Finding Out My Son Had Clubfoot | Part 2

It’s honestly taken me longer to write this than I thought it would, and I don’t really know why.

Maybe it’s because this isn’t just a memory like my other posts. This is what I’m currently living through… and it’s scary.

It’s May. Our first Mother’s Day.

Milo slips out of yet another cast, and we go back to the doctor. That’s when he starts talking about surgery.

“Does June 5th work for you?”

I mean… I guess? If that’s the day you have available, then that’s what we’ll do.

I was a nervous wreck.

For Memorial Day weekend, we went down to Florida to visit family. We were hoping for a relaxing trip, but once again, Milo’s cast didn’t even last 24 hours before he slipped right out of it.

Looking back now, I noticed something that I didn’t recognize at the time. His foot had started to look… the best way I can describe it is scrunched.

I really wish I had done more research then. I wish I had recognized that something wasn’t right.

But I trusted the doctors.

I figured if they saw something going wrong, they would tell us.

Right?

We went back to the doctor that Friday for another cast.

It lasted until Sunday.

Looking back, it’s hard to believe that more of Milo’s casts slipped off than were ever successfully removed by the doctor.

Eventually, they decided to let Milo have a little break until surgery.

The day before surgery, Wednesday, I started getting all the phone calls.

What time to arrive.

Where to park.

Where to check in.

When he had to stop eating.

All the pre-op instructions.

The woman I spoke with was incredibly kind. She noticed Milo was only two months old and told me she would be praying for us.

That meant more than she’ll probably ever know.

For just a moment…

I actually felt at peace.

Then Thursday came.

The hospital called asking about Milo’s insurance.

At the time, we still didn’t even have his birth certificate.

Because Milo was born at home, we had to apply for an out-of-institution birth certificate. We mailed in the paperwork, they sent it back, we fixed it and mailed it again… then they mailed two pages back to the wrong address.

Those papers floated around in the mail for almost two weeks before we finally got them.

So we had no birth certificate.

No birth certificate meant no insurance.

The woman on the phone explained that we’d have to pay out of pocket for the surgery until insurance could be sorted out.

I told her we’d have to make payments.

She kindly explained that we would still need to pay a down payment before surgery.

“How much is the down payment?”

“Ten percent… $502.”

We only had about $570 in our bank account.

But this was for Milo.

There wasn’t really a decision to make.

Right after that phone call, the hospital called again.

They changed his surgery time.

Then they changed the building where the surgery would take place.

Same hospital…

Different building.

Different arrival instructions.

Different parking.

I was trying so hard to keep everything straight.

Then, not long after, they called again.

The previous time change had been a mistake.

His surgery time had changed… again.

Less than 24 hours before my two-month-old’s surgery.

I remember just sitting there thinking…

Can everyone please get on the same page?

I was already overwhelmed.

I don’t like hospitals.

The hospital was over an hour away.

Caleb was at work, so I couldn’t even talk through everything with him.

It all just felt like one thing after another.

Thankfully…

The morning of surgery was much calmer than I expected.

There was no traffic.

No confusion.

The nurses were incredibly kind, and everyone wanted to come in and see Milo.

He was such a little trooper.

Because of surgery, he couldn’t eat for four hours beforehand, but he hardly fussed until right before they took him back.

Five members of our family came to support us, along with Caleb.

Having everyone there was such a blessing. It helped keep my mind occupied while we waited.

When it was time, Caleb and I walked Milo down to the operating room doors.

I tried not to hold onto him for too long.

I knew if I hesitated…

I wouldn’t be able to let him go.

Every part of me wanted to scoop him up and run out of the hospital.

Every part of me wanted to cry.

As we handed him over, someone in the hallway said,

“Don’t worry. He has a great team.”

I know they meant well.

But honestly…

That wasn’t what I needed to hear.

I just wanted my baby.

When surgery was over, one of the nurses brought Milo back in her arms instead of laying him on the hospital bed.

I remember thinking how sweet that was.

He wasn’t crying.

He was just sleeping.

But as soon as I took him and tried to feed him…

He cried.

Hard.

I know he was hungry.

I know he was confused.

I know he was waking up from anesthesia and probably felt nauseous.

But hearing those cries absolutely shattered me.

My family waited quietly in the hallway while I tried to comfort him.

Later they told me everyone had been crying.

The hallway had gone completely silent.

Even some of the nurses and people walking by had tears in their eyes.

It was one of the hardest moments of my life.

That first night after surgery was the longest night I’ve ever experienced.

The second either Caleb or I stopped moving…

Milo cried.

We walked.

We rocked.

We bounced.

We even pulled out the yoga ball I had used during my home birth because it was the only thing that seemed to comfort him.

Looking back, motherhood taught me something that night.

It gave me a strength I never knew I had.

If you had asked me before becoming a mom if I could bounce on a yoga ball while holding a sixteen-pound baby for eight hours straight…

I would’ve laughed.

But for Milo…

It never even crossed my mind not to.

That night changed me.

It was the night I knew I couldn’t go back to work.

I needed to be home with my son.

Because I knew our clubfoot journey was far from over.

In fact…

It was only just beginning.

⸻

This post ended up being a little longer than I expected, and Milo is needing his mama.

So I’ll leave the rest for Part 3.

In Part 3, I’ll share why our clubfoot journey took an unexpected turn, how I began questioning whether everything was going as it should, and why we’re now seeking a second opinion. It’s been one of the hardest parts of this journey, but it’s also taught me one of the greatest lessons of motherhood: never ignore your instincts.

Thank you for following along with our story and for loving our little boy through every step of this journey. Your prayers, encouragement, and kind words have meant more to our family than you’ll ever know.

See you in part 3 🤍