gift entrusted to our care.
Looking beyond our daughter’s disabilities and being able to see the beautiful human being underneath has required that we relinquish our insistence on perfection and that life should be easy or fair.
One of the most poignant lessons that I have learned based on Rachel’s heroic struggles is that we often never appreciate a blessing until the moment that it is lost. We have today to extend both love, appreciation and acceptance to others and to make our lives matter. We must also accept that life is not fair and that bitterness about the past is the corrosive that consumes the container which holds it.
Although I remain a busy professional, I take more time to disengage from the fast-paced world and to better connect to those around me. I take more care to not only hear, but to really listen. Most importantly, in spite of the distractions of a fast-paced world, I am more appreciative of the many gifts around us. My daughter's struggles in the NICU highlight the fact that true heroes and heroines sometimes come in the tinest packages.
David Loewenstein, Ph.D.
Professor of Psychiatry and Behavioral Sciences
Miller School of Medicine, University of Miami
I always considered myself to be a very fortunate individual. At 35 years of age I was on the faculty at a major medical school and on the fast-track for tenure and promotion. I married a beautiful and sensitive woman who was the love of my life. The only thing missing was a family. After only 20 weeks of pregnancy, my wife started leaking amniotic fluid. Despite desperate attempts to prolong the pregnancy, my daughter Rachel was born at exactly 23 weeks gestation, weighing only 18 ounces. At her most ill, Rachel’s weight fell to 14 ounces and she had many complications including NEC and ROP.
The many hours at her bedside was perhaps more instructive than all of the years of academic training that I had received as a Clinical Psychologist. The illness of a child is the great equalizer. People from all walks of life and from all types of religious and cultural backgrounds who may have once passed each other silently in the streets, now stood together in solidarity and love for their struggling children. Seeing the many months that it took for these babies to heal and recover was a constant reminder of how much more difficult it is in life to build and to nurture rather than to discard or to destroy.
Looking upon the faces of these innocent children in the NICU reminded me about how much more similar we are as human beings than different. Not one of these infants was born with hatred, spite or intolerance. That is something that only exists in the hearts of adults.
It has been ten years since Rachel came home and she is doing remarkably well despite some challenges with mild cerebral palsy, visual and hearing deficits. She is the fifth grade and is the most happy and loveable child imaginable. My wife and I went to China to adopt an adorable little sister Amy who is now six years of age. We now do what many other families with disabled children do every day, love our child, try to maximize her potential and to realize that she is a special gift entrusted to our care.
Looking beyond our daughter’s disabilities and being able to see the beautiful human being underneath has required that we relinquish our insistence on perfection and that life should be easy or fair.
One of the most poignant lessons that I have learned based on Rachel’s heroic struggles is that we often never appreciate a blessing until the moment that it is lost. We have today to extend both love, appreciation and acceptance to others and to make our lives matter. We must also accept that life is not fair and that bitterness about the past is the corrosive that consumes the container which holds it.
Although I remain a busy professional, I take more time to disengage from the fast-paced world and to better connect to those around me. I take more care to not only hear, but to really listen. Most importantly, in spite of the distractions of a fast-paced world, I am more appreciative of the many gifts around us. My daughter's struggles in the NICU highlight the fact that true heroes and heroines sometimes come in the tinest packages.
David Loewenstein, Ph.D.
Professor of Psychiatry and Behavioral Sciences
Miller School of Medicine, University of Miami
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