Chapter 1 – “I Dreamed I Was a Broken Boy”

Many of the books that I read advised that it was a bad idea to bring babies or children into the parental bed to sleep at night. Babies need to find ways to comfort themselves to sleep and to gain their own independence in the world. Years later, I read that the practice of children sleeping with their parents was far more common than most parents would admit. Many mammals sleep with their offspring for years, including bears and other wild animals. Most likely, this instinct and practice is for the preservation of their young. In our case, it was for our own self-preservation.

Mike had developed itchy allergic eczema, asthma, and nasal allergies in rapid succession. Upper respiratory infections presented a continuous battle, along with simply coping with all of Mike’s allergic symptoms on a day-to-day basis. Those early years were tough on all of us for many reasons. Mark and I quickly learned that we both had to hold down decent jobs to pay the bills so that we could provide a decent lifestyle for our little boy. We understood the harsh reality of life. Our employers really didn’t care if our child was sick on any given day. They expected us to find a solution and show up for work! I confessed to my mother that we had Mike in the bed with us at night to survive.

“If you keep this up,” she said, as kindly advice, “You’ll never get him out of your bed.”I am certain that she had some first-hand knowledge of this, as she and my father had raised eight kids, I thought.

By four months, Mike developed “Atopic Dermatitis,” commonly known as allergic eczema. This problem escalated and became severe by the time that he was twelve months old. We tenderly bathed him in hypoallergenic soaps, later bath oils, applied topical steroids and administered antihistamines as prescribed by his dermatologist. We cut his fingernails short so that he could do less damage with his scratching, but often he dug so hard that he had taken the top layer of skin off his ankles, face, hands, behind his knees, and the inside of his arms at the bend of the elbows. Mike’s scratching was so severe that he often actively bled because his digging at the itchiness went so deep. We tried putting him in footed sleepers, thinking that it would be harder for him to get to his ankles which were the main sources of his aggravated itching. He quickly learned how to un-zip them. We tried food elimination diets and nothing helped. The skin on his fingers and ears was extremely itchy and dry, remaining cracked and open for at least nine months of the year. Summers often brought relief; but even in adulthood, winters triggered the eczema.

“Please Mikey, try not to dig,” we begged.

“I have to dig,” was his childhood response, as we re-applied the topical steroids to his skin and gave another dose of antihistamines. During peak allergy seasons, spring and fall, Mike rubbed his itchy eyes until his eyelids were raw and stripped of the top layer of skin. As they healed, they always looked scabby. His crying and frustration, as he frantically scratched at the already open wounds, was painful to watch.

The asthma began when Mike was only nine months, but the doctors didn’t diagnose it until he was over two years old. “Babies wheeze,” was what I was told as we admitted him to the hospital, at eighteen months, in acute respiratory dist