Why I’m Grateful My Son Takes the ‘Short Bus’

home insemination Kit

Today, I clocked out of work early to catch the bus. I stood on our porch, watching as other parents strolled their kids home from the nearby school.

“Hey, A-D-R-I-A-N!” A horn blares as a girl waves to her friend. I hear the familiar shouts of encouragement from parents: “Let’s go!” “Hurry up, or we’ll be late!”

When my son’s bus arrives, I spot his little head peeking through the window and dash over. The driver greets me and begins the process of getting my son off the bus. She opens the lift and carefully positions him on the ramp.

“Watch your toes!” she reminds me. I always forget that part.

He’s lowered down slowly, still half-asleep from his nap. That 35-minute bus ride can do that! I check the street—once, twice—okay, let’s cross. My son has been riding this special needs bus, designed for children who use wheelchairs, for about eight months now. Back in the ‘90s, we called this the short bus.

As I meet him at the bottom, a wave of emotions washes over me, especially with the other parents marching their kids home. Part of me can’t help but think things I shouldn’t as a mom of a child with special needs. If my son could walk, I wouldn’t rush him. Must be nice to actually WALK home from school, right?

But then, I can’t help but feel an overwhelming love for this bus, which symbolizes the mountain he’s climbed over the past eight months. We’ve conquered a lot, yet each day presents that same mountain again, twice daily.

For two years, I was his constant companion. He suffered a cardiac arrest at just 2½ years old due to lung failure from a cold. His weak bones and small ribcage concerned many doctors.

I was 39 weeks pregnant with my daughter when a doctor delivered the news no parent wants to hear: Your son is dying.

When I asked how long we had left, I immediately regretted it. The doctor glanced at my belly and mused whether he’d meet his little sister. The best-case scenario? He might make it to five.

From that moment, I tried to capture every fleeting moment: What was his favorite TV show? His favorite shirt? I took pictures every time he laughed and vowed not to raise my voice.

After we welcomed my baby girl, we celebrated my son’s 3rd birthday and took him out whenever we could. But his health issues made that tricky; he couldn’t fend off respiratory viruses like most kids. Each trip to the ER often ended with an ICU admission and long hospital stays. We kept him away from other children.

At that time, school seemed a distant thought. Whenever it crossed my mind, I quickly dismissed it, along with a long list of barriers. He was on supplemental oxygen 24/7, had severe anxiety around strangers, and had almost no preschool experience. Oh, and there was the whole life expectancy question.

But gradually, things began to shift. After a month-long ICU stay in August 2014, we noticed a slight improvement in his breathing. One night, my husband accidentally turned off the oxygen. Instead of panicking, we waited five minutes, eyes glued to the oximeter. The numbers didn’t budge.

We experimented, turning off the oxygen for longer—six, then seven, then eight minutes. I finally mustered the courage to ask the doctor if she thought he was improving. She said it was possible, but unlikely.

I pushed for more tests. After a sleep study at the hospital, doctors confirmed what we already suspected: Our son was on the mend.

Suddenly, I could envision a future I thought was lost. I imagined his artwork on the walls, report cards, birthday cupcakes, and even Valentine’s Day parties. Instead of hearing the doctor’s dreaded words on repeat, I heard something different: He might be well enough for school.

Months later, we received the green light to wean him off oxygen. Our goals had to be realistic, but his progress, albeit slow, was undeniable. After reaching nine hours without oxygen each day, we began considering the next steps. I enrolled him in a school with a special education program that offered integrated therapy. This was crucial; it meant I could return to work and he could meet kids like him while learning in a supportive environment.

Now, when the bus pulls up each day, it reminds me of how quickly things can change. Life is unpredictable, and our paths are anything but linear. I never imagined watching my son in his tiny wheelchair being lowered to the ground, still groggy from a full day of school.

When back-to-school commercials start playing and the chaos of packing lunches begins, I might feel a bit overwhelmed. But I also sport an annoying grin amid the madness.

I will never forget that this beautiful chaos almost didn’t happen.

Summary

In this heartfelt piece, Emma Thompson shares her journey as a mother of a child with special needs who rides the ‘short bus.’ From grappling with fears of a limited future to witnessing her son’s remarkable progress and adaptation to school life, Emma highlights the emotional rollercoaster of parenting and the joy of overcoming challenges.