If there’s anyone in the world that can make my kids cry more than I do, I’ll walk on water. (Actually, I’ll probably key their car. And if it’s a kid, they’ll get a firm wedgie, fork-lift style.)
I’m not sure what the percentages are, but in my house, we are 2 for 2 when it comes to infant torticollis. Worm had it. (Which is expected, because the uterus goes from apple size to watermelon size for the first time. It’s a tight space.) Now Smush has it. (Which is strange because after having one baby, the uterus should be the size of a hot air balloon. Plenty of room for a baby to ride a bicycle in there, let alone sleep for 10 months.)
I treated Worm myself (after sleeping at a Holiday Inn Express) and although his torticollis was more pronounced, he was much more compliant when compared to Smush. I would massage his neck and perform range of motion tests. 15 minutes after softly sobbing, his brain and body would check out and I would finish up his session a short time later. (It’s easier to work on babies that aren’t squirming, kicking, and flailing…) Two weeks worth of treatments and full ROM and strength came back in his neck. I did this early enough in his life so that he shouldn’t remember a thing. (Hopefully…)
But Smushie is a different story. This is the third time I’ve treated her and it’s the same story as the last. With the lungs of a lion, she proceeded to cry for almost an hour while I worked on her neck muscles. (Crying is an understatement here. It is more like a life-threatening shriek, bleeding from every cell in her body.) Did she get tired? Nope. Could she cry for another hour? I’d bet another four hours were possible. Why did I stop? Because I had enough. I couldn’t bear to do any more work on her. When my child is screaming at the top of her lungs in pain and looking me in the eyes the entire time as if to say, “Please, make it stop. I’m hurting. I want to snuggle you for comfort because you are the only thing I need to feel safe and secure.”, it’s difficult for me to muster the emotional strength to keep going.
Without exaggeration, my little girl is usually happy and content for 23.5 hours of the day. She has maybe cried for more than 3 minutes a handful of times in her life. I make her bawl her eyes out for 60. She has never cried so hard and so intensely before I started physical therapy on her. Ever. I’m the source of her agony and that’s a hard pill to swallow. So during treatment, I subconsciously absorb some of her pain to overcome the guilt of being the one delivering it. And in trying to bear some of that burden, every session leaves me spent and wanting to crumble to pieces. Barely holding me together is the fact that this is necessary. The very definition of a necessary evil.
The good news is that she now turns her head in both directions almost equally. I hope that she needs only one more session before full neck flexion, extension, and rotation are restored. It’s not that she can’t take much more. It’s that I can’t.
“Everything’s going to be alright.” I whisper in her ear as she falls asleep, exhausted from the physical therapy. Deep down, I know it’s more for me to hear than for her.
I Forgive You Honeydaddy!
Me vs. Gavin 
I’d never heard of torticollis before your post here and wow hats off to you for the personal effort you put into making it better. You gotta have nerves of steel!
Thanks 21centurymom! From 32 weeks until term, my son was in the same position in the womb. He had a head tilt that was pretty noticeable at birth. The doctors made us aware and let us know our options in getting him treatment. I opted to treat him myself and commenced fairly soon after his birth. (Before I became Mr. Mom, I treated many musculoskeletal issues in my alternative medical practice.) I figured I’d give it a shot. What the hay, right? If I messed up, I’d just make another baby…
After our little girl’s birth, we found she spent 95% of her day with her head turned to the left. So much so, that there was a flat spot in the back of her head on the left side. I didn’t notice it sooner because I only have one pair of eyes and most of the day, they are both locked onto the Worm. Torticollis is also called ‘wry neck’ and the flat spot that typically results from it is called positional plagiocephaly.
A wise man once told me that “if six shots of rum can’t clear the mind, steel the nerves and steady the hands…you haven’t passed out yet.”
Lol!
I should consider myself fortunate that my baby didn’t have to go through that then… We had the same deal almost. She was lying in a transverse position in my belly and her face was wedged into the bottom left side of my uterus such that not even amniotic fluid could get past.
Her head was backward over her shoulder and if I had given natural birth it would have been trouble cos nobody should or can come out face first! When she was born she had a flat nose and the back of her head was quite misshapen from growing over her shoulder.
We were told just to swaddle and wedge her in with a positioner, and that she should sleep on her left side for one whole day whenever she fell asleep and on her right side on the alternate day. Not on her back. It really worked to get the shape of her head right. And her button nose is just gorgeous now, but boy did I fret!
Good luck with little Smush!