Harassed Kid: Hip Dysplasia And A Full Body Cast

When you’re the mum of a three-and-a-half year old and an 18-month old, at the very bottom of your wish list is, in no particular order, is a dislocated hip (of the littlie), a five-day stay at a children’s hospital and a full-body cast for six weeks.

Hmm – which would be worse? A toddler’s inability to move for a month and a half, or the breaking of her pelvis to put her femur back in its rightful place? Knowing the details of the operation might make you wince (as they did me), but shortly after I found out she was suffering from ‘hip dysplasia’, I was obsessed with knowing all of the nitty gritty stuff.

First off, her hip dysplasia is something that happened while she was in the womb. It is, apparently, the most common congenital disorder in babies and could have happened because she was breech for a fair while. Right…

Following that was the realisation that the hospital and early childhood check ups hadn’t picked up her clicky hip and that an x-ray found that Amelia had the most severe type of hip dysplasia – her leg was actually growing OUTSIDE the socket. Ouch. Although, apparently, she wasn’t in any discomfort – amazing but true.

Then there was the shellshock moment of learning about the spica cast that she’d have to wear. We were told it would cover both of her legs and reach up to her armpits (my mind entered outer space at this point). And doctors initially said it would stay on for THREE months – pass the red wine…

“But how can a toddler who’s always running around sit still for three months,” I naively asked the surgeon.

There was a pause, before he said, “It’s not going to be easy.” Hmm, when a doctor says that, he tends to mean it…

In the next few weeks, I crazily searched for blogs to read how other parents managed and showed my partner pictures of this ginormous spica cast (type ‘hip dysplasia’ and ‘spica cast’ into Google Images to see how large this thing is – next to the Great Wall of China, surely the largest manmade object seen from space?).

The next best strategy was denial – for the two months before the op, we tended not to think about it. Until, of course, it was upon us and the four days spent at the hospital passed by in a blur of fasting (I felt hollow, denying my little one ‘mulk’ when she cried for it in the car on the way to Westmead hospital), recovery rooms full of wailing children after the op, drips and epidurals (I had no idea that a bub could have an epidural for pain relief).

Thankfully, all went pretty smoothly in the four nights we spent there and it was a relief to have our baby back at home – in a fluorescent pink body cast! There was also some good news. Amelia’s surgeon had only operated on her hip bone, rather than also slicing through her femur (yay) and her cast was only half way down one leg, meaning she could crawl when the wound had healed.

She also fitted into her usual pram and her car seat – thank the Lord for Phil ‘n’ Teds and Safe ‘n’ Sound! But what they hadn’t told us at the hospital is how goddamn heavy the spica cast is. I have to steel myself akin to a weightlifter before lifting my 18-month-old into the car – while trying not to grunt like Serena Williams.

Life with a body cast also has other weird knock on effects. Friends and family overseas have asked how Amelia goes to the toilet – well, there’s a letterbox-sized slot for a newborn sized nappy to fit into, while a bigger nappy fits over the top and fastens outside the cast. Of course, because she can see the outer name, it’s also become a fun game to peel it off…

We’ve been avoiding dried apricots and other – ahem – bowel moving foods to stop the cast from getting sprayed with number two and keep it smelling fresh. Unfortunately, as she sleeps on her tummy on raised pillows, we’ve just discovered that wee has been squirting up inside during the night. All fun and games in spica cast land…

What we are lucky to be blessed with, though, is a happy, good-natured baby. Amelia sits perched on pillows on a dining room chair, playing with her toys and grinning her cheeky smile. And we’ve found a trike where she can fit on to the seat and we can push her around. She’s been so adaptable, she event spent a couple of hours at kindergarten just two weeks after her operation.

Of course, we’re counting down the days until her pink cast comes off (and there’s a chance – gulp – it may have to stay on for longer than six weeks). But when it does come off we’re heading out to buy a sparkly pair of shoes in celebration of Amelia getting her feet (and us getting our baby) back in full working order.