My girl lost her arm in the womb

Born with one arm, nothing holds back Narelle’s determined daughter

Gazing at the monitor, my husband, Shaun, and I were in awe. At 12 weeks pregnant, this was our rst glimpse of our bub – a brother or sister for our three boys, Liam, then 12, Max, six, and Dylan, ve.

‘The baby seems to have its left arm behind its head,’ the sonographer said.

So she told us to come back the following week. ‘We’ll try again,’ she said. Back at the hospital, I had the second scan.

Afterwards, the sonographer fetched a doctor to talk about the results.

‘I’m sorry. Most of the baby’s left arm is missing,’ he said, gently.

‘How did that happen?’ I gasped.

‘We can’t tell at this stage,’ he replied.

Shaun and I were devastated, unsure what it meant for our baby’s future.

After tests, our baby’s missing limb was put down to amniotic band syndrome, a very rare birth defect.

It meant our bub had lost the arm in the womb. I’d had a leak of amniotic uid at eight weeks, when the inner lining of the placenta was damaged. It was thought the baby had stuck the arm bud through the tear.

Then, bands of tissue in the sac had tangled around it, stopping it developing.

We also learned we were having a girl – a cherished sister for our boys.

Over the following weeks, tests continued to see if anything else was wrong.

At 28 weeks, doctors wanted to do even more tests, but I declined.

‘I just want to enjoy the rest of my pregnancy,’ I said.

The baby was growing well, so I wanted to leave her be. But our daughter had other ideas.

A few days later, I went into premature labour, and at 29 weeks, our precious Charlotte was born, weighing one kilo.

‘Hello darling,’ I smiled tearfully, before she was taken to the NICU.

She was beautiful and, as expected, her left arm stopped just below her left shoulder.

Despite her size, Charlotte thrived.

Eight weeks later, when she reached two kilos, we took her home.

The boys were besotted by her. We’d told them about her arm, and they weren’t fazed at all.

‘Can I hold her?’ they all begged, delighted to have such a cute little sister.

Putting on her baby onesies, we’d just roll up the left sleeve so it didn’t get in her way.

One thing was for sure, our girl might have one arm, but nothing was going to hold her back.

‘Look at her go!’ said Shaun as she crawled

at 11 months with perfect balance.

And at 14 months, she took her rst step.

Incredibly independent, she could do everything her brothers could do.

‘Very good,’ I said, as Charlotte dressed herself and her Barbies, using her ‘little arm’ as we called it, to help her when she could.

She could even do buttons one-handed. And she loved LEGO, sometimes using her toes to steady her creations.

‘Why do I have one arm?’ she asked once.

‘You were born like that, darling,’ I told her.

Satis ed with the answer, she never asked again.

One day, aged four, she found a toy bow and arrow at a friend’s home.

‘How do you use this?’ she asked.

‘I don’t think you can,’ I said – but she proved me wrong!

‘Look Mummy,’ she smiled.

Using her little arm to hold the bow, Charlotte used her right hand to pull back the arrow and re it!

‘Well done, darling,’ I laughed, blown away.

Then she started kindy. ‘I was sure she’d need help opening food packets,’ her teacher told me. ‘But I saw her easily open a packet of chips and thought, no way!’

And there were more surprises in store.

Charlotte learned how to ride a bike in just one weekend, insisting she didn’t need training wheels.

The next day, she took her bike to school.

‘Why doesn’t your bike have training wheels?’ a little boy asked her. ‘You can’t ride it like that.’

‘Watch me,’ she grinned.

As she cycled around the playground, steering one-handed, his jaw dropped, while my heart swelled with pride.

She also swam, doing so well that she was placed in the top group.

‘Go Charlotte!’ I cried, as she jumped off the diving board without a care.

Aged six, when

Halloween rolled around, she took full advantage of her limb difference.

Spotting a plastic arm in a costume shop, I bought it.

‘This is just an idea, but you could carry this and dress as a zombie?’ I suggested to Charlotte back home.

‘Yes please!’ she grinned, thrilled with the plan.

So I used face paint and fake blood to make it look like her arm had been clean ripped off!

‘Oh my God, you look amazing,’ I laughed when we’d nished.

‘I love it!’ Charlotte giggled, admiring her re ection in the mirror.

Nobody could beat that costume at the school’s Halloween disco!

Naturally, Charlotte does sometimes get down about being different, and twice she’s had surgery to shave the bone back in her little arm so it doesn’t protrude.

But at a support group called Limbs 4 Kids, we met other children with limb differences and even went bowling.

‘Strike!’ Charlotte beamed, after sending the ball whizzing to the pins.

Now eight, Charlotte knows about prosthetic arms, but at the moment our girl is adamant that she doesn’t need one.

Charlotte loves playing with her little brother, Brodie, ve, as well as with her stacks of mates.

A huge animal lover, she wants to be a vet one day.

I don’t doubt for a minute that my little dynamo will do whatever she sets her mind to.

With her amazing sense of humour and unending zest for life, there’s no stopping my girl! ●

For more information, visit limbs4kids.org.au

A huge animal lover, she wants

to be a vet