My Wonderland

 Well, today was chaos… the good kind. The kind where you're sprinting between appointments like a travelling circus act, but somehow it all works out. And by the end of it, your heart is full, your kid thinks he’s a rockstar ( he is ), and you’re somehow still functioning despite running on absolutely no caffeine. But let me backtrack. Because before we talk about the magic of today’s new OT session, there’s a shadow that deserves its own spotlight first... On the way to Little Bodies, Kaedyn asked me a question about his old beloved OT. “Mum, why do you like Julian so much?” How do you explain a person who didn’t just do their job? They changed your life? Julian wasn’t just Kaedyn’s OT. He was part of our family. He still is! We all hold so much love for him, his wife, and his kids; they are every shade of warmth and brilliance. He showed up. Not just physically, but mentally, emotionally, practically. Kind. Grounded. Generous with his time, his memory, his spirit. ...

There was a time when therapy felt like war. Not the inspirational movie kind. The real kind. The one with screaming, resistance, heartbreak, and me standing in the hallway taking deep breaths as I fought back tears, telling myself this is good for him. Kaedyn has hated therapy more times than I can count. And honestly? I’ve tried to black out most of those sessions.... #PTSD But this year… something changed. Kaedyn started asking questions, and so we started having some pretty big conversations. The kind no parent really wants to have but knows they have to . The ones that pull no punches and leave your heart sore for days. “If you want to walk, buddy… you have to want it. You have to fight for it. You’re allowed to hate it—most people would. But five or ten years from now, you could be walking with a frame, or a stick, or maybe even unaided. That future? It’s yours to shape. We’ll help you, but we can’t do it for you.” I didn’t think it had sunk in. He’s 11. His world revolves ...

Kaedyn has two physio sessions a week... That’s it, Just two! Two precious hours where he gets to move without limits.  Where his body is supported to stretch, stand, strengthen. But now, those sessions are being cut. Not because he needs less.  Not because he’s improved.  But because behind-the-scenes admin work, goal tracking, documentation, care coordination, have to be more closely billed now due to the funding cuts. So therapists now have to do it inside the session time. His two one-hour sessions? Slashed to 45 minutes. That’s 30 minutes gone every single week. And let me be clear—this isn’t a dig at our therapy team. They’re brilliant. They’ve done everything they can to hold this system together while it quietly crumbles around them. This is a reality check. A painful, but a very human one, b ecause those 30 minutes?  That’s where Kaedyn moves in ways he can’t anywhere else.  It’s where he’s strapped into a bungee harness, free from fear of falling....