Ive learned that life can be brutally unpredictable. When Emily and Tom found out they were expecting, they were thrilled, but the pregnancy turned out to be fraught with complications. Their son, Harry, was born three weeks early, a tiny bundle in a neonatal incubator. Most of his organ systems were underdeveloped; he needed a ventilator, two surgeries, and a retinal detachment repair. We said goodbye to him twice, fearing wed lose him forever, yet he clung to life.
Soon it became clear that Harry could barely see and could barely hear. Physically he gradually caught up he learned to sit, grasp a rattling toy, and scoot along a support rail but his mind seemed stuck in a fog. At first both parents held onto hope, fighting together, then Tom drifted away, leaving Emily to battle alone.
When Harry was three and a half, they secured a NHS hearingaid implant. He could now hear faint sounds, but his development stalled. He attended countless sessions with specialneeds teachers, speech therapists, psychologists and the like. Emily brought Harry to my practice many times. I kept suggesting new activities, alternative approaches; Emily tried everything, yet nothing stuck. Most of the day Harry would sit motionless in his playpen, twirling a plastic ring, tapping it against the floor, chewing his own fingers, sometimes emitting a single highpitched wail, other times a modulated squeal. Emily swore he recognized her voice, called out to her with a peculiar chirp, and loved it when she scratched his back and the backs of his knees.
Eventually an elderly psychiatrist, blunt as a barn door, told Emily: Hes essentially a walking vegetable. Decide what youll do with him surrender him or keep looking after him. Theres no point hoping for a miracle. It was the only time anyone had spoken so plainly to her. She enrolled Harry in a specialist nursery and went back to work.
A few months later Emily bought a motorbike a dream shed harboured for years. Riding through Londons streets and the countryside with a small band of bikers, the roar of the engine erased her anxieties. Tom paid child support, and Emily spent it on weekend carers; Harrys care wasnt overly burdensome once you got used to his quirks. One biker friend, Stan, confessed over a coffee, Theres something tragically fascinating about you, Emily.
She replied, Come, Ill show you. He smiled, thinking she was inviting him home, but she led him to the playpen where Harry, suddenly alert, let out a modulated squeal, perhaps recognizing his mother or reacting to the stranger.
Stan laughed, Well, I never expected that! Emily retorted, What did you expect, a ghost? Their flirtation turned into cohabitation. They agreed Stan would never touch Harry (theyd discussed this beforehand), and Emily wouldnt force him either. After a year of uneasy silence, Stan suggested, Lets have a child. Emily snapped, If we get another one like this, are you sure? He fell silent for months, then finally said, Alright, lets try.
Their son, Oliver, arrived healthy and robust. Stan, perhaps trying to prove a point, asked, Should we send Harry to a care home now that we have a normal boy? Emily shot back, Id rather send you away. Stan recoiled, I was only asking. When Oliver was about nine months old and began to crawl, he became fascinated by Harry. He tried to bring Harry into his world, but Stan, wary, warned, Dont let the little one get near him; it could be dangerous. Yet Stan was often at work or on his bike, while Emily let Oliver play beside Harry. When Oliver crawled next to him, Harry didnt wail; instead he seemed to listen, waiting. Oliver would bring toys, demonstrate how to play, and gently press Harrys tiny fingers.
One weekend Stan fell ill and stayed home. He saw Oliver wobbling around the flat, babbling plaintively, with Harry silently perched in a corner like a tethered shadow. Stan erupted, demanding a fence between his son and Emilys idiot. Emily pointed to the door without a word. The threat startled him; they eventually made peace.
Emily later confided in me, Hes a walking log with eyes, but I love him. I replied, Thats natural love isnt conditional. She clarified, I meant Harry, not Stan. Harry is a risk for Oliver. What do you think? I said, based on all the data, Oliver should take the lead, but supervision was still essential. We agreed.
By eighteen months Oliver taught Harry to stack blocks by size. Oliver began forming sentences, singing simple songs, and reciting rhymes like The crow cooked porridge. Emily asked, Is he a prodigy? Stan wanted proof. I noted, Hes a typical threeyearold; most kids at his age are chatty. Emily guessed, It must be Harrys presence that pushes Oliver. I agreed, Not every toddler becomes the catalyst for anothers development. Emily beamed, Good! Ill tell this logeyed thing to behave.
I thought of the family as a walking vegetable, a log with eyes, a motorbikeriding mother, and a budding prodigy. After Oliver mastered toilettraining, he spent six months coaxing his brother into using the potty. Emily set Oliver the task of teaching Harry to eat, drink from a cup, dress and undress. By three and a half Oliver asked bluntly, Whats wrong with Harry? Oliver answered, He cant see much.
Does he see at all? Oliver pressed. Only faintly, depending on the light. He loves the bathroom lamp over the mirror. An ophthalmologist was astonished when Emily brought a threeyearold to explain Harrys vision, but he listened, ordered further tests, and prescribed complex glasses.
Harry never fit in the nursery. He needs school, not this place! the caregiver snapped. He knows more than anyone else here. I argued fiercely against early school enrolment: let Oliver continue his clubs and work on Harrys development. Surprisingly, Stan sided with me, telling Emily, Stay with them until school; what does that silly nursery have for him? And havent you noticed he hasnt been screaming for a year?
Six months later Harry whispered, Mum, Dad, Oliver, drink meowmeow. The boys started school together. Oliver worried, How will he cope without me? Will the special school understand him? In Year5, Oliver still begins lessons with Harry before joining his own class.
Harry now speaks in short sentences, can read, operates a computer, enjoys cooking and tidying (under Olivers or Emilys guidance), loves sitting on the garden bench to watch, listen, and smell the world. He knows every neighbour and always greets them. He delights in modelling clay, assembling and dismantling his building set. Yet his favourite thing is when the whole family rides motorbikes down a country lane Harry on his mothers bike, Oliver on his fathers, all of them shouting into the wind, feeling, for a moment, utterly free.
