The Diagnosis of Developmental Dysplasia of the Hip
The day of the appointment had finally arrived. I felt a mix of nerves and hope, yearning for a diagnosis and the assurance that everything would be okay, allowing our daughter to lead a normal, active life. They began by taking X-rays of DD (Dear Daughter), and then we met with the orthopedic doctor. He inquired about the observations we had made and when we first noticed the leg length discrepancy. We shared every detail. As he discussed the X-ray, he delivered the news: our daughter has Developmental Dysplasia of the Hip (DDH) in her left hip—a condition she was born with. In that moment, my mind and body went into disbelief, and tears began to pour. This wasn’t supposed to happen to OUR baby. Trying to force myself to listen, the doctor conveyed that she not only had hip dysplasia but also a severe case, with her leg completely dislocated. The femur was sitting outside of its normal position, explaining the uneven legs and all the developmental "delays" she had been experiencing—cruising on tiptoes, the straight left leg when walking with her walker. At 14 months, she still wasn't walking.
Risk Factors
He discussed risk factors, which I already knew about, but it was important for both my husband and me to hear. The doctor mentioned that this condition is most likely to occur in babies who:
Are the firstborn
Have a family history
Were breech during pregnancy
Are female
Our daughter's only risk factor is that she is female. When I asked why she was born with this condition despite having only one risk factor, the doctor explained that it can just happen.
Moving Forward
The doctor discussed the options moving forward. It seemed like surgery and a Spica cast were the best options. Eager to move ahead, we expressed our intention to schedule it as soon as possible, though we wanted time to consider it and seek another opinion. We received printouts detailing the procedure and post-care instructions. Thoughts about how her daycare would react and if they could still care for her crossed my mind. I requested extra copies of this information to share with our daughter’s daycare. At this point, I blacked out, holding my baby on my lap, quietly letting tears pour down my face, while my husband took charge, continuing to ask questions and gather as much information as he could while we were there.
Unexpected Compassion: The Daycare Conversation
The orthopedic appointment was early in the morning, so after receiving DD's (Dear Daughter’s) diagnosis, I brought her to daycare. In hindsight, this was not the best decision, as the moment I walked in, I began to cry while attempting to share the news and information with the daycare director. I don’t know if I conveyed the news or information in a coherent manner. Fortunately, the director and other staff members were incredibly caring and supportive. They offered hugs and reassured me that they would promptly determine if they could continue to care for DD while she was in a Spica cast.
I don’t believe comforting a distressed mother like myself is part of the director’s or DD’s teachers’ job description, nor did it feel obligatory on their part. Their support was genuine. Despite my embarrassment for displaying such intense emotions, this interaction was pivotal for me. It set the tone for the situation going forward, and from that point on, I viewed each and every person at this facility in a new and compassionate light.
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