By Meagan Broeckert, as told to Nicole Schmidt
My son, Sam, played all kinds of sports growing up: flag football, baseball, wrestling. But as he got older, we started to notice that he was smaller and slower than all the other kids. In wrestling, where classes were divided by weight, he was usually matched with boys who were two or three years younger than he was.
At the time, I didn’t think his height was a real issue. I knew he was on the smaller side — he was creeping along his growth curve in the 10th to 20th percentile — but his pediatrician reassured us that everything was fine. His dad and I talked with him about how kids come in all different sizes. We told him he was probably just a late bloomer and that he’d catch up. All he had to do was hang in there.
Sam also has ADHD, and the combination of his size and quirks made him a target for bullying. His confidence took a hit, and eventually, he stepped away from sports and gravitated toward theatre. Kids don’t always understand the weight of their words; they just react to what they see. I’ve tried to parent with the belief that you have to build your child to be able to withstand the world because you can’t change it for them. Still, it’s heartbreaking to watch your kid go through that.
By the time Sam was in eighth grade, the height difference between him and his classmates became harder to ignore. During the COVID-19 years, he did a lot of schooling at home, but when he went back in person, he started to feel more uncomfortable. I remember him coming home upset, telling me about friends who were a foot taller and starting to grow moustaches. He said he felt like a little kid compared to them.
When he turned 14, his height dipped into the fourth percentile. That meant his growth had either slowed significantly or stopped altogether, which was unusual at a time when most boys are entering puberty and growing faster. We were referred to an endocrinologist, who ordered a growth hormone stimulation test. The test measures the body’s production of growth hormone and Sam’s results clearly showed a deficiency. After that, things moved quickly.
Many kids with growth hormone deficiency are diagnosed earlier, which gives them more time to grow. There’s a limited window where treatment is effective: for boys, it’s typically until around age 16, when the growth plates in their bones close. Sam was 4’11” at diagnosis, but based on his mid-parental height calculation — which takes both parents’ heights into consideration — his genetic potential was 5' 11. That meant he needed to grow a whole foot in just a few years. It felt daunting.
Treatment involves daily injections of synthetic growth hormone. That was a big deal for Sam. He never liked needles — no kid does — and once passed out during a blood draw. But he surprised us by deciding he wanted to administer the shots himself. The first time, a nurse showed us how to prepare the needle, sanitize the injection site, and give the shot. It took some getting used to, but doing it himself gave him a sense of control. He takes the shot every night before bed and though he goes to sleep later than I do, I usually check the pen in the morning to make sure he remembered.
We started treatment during the spring of his eighth-grade year, and by the middle of freshman year, there was already a huge change in his confidence. He was growing, but his face was also maturing. He started lifting weights and even returned to wrestling for a while, which helped him bulk up. His voice also changed so much. Some kids still make comments about the growth hormones — jokes about him trying to be an NBA star or accusations that he’s faking it. They don’t understand the “deficiency” part. I’ve always told Sam that a lot of people live with health conditions, some are just more visible than others. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. If he wants to share his diagnosis, he can, but I’ve also assured him it’s fine to keep it private. It’s just one small part of who he is.
At his most recent doctor’s appointment, Sam measured 5’9” and three quarters. At 17, he’s finally within his mid-parental height range. He’s currently taking another medication that keeps his growth plates open a bit longer, giving him more time to grow. We’re not trying to turn him into a basketball player — we just want him to reach his full growth potential. Apart from some acne and leg pain, he’s tolerated treatment well.
Getting a diagnosis a bit later on was stressful at first. There’s a lot of uncertainty and fear in those early stages. I didn’t feel confident that he would reach his genetic height potential until about two years into treatment. Now, I help run a Facebook group for parents of children with growth hormone deficiency. I also work with a nonprofit focused on growth-related disorders.
It’s been wonderful to have a community where we can share success stories and offer support.
Many parents feel overwhelmed at the beginning, but I always encourage them to trust their gut and to keep asking questions. If they feel unheard, it’s OK to switch doctors. There’s help out there.
Those early years of watching Sam struggle were hard, but he’s become a kind-hearted, more empathetic person. Now, he’s often the first one to go help another kid who’s struggling or feeling insecure. Seeing him grow — both inside and out — has been so rewarding.