This notebook is a living record of Hannah-Rose’s journey.
It’s where her story continues beyond the beginning. A place to share updates, moments of progress, challenges, hospital days, small victories, and everything in between. Some entries are informative, some are emotional, some are simply real. All of them are written with honesty and love.
Hannah-Rose was born with arthrogryposis, and while that diagnosis is part of her story, it does not define her. These entries reflect her strength, determination, and the reality of life navigating medical systems, therapies, and everyday family life with a child who does things her own way.
The Notebook
This notebook exists for connection. For families walking a similar road. For those wanting to understand more. And for anyone who has followed Hannah-Rose from the beginning and wants to keep walking alongside her.
There is no right place to start. Read from the beginning, the latest entry, or wherever feels right to you.
THEY SAID SHE WOULD NEVER MOVE HER LEGS..she missed the memo
It was one of those dark days that feels like it will never end. I thought I understood what the doctor was saying at first arthritis and I pictured my nana sitting in her chair, her bones sore, and I thought maybe my baby would feel the same. That was all. I didn’t understand the weight of the words coming next. Then the doctor came back in, papers in hand, calm as if she was asking about lunch, and said, “We can arrange a room now for an abortion and sterilization.” I froze. Pardon me?
The Casts, the Hospitals, and the Little Wins
After the birth, everything blurred. One minute we were still taking in the tiny perfection of her toes, the next we were being handed a schedule that felt like it belonged to someone else’s life. Hospitals became our second home before we’d even settled into our first.
The Casts She Was Never Supposed to Kick Off
It’s hard to explain what it feels like when your child does something the specialists once told you would never happen.
What we gained when plans changed.
Somewhere between those endless Tuesdays and the smell of fibreglass, a quiet doubt started creeping in. We’d sit there watching her tiny legs wrapped again and again, and sometimes we’d look at each other and think, this isn’t what it’s supposed to look like. It wasn’t ungratefulness it was instinct. Something in us knew there had to be more.
