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by Brian Replogle, Uncle and Adoptive Father

Fifteen years ago, on December 7, 2000, my 2-1/2 year-old nephew Austin was shaken to near death at the hands of his biological mom’s boyfriend. That was a devastating and truly life changing day for Austin and our entire family. The days and weeks to follow were a blur. It was, and still is today, hard to imagine and understand the evil that had struck our family. How could someone hurt an innocent, loving 2-1/2 year old child?

Prior to Austin being shaken he was a walking, talking, playing two-year-old. He was able to use two hands to play with his trucks and cars; he watched cartoons on Saturday mornings snuggled up in my lap. He was a fixture in our home on weekends, and I wouldn’t have had it any other way. He was happy and loved. He was a normal, typically developing toddler.

Following his abuse, he spent two and a half weeks in a coma at Memorial Hospital in South Bend. Doctors had little hope of his survival, but wouldn’t let us give up hope as a family. His brain swelled, cutting off oxygen and blood flow to his young and fragile brain. They placed a cerebral fluid drain and pressure monitor to relieve the pressure that was building. They did CAT Scans regularly to monitor the damage. By the grace of God, he began to show improvement, he was taken off of life support just before Christmas 2000 as he regained consciousness.

His first and only word was “hi,” and he said it to everyone, over and over again. “Hi” is the best greeting I can ever imagine.

They placed a cerebral fluid drain and pressure monitor to relieve the pressure that was building. They did CAT Scans regularly to monitor the damage. By the grace of God, he began to show improvement.

Austin’s entire right side of his brain is now dead. It heavily affects the left side of his body.

After being in the Memorial Hospital Pediatric Intensive Care unit for over a month, Austin was transferred to St. Vincent’s Children’s Specialty Hospital (now Peyton Manning Children’s Hospital) in Indianapolis, where he would receive intense rehabilitation for speech, physical and occupational therapy over the course of nearly four months. I was blessed to work for a family owned company that never questioned the time off I took to travel back and forth from Indianapolis to be there with Austin, to talk to the doctors, nurses and therapists so I could learn as much as possible about his medical condition and his future needs; or while we took foster parenting classes in record time, so we could be certified when he was released from the hospital on March 16, 2001. We just missed that date by two weeks, so Austin was placed with a different foster family while we awaited the official word from the State.

Over the past fifteen years, Austin has put in thousands of hours of therapy to “relearn” the things he had learned and mastered prior to his abuse. He also had to learn to compensate for the deficiencies his body now had from the brain injury. Austin had to learn to talk, walk, eat, play and even laugh again. He had to learn that he had a left hand, a left cheek, a left ear, a left leg; he was literally ignoring his entire left side as if it didn’t exist at all. He had to build strength and confidence in his every day abilities. He was using a wheelchair that others had to push because he only had use of one hand and one leg. They had to fit both of his feet and legs with orthotic braces to help stabilize his gait when he was attempting to learn to walk again. They had a supportive splint/brace for his left hand. He had a helmet to protect his healing brain. Austin had gone from 2-1/2 years old to an infant again. He had a feeding tube placed while he was in his coma so they could keep his body nourished.

Over the years, Austin has had numerous orthopedic surgeries to help him compensate and or overcome his physical challenges. He has developed permanent hamstring pulls in both legs, simultaneously, causing extreme pain every time he attempted to stand, let alone walk. Thus, he had bilateral hamstring lengthening surgery two years ago. He has fallen down stairs and broken his right arm, his only useful arm. He struggles to maintain balance and has tripped and broken his left arm. He has peripheral blindness in his left eye, he sees nothing from the left until it is nearly dead centering in front of him; this has caused him to have many collisions with wall corners and doors over the years, but he has also learned to adapt and overcome. Just recently in October 2015 he had a major reconstruction of his left hand and wrist as they ‘fuse’ the bones and lock his wrist in a straighter, more stable position. This will help in several manners, protecting his wrist joint that was previously exposed and open to major fracture should he fall and land on it, helping him/us to physically be able to put his coat sleeves, sweatshirts and gloves or mittens on his hand, and it will help cosmetically as his hand won’t have a completely deformed look to it.

He is 17 years old now, a junior in functional skills (special education) classes. He struggles every day with depression and extreme anxiety that are common with traumatic brain injuries. Without medication, he would have non-stop seizures disrupting his life and potentially causing irreparable harm to his already damaged brain. He does not drive a car like his typically developing peers, and he can barely walk. No one is asking him to the prom and he’s not trying out for the basketball team. He has typically developing peers who care about him, who have taken it upon themselves to be his friend and mentor within the schools he has attended. Austin has a way of breaking down the walls people put up when someone who is different is around. Austin makes an impact in someone’s life every day. He has inspired two collegiate club-hockey teams (Notre Dame Club Hockey and Holy Cross College Hockey) to adopt him, lift him up and honor him with his own hockey game; “Austin’s Cup” has its very own traveling trophy bearing Austin’s name. The teams have used this game to help raise $1500 over the past three years for CAPS-Child and Parent Services of Elkhart County in Austin’s honor. He makes new friends all over town, every day, with his infectious smile and constant happiness.

Austin doesn’t know how to give up, to stop trying. He doesn’t know that life isn't this hard for everyone. He doesn’t know that he can’t do something. He just knows how to be happy and loving. I have taken him to the driving range and taught him to hit golf balls with one hand, he rides the on back of my motorcycle, he plays Xbox and Wii, and can manage an iPad and computer as well as anyone. He cannot read or write, but can memorize movies line for line and scene for scene after only seeing the movie two or three times.

Austin doesn’t know how to give up, to stop trying. He doesn’t know that life isn't this hard for everyone. He doesn’t know that he can’t do something. He just knows how to be happy and loving.

He just wants to have some independence, to be able to make simple decisions for him, without constant assistance, input and supervision from the many caregivers (parents/family, teachers, therapists, doctors, social workers) he has in his life.

Not a day passes that I am not reminded of that fateful day 15 years ago. There is no closure for Austin or our entire family, there is only moving on and making an effort to do good with the tragedy at hand. But we are the lucky ones, as nearly 25% of all shaken babies die each year. We get to wake up every morning to a “Good Morning, I love you!” And every night when we lay him to rest another “Good Night, I love you!” And at the end of the day, that’s what matters most for Austin and our family.