On June 15,1998 we found out that I was pregnant. Everything was going wonderfully. I was given a due date and ultrasound date and sent home. With both of these exciting dates approaching all I could do was dream of the baby I could hardly wait to care for. The time arrived for the ultrasound. When I entered the doctor's office I was told that my measurements were fine, the heartbeat sounded great, and that there was no need for an ultrasound. I should tell you that I was such a paranoid pregnant woman. I would not even take Tylenol so I NEEDED this ultrasound to assure me that everything would be OK. After throwing a fit, they finally agreed to put me on the table to shut me up. When they did they noticed something not quite right about one of the baby's legs. At that moment my heart began to break. I was sent to almost every doctor in town and not one could tell me what was wrong with my child. All they could tell me was that there was something wrong with both my child's arms and legs and that her bowel was dilated to the point of rupturing and she would most likely die. But still no diagnosis. My dreams of having this little girl and chasing her around the house, playing with her in the backyard, or even holding her in my arms were becoming unrealistic.
The day before Christmas Eve I was admitted into the hospital and prepped for delivery. We waited about four hours when a doctor entered the room with a diagnosis. He told us that our baby had Lethal Multiple Pteryguim Syndrome. There had only been 10 documented cases in the world and ours would be number 11. 8 of the 10 babies had died before birth and 2 only lived a week. We left the hospital on Christmas Eve with this news. It was over. I was not going to have the opportunity to mother this little girl that I had wanted and dreamed of my whole life. She was not going to make it and I would never recover.
On December 27, 1998 I was admitted into the hospital again because my baby had stopped moving and everyone knew this was the end until...They detected a strong fetal heartbeat so I was rushed to the delivery room. Texana Taylor Burton (Hanna for short) was born at 11:29 am with Arthrogryposis. She is perfectly healthy. She is mentally fine and suffers from only physical limitations. She does not have the lethal syndrome and she has a normal life expectancy. She is truly God's miracle child.
We thank God for her everyday. We were given the opportunity to raise her. It still hurts sometimes though; I suppose it always will just a little bit. It hurts when we go to the beach and I cant chase her through the waves or that she cant go pick out her favorite book and bring it to me to read, or that we cant dance together to her favorite songs. But for all the things we are unable to do, we are able to do things that others can't. We have more good times than bad. We are lucky to have her, and we never take a single day for granted.
I wrote this a long time ago and never bothered to update it cause our story is history and will never change so why update it right? I thought I would just click on it when I was updating today and I read the story and it kinda made me a bit mad. All those "wrongs" and "cant's". I have never told her she couldn't do anything and that is not a nice word at our house. My brain has learned not to function like that anymore. I always see what she CAN do now. She is like any other kid to me and sometimes I forget she even has Arthrogryposis she's just Hanna. At 5 we just adapt everything to her so that she can do things she wants to do. Sure there are a few things that would be difficult but for the most part she does everything everyone else does only differently. We tell her this when she asks questions. She gets books, she dances, she does it all! As far as good times-that's pretty much all we have-when Hanna's not sassing me anyway! It's amazing what time and God can do!
