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?

I had no idea what she meant. My stomach dropped. Confusion, anger, hopelessness all rolled together and I felt completely lost. That moment could have crushed me. I thought everything was over. I had lost hope.

Then Hannah-Rose kicked. Hard.

Not the little fluttering wiggles I had felt before. This was a boot. Full-on, defiant, I’m here and I’m strong kind of kick.

It changed everything. In that instant, she told me, without words, that she wasn’t going to be defined by limits. She wasn’t weak. She wasn’t fragile. She was a fighter.

From that moment, our journey began. The doctors had said she wouldn’t move her legs. That she might never walk. That she might never do normal things like other kids. She kicked first. That should have been their clue.

The road has been long, messy, and exhausting. It’s filled with appointments, casting, braces, physiotherapy, and upcoming surgeries. Some days you feel like nothing will work, like the odds are stacked against you. And some days, you see her stretch, play, laugh, and move in ways they said she never could, and it feels like magic.

Therapies and trustworthy medical teams became our lifeline. Stretching, hydrotherapy, guided exercises, and sometimes casting help improve her muscles and joints. Every session, every stretch, every tiny gain feels monumental. But what’s more incredible is how she approaches it all — with determination, curiosity, and her own stubborn spirit.

Children with arthrogryposis learn to adapt. They figure out ways to do things differently, smarter, stronger. They may move differently than other kids, but they always find their own way because they are resilient, smart, and unstoppable. Watching Hannah-Rose discover what she can do has been one of the most humbling experiences of my life.

Support makes all the difference. We’ve leaned on other families, mothers who’ve been through it, and groups that provide real answers and encouragement. The first time I joined a Facebook group, I cried reading the stories of other parents. They got it, the fear, the uncertainty, the victories, and the small wins that no one else sees.

One of the biggest lessons I’ve learned: never be afraid to ask for a second opinion. Never, ever be afraid to ask hard questions or challenge the medical team. You are the parent, not them. You know your baby before anyone else does. Don’t feel scared to speak up or challenge anyone if something doesn’t sit right in your stomach it usually isn’t right.

Don’t be afraid to change your doctor, midwife, nurse, healthcare worker, orthopedic person, or pediatrician. One thing I’ve learned is these people become your family, your circle. If you don’t gel or agree with the way you’re treated, change them. This is your team, your circle, and having a strong, understanding team is everything in this journey. You can absolutely change anyone at any time to make sure your child and your family are fully supported.

Along the way, I’ve learned a lot. Doctors can guide you, but they aren’t always right. Trust your instincts, your gut, your intuition. You know your child in a way no one else ever will. That feeling when something is right or wrong for your child is powerful. Believe it, trust it, act on it.

The journey with Hannah-Rose has been challenging, yes, but it’s also full of strength, courage, and small victories that feel huge. Her first kick reminded me she wasn’t just a patient in a system of prediction she was a little human writing her own story, showing me that strength, resilience, and determination can’t be measured in medical charts.

Every day, we learn. Every day, we celebrate. Every day, she teaches me what true courage looks like messy, defiant, unstoppable. This journey is ours, and it’s only just beginning.