by Wendy Gilker
I have been caring for my profoundly handicapped daughter, Bree, for almost 34 ½ years now. Some people say it’s not Post Traumatic Stress disorder (PTSD) that I’m experiencing. Others tell me that, because I’m her mother it’s not a job, but my responsibility to take care of her.
As I look back in retrospect on these years, I am amazed that I am even still on this planet and the only reason I am here is because of my beautiful little daughter.
My daughter fought to be here
She was two weeks overdue, and she was literally dying inside of me. The embolic fluid had turned green, she was totally wrapped up in the embolic cord and the Placenta was turning to calcium. Then when the C-Section was performed, it took her 20 minutes to breathe on her own.
Within 2 months, we were told that our daughter had a syndrome call 4 P- or Wolfs-Hirschhorn Syndrome. It was not genetic, as both Walter and I were tested. It was just what it was.