Wait and See

Car pool and publishing deadlines don’t mix and created a few challenging nights. Volunteering and cutting apples is not my strength and left me feeling unqualified in Alex’s classroom. Doctors and learning that Alex has Alopecia Areata was a shock and propelled us into a whole new arena of parenting. That about sums up last week.

It all started late Saturday night when we were at my sisters for Alison’s 12th birthday party (can NOT believe she is twelve – the image of her at age three as my flower girl may always trump everything else). We showed up at the party a bit late and Alex immediately joined the touch football game in the back yard. It was then, from a distant and as a spectator, I noticed the dime size patch of white skin on the back of his head. Four hours later, I walked into the basement where he was playing Wii with Tyler and discovered it had grow – over 2 inches in diameter. At that point I knew this could not be caused by his nervous habit of hair twirling (Andy does it too), but something bigger was going on.

Thirty more minutes later, after worrying and panicking from searching the intranet, I was finally talking to the pediatrician on call. And although we had already self diagnosed (thanks to webMD) what was causing his rapid and increasing hair loss, it felt both comforting and still confusing to hear the doctor say not to worry and come in on Monday. So these are the facts we learned then and are still processing now: Alopecia Areata is an autoimmune disease that results in unpredictable hair loss (either patchy, which he has now, or possibly the full head, which we are waiting to see). He is not contagious, and there is not a trigger or real treatment. They say it could grow back immediately or it could take up to a year. They say it could be a one-time thing or could reoccur throughout childhood. With that, we are truly in a wait and see mode.

After taking this all in, my first reaction was feeling a bit of relief. There was nothing life threatening, and I could not be more thankful for that. My second reaction was thinking ahead. Immediately my mind produced a futuristic slide show of all possible occurrences at various ages in varying degrees. This of course included people’s reactions, his reactions, his emotions, his future and how it could possibly be altered from the one I already had in my head, which was first created at an early pediatrician visit when the doctor declared him to be a perfectly, healthy baby boy. For about 48 hours this consumed me. And Andy. But when I picked him up at school on Wednesday and saw his “friend” Lilly give him a hug goodbye, and Caden and Leo wave and say “see you tomorrow,” I realized my worrying may be pointless (and may be fueled too much by vanity) and I really should follow Alex’s lead or that of his classmates.

It seemed like a five year old is probably programmed better to deal with such a bizarre and rare condition. Life was still normal to him. Sure, the kids noticed, but he proudly told them he did it sliding into second base (not sure I like the lie, but give him points for creativity). And sure, a few kids did make fun of him, but he said he didn’t care and then indirectly punished them by not letting anyone being mean or making bad choices touch his bald spot (which was the “cool thing” to do on the kindergarten bus).

I have always felt as a parent there were a things I could wish upon my kids (happiness, good health and good teeth) and things I could more directly impact (happiness, kindness to others and self-esteem). It looks like both of these categories were tested last week, and Alex proved himself over and over in each. It sounds like we will have some moments and years of uncertainty in front of us and only time will tell how this will ultimately impact Alex. But I now know I should tune into what’s going on inside his head, and not what is happening on the outside.