From Casts to Courage: Our Real-Life Journey Through Clubfoot Treatment

It started in a quiet recovery room, just hours after my C-section. I was still trying to process the birth when the pediatrician walked in and gently confirmed something we suspected: our baby had clubfoot.

I nodded, but inside, my mind was racing. I grabbed my phone and dove headfirst into research—scrolling through articles, forums, and support groups. That’s when I first saw the phrase: Ponseti Method. A highly successful treatment, it involves a series of weekly casts, a simple outpatient surgery called a tenotomy, and then wearing a special brace known as the boots and bar.

Three days after we came home, the clinic called. They had scheduled her first appointment—she would be seen at just three weeks old. My heart pounded. I was relieved, nervous, and overwhelmed all at once. It was happening, and faster than I expected.

The First Cast: A Sudden Beginning

We packed up our tiny newborn and drove two hours to the hospital. She was cranky and tired, and honestly, so was I. We sat quietly in the waiting room until they called her name. My heart leapt. This was it.

Our specialist greeted us with warmth and compassion. She patiently explained what to expect, and I felt a wave of comfort wash over me. As I kissed my baby’s tiny, twisted feet, I told the doctor everything I had learned from online clubfoot support groups I’d joined while still in the hospital.

Then she looked at me and said, “Let’s start with the first cast today.”

I wasn’t ready. Not emotionally, not mentally. But I nodded. We were starting our journey.

I fed her before they began, hoping she’d be calm. I offered her a pacifier and hummed her favorite lullaby as the technicians wrapped her legs. I cried—not because I was scared, but because I was proud. My little girl, only weeks old, was already braver than I ever imagined.

What struck me the most during that first phase was the contrast: her delicate newborn body wrapped in two big casts—and yet, she adapted. She showed me what resilience really looks like.

Life With Casts: Adjusting Everything

Back at home, nothing looked the same. We couldn’t bathe her like before—cast care became a top priority. We did a lot of gentle wipe-downs and invented our own routine of towel-wrapped sponge baths.

And then I found leg warmers. Those cute, stretchy things were lifesavers—easy for diaper changes, perfect during breastfeeding, and great for covering the casts after those inevitable diaper disasters. I highly recommend them if you're in the casting phase.

We leaned into skin-to-skin time—her favorite—and it helped both of us feel more connected during those strange, emotional first weeks.

Fortunately, her casts didn’t need to be sawed off. We soaked them and unrolled them gently, although she still hated every second. I spent most of that time whispering apologies and snuggling her close.

As each week passed and new casts were placed, we could see her feet changing, inching closer to the typical shape. Summer heat kept us indoors, and we focused on creating a calm, cool space for her. Even with her casts, I encouraged tummy time every day. I didn’t want her to fall behind—and she didn’t. She amazed me.

One of my favorite memories? During one of her tummy time sessions, she kicked her boots so hard she scooted herself forward and started giggling. I laughed through my tears. I joked, “Well, the silver lining is that she’s going to have the most gorgeous legs from carrying all that extra weight.”

Tenotomy Day: A Test of Strength

Then came the tenotomy. A small cut to release the Achilles tendon, done under local anesthesia. It sounds simple. But handing her over to the nurses that morning felt like handing over my entire heart.

I cried. I prayed. I waited.

When they brought her back, she was groggy and uncomfortable. That night was one of the hardest—we barely slept. She needed constant comfort, and I became her human pacifier. I held her close and whispered how proud I was.

And by morning? She smiled. Bright-eyed and curious. My little warrior was back.

This wasn’t the first or last time I cried and prayed. Every milestone came with mixed emotions—hope, fear, grief for a path we didn’t expect, and gratitude for the strength she showed. And that’s okay. It’s okay to be sad that your journey isn’t the same as everyone else’s. Because this journey? It’s extraordinary in its own way.

Boots and Bar: A New Chapter

After two more casts, we transitioned to the boots and bar. This stage came with a steep learning curve. The technician was kind and took his time showing us how to fit everything properly—tight straps to prevent friction, making sure her heel touched the boot base.

We began the 23-hour wear phase, and suddenly I had to relearn everything—how to breastfeed her, how to carry her, how to soothe her when she kicked against the bar.

But there were beautiful moments, too. Her first bath in weeks—she loved it. And our teamwork improved; my husband held her legs while I strapped the boots on, both of us adjusting to this new normal.

We cherished her free hour each day. I’d kiss her toes, rub her legs, and let her stretch and play. One day, during her free time, she rolled over—for the first time—with the bar still on. My jaw dropped. She didn’t just adapt—she thrived.

Soon she was sitting, then playing with the bar like it was a toy. She made it look effortless.

Night-Time Only: Milestones in Disguise

After three months of 23-hour wear, she graduated to wearing the brace only during naps and nighttime. That milestone felt huge. Every evening, I became more confident. Fitting the boots became second nature.

Now, 12 months in, it’s part of our bedtime rhythm. She rolls in her crib, crawls around freely, and even stands—yes, stands—while wearing her brace.

Each moment reminds me that resilience isn’t taught—it’s born and nurtured. And babies? They’re some of the most resilient beings on earth.

For the Parents Just Starting Out

If you're at the beginning of this journey, I see you. The fear, the questions, the exhaustion—it’s real. But let me tell you: it gets better.

Your baby will show you how strong they are. And in turn, they’ll show you your own strength. There will be long nights and emotional days. But there will also be first smiles, first rolls, first steps—and moments of overwhelming pride.

Find your people—support groups, parent forums, even Instagram pages full of brave little feet. Celebrate the small wins. And never underestimate the power of a cuddle, a deep breath, or a leg warmer.

Here are a few things I’ve learned along the way:

• It’s okay to feel sad about this journey. You might feel grief that your story looks different—but that doesn’t make it any less beautiful. This is a new story, and it’s full of courage.

• Your baby is stronger than you think. Whether it’s wiping their boots on the floor during tummy time or rolling with a brace, they’ll surprise you again and again.

• You’re doing better than you think. Even on the tough days, when you feel like you’re just surviving—you are growing strength, love, and resilience in your home.

You’ve got this.

One cast. One brace. One beautiful, brave baby step at a time.

About Our Journey

We created this space to share our clubfoot journey with honesty and heart. If you’re looking for adaptive babywear designed to support bracing, diaper changes, and bonding moments, visit our shop at www.littleclubbersapparel.com—created with love by a clubfoot mom who’s been there.

Let’s build a supportive community together—because no parent should feel alone on this path.