A severely disabled child teaches her family the true meaning of hope in the face of impossible circumstances.
Jodie is one in a million. She may not be able to talk (MUCH) or do much for herself, but she has taught us plenty about courage, grace, love, acceptance, and most of all, hope.
Jodie will be 12 years old in three months, in July, and she has far exceeded all expectations pinned on her by doctors. She was born with severe brain damage and was diagnosed with cerebral palsy when she was a year old; but despite that, she has managed to live a very fulfilling and rewarding life. Jodie wasn't expected to make it past her fifth birthday, but she has survived far beyond that, and every day she manages to astonish and surprise people. Like for example, she just learned to talk in the past six or so months, and she is now learning to express herself (SLOWLY, but she IS learning). She also lets us know how she is doing by communicating with us in her special way.
Jodie is severely handicapped, both physically (unable to walk, dress or feed herself, and is basically nonverbal except for a few words) and mantally (unable to read or comprehend most things but the simplest of emotions), but she still manages to teach us about patience, courage, love, acceptance, and even about life itself.
Jodie was adopted by our family from Korea when she was just three years old, but she has managed to wrap her little finger around all of our hearts, and it's gotten to the point to where we can't imagine the family WITHOUT her. She is a little charmer, with an engaging, outgoing personality, and she is a very happy and loving little child. She loves to laugh and sing, and her uptilted eyes sparkle with life and determination. Sure, people tend to feel sorry for her, as they see her in her wheelchair, or see us attending to her personal needs; but we have learned to accept her, and she is teaching others of just how fortunate most people are in life, as compared to her. She can't do but very little for herself, and unfortunately, she will always need someone to care for her and her needs; most people don't have it as hard as Jodie does. For one thing, they are able to take care of themselves, work, drive, engage in different activities, and even walk, talk, and think. Jodie can't do any of these things; she is in a wheelchair, and she is virtually a prisoner of her own body, which doesn't move right. Her body wants to move a certain way, and when she tries, her brain and nerves get their signals crossed, and her body moves in an entirely different way. She can't control her body movements, and she can't help herself. It is because of the severe brain damage she encurred while she was being born.
Unfortunately, she will never get any better. She will always need someone to help her, and I am sure this bothers her in some remote way; I am sure she is embarrassed about having to wear diapers instead of underpants, like most girls her age, and I am sure she doesn't like the feeding tube in her stomach all the time or having to hook her up to the I.V. stand during her feedings. I am sure she would love to get her mouth on some good, sweet chocolate cake instead of having this disgusting, putrid-smelling gunk put into her tube, where it then goes into her tummy. And I am sure she doesn't enjoy throwing up every day (due to her inability to chew or swallow; she chokes on her spit or on her mucus, and she gags). Even though she really can't tell us things the way she would want, she does let us know just how she feels about "things" that are going on in her life, and this gives us all the more reason to hope that she will be better able to express herself even more in the future.
Jodie has also let us know in her special way just what she likes (or doesn't like). She loves Alan Jackson (everytime he is on the radio, she listens, and she smiles the entire time his songs play) and Loretta Lynn, she loves to watch tv (especially the cartoons), and she loves to be held in our arms as we read to her; and she loves it when we act goofy with her. For example, Ronee' may move her head in a funny way or make a goofy face, and Jodie will squeal with laughter. Or Johnny might sneeze or cough, and again, Jodie will laugh; for some weird reason, she finds people's reactions or motions funny and amusing. And Lord if people should happen to slip and fall: if someone falls, Jodie will be beside herself in a fit of giggles; and it will be a while before we can get her settled down!
I often wish Jodie wasn't so severely disabled, but there are people who have it even worse than SHE does, and I guess I should be grateful that Jodie CAN see, CAN hear, CAN think (SOME), and CAN at least talk a little. There are too many people who can't do NONE of the above; they just lie there in hospitals, nursing homes, or institutions, shells of their former selves, unable to do anything but blink their eyes or move their heads. Jodie, at least, can move her body (although NOT well), and she can, at least, communicate to some degree!
So there is always hope, even when things don't look so rosy. Even the most severely handicapped can teach us much and offer us much in the way of hope if you just give them that chance!
Edie Batstone's first book of colourful picture poems invites us to jump into a child's world of wonder and possibility, just as a child jumps into a puddle - knowing only that it seems like a good idea at the time! Join her on this journey of disco
