In life, you encounter two distinct types of people. Today, I experienced both.
For a fleeting moment, I forgot. Forgotten is perhaps not the right term, but I pushed aside the multitude of thoughts and emotions that Hunter syndrome brings to our family, especially concerning my child with special needs. As we strolled along our beloved trail in the local woods—an uncommon sunny day in Ireland—I held my eldest son’s hand while his younger brothers dashed ahead, their father chasing them while pretending to drive our son’s empty wheelchair. In that moment of joy, as leaves swayed in the gentle breeze, I pushed those heavier feelings aside. I captured a photo of our laughter and embraced my eldest son, who was whistling and giggling.
Initially, I didn’t spot the family of four ahead of us. They had no reason to pay attention to us—except for my husband’s playful antics as he simulated a car chase. We typically visit these woods early in the morning, avoiding the crowds that can sometimes make it tough to enjoy ourselves. The stares, the comments, the palpable avoidance from others can be incredibly painful, and it’s often easier to ensure that our eldest son has a positive experience, considering his sensory sensitivities.
A conversation with a friend recently revealed how often strangers indeed stop to stare at us. “Do people really just gawk?” she asked. I regrettably confirmed that it occurs more frequently than most would expect.
As we continued along the path, I noticed a family who had paused, not observing my husband but fixated on my eldest son, Ethan, and me. My husband, oblivious to the onlookers, called back, asking whether he could take the boys down a nearby track without the chair. I replied that he could, but not too far. Ethan can’t communicate his fatigue but has a unique way of showing it.
I watched my husband disappear into the trees, making playful siren sounds. The family moved on, and I was relieved to lose sight of them. I soon followed down the same path, only to find that Ethan was unwilling to walk up the uneven track without his wheelchair.
As I called for my husband, Ethan’s frustration escalated, leading to an outburst where he hit me in the stomach and attempted to bite. Just then, my husband returned with the chair, and we carefully secured Ethan, who was in the midst of a meltdown. Our younger boys stood by, accustomed to these situations, aware that we needed to focus on Ethan’s needs.
Although Ethan doesn’t understand why he reacts this way, it’s a part of his syndrome. It pains us to sometimes have to restrain him for his own safety—a reality no parent wishes to face.
Once Ethan calmed down, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. I soon spotted two adults and their two daughters staring down from an elevated path. It always feels like judgment when we’re on display like that. They may have been curious or assessing our handling of the situation, but the mere act of staring can disrupt our family’s peace in an instant.
As we loaded the boys into the car for a trip to the beach, I vowed that no one would spoil our family day. Living on the west coast of Ireland gives us beautiful beaches and picturesque woods, and I strive to remember that. We walked along the beach, enjoying the serene morning, while my middle son, Max, played photographer, capturing moments of joy between Ethan and the rest of us.
However, it’s increasingly rare to see Ethan’s vibrant personality through a lens—another facet of what Hunter syndrome takes from us. We settled on a bench, where Max directed us for a family photo. Just as we posed, Ethan hit his father and tried to bite him, prompting a passerby to stop. I braced myself for inevitable judgment or unsolicited parental advice.
Instead, the man smiled and offered to take our family picture, completely unfazed by Ethan’s outburst. I was taken aback. Did he not see the chaos unfolding? As he took the camera from Max, I couldn’t help but laugh at our situation. Here we were, all smiles while Ethan was in full meltdown mode.
After the man returned our camera, he remarked, “Family pictures can be tricky, even without a meltdown.” He was right. We cherish the few pictures we have of all five of us together, even if they aren’t picture-perfect. The man walked away, leaving us with a sense of warmth and understanding.
There are indeed two kinds of people in this world. Let’s strive to be like that kind stranger, rather than the judgmental onlookers.
If you’re interested in other topics related to family and home insemination, check out our post on the BabyMaker Home IntraCervical Insemination Syringe Kit Combo. For those looking to increase their chances of conception, Boost Fertility Supplements are a great resource. Additionally, if you want to learn more about the process of home insemination, What to Expect When You Have Your First IUI is an excellent guide.
In summary, it’s crucial to approach families with compassion and understanding, especially those facing unique challenges. Our experiences may differ, but empathy can bridge the gap.
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