47

So it seemed only fitting that we were back together on a Tuesday, here in the house with the Japanese maple out front. As I readied to go, I mentioned this to Morrie.

"We're Tuesday people," he said.

Tuesday people, I repeated.

(an excerpt from Tuesdays with Morrie by Mitch Albom)

We're Thursday people.

It's been Thursdays for 8 years now that I have had company for supper, visiting and television.

It was on a Thursday when we discovered how well we worked together as a team. J-L wasn't even invited for the meal that day and yet he helped me clean and cook prior to my guests arriving and his slipping out.

It was a Thursday we cooked a large portion of our wedding meal.

It was the wee hours of a Thursday morning when I went into labour for my firstborn.

It was a Thursday when they discovered the growth.

It was a Thursday when he was pulled from my womb.

And, it was a Thursday when Jack's Children's Hospital medical file was closed.

"I don't need to see him anymore." A simple little statement but J-L and I both had tears in our eyes when Dr. Wiseman said it. You see, it's gone. There is still some loose skin there where it once was but nothing more - certainly not enough to make surgery worthwhile. Dr. Wiseman was stunned when he looked at Jack's back. He wasn't comfortable with J-L referring to it as a miracle but nonetheless he was shocked and amazed. That's fine, doctor, you can fall back on your science, we'll fall back on our God.

47 weeks. That’s how long that thing was a part of our lives. 47 weeks. I have a friend who gets rather introspective at the beginning of each year. She's made the comment to me more than once that you "just never know". You just don't know what lies ahead. You don't know what the next year will bring. We had no idea at the beginning of 2008 what would affect the majority of the year. And yet now here we are at the end of the year and the end of the growth.

We've been blessed.

For those of you who couldn't make it...

Here's a slideshow I did up for the baby dedication. (Hopefully at some point I'll get other parts of the service up on here.)

If you happen to be in the neighbourhood...

We are having a baby dedication for Jack (and us as parents) this Sunday, September 7th, at our church, 10:30 am. (It will happen during a regular Sunday service.)

The address:

891 St. Mary's Road

Winnipeg, MB

Canada

Come on down, you KNOW you want to see how cute he is.

Nearly 2 months!

It's hard to believe, how our lives have changed. How monumental that tumour was for 20 weeks and how minuscule it's been for the past 8 (literally and figuratively). Amazing. I nearly forget that there were times we weren't sure whether we'd get to hold our son. Nearly... probably never completely forget.

I don't have much time at the moment as we're heading out camping shortly. The 4 of us. 4! A few months ago we had no idea how our life would turn out and wondered if we'd be able to do regular summer activities or if we'd be spending most of it in NICU. And now we're going camping. We are blessed.

Thank you again for all your prayers and love and support. It looks as though Jack will have his growth removed close to his first birthday. The surgeon thinks that's the optimal time. I'll try to update the blog sporadically between now and then but if I fail PLEASE be sure to (a) check back in April of next year and (b) email me if you're wondering about That Boy You Prayed For.

2 weeks

It's been 2 weeks since our little baby boy charmed (or squawked, depending on the moment) his way into our lives. I keep wanting to come on here and post something about how lovely it is that he is home with us and that his tumor is not life-threatening. But, for the most part I am just recovering and learning how to be the mother of 2. Oh yeah, and sitting around with a silly grin on my face. So, this will be a quick one.

In a very short amount of time (I would imagine) the glow will come off the joy of having a baby brother but for these days I can't even tell you how much it pleases me that Abby has taken to having her naps in our bedroom so that she can sleep beside her brother. And, as always, it comes down to song lyrics for me. Cue Elton John's Greatest Discovery.

In those silent happy seconds
That surround the sound of this event
A parent smile is made in moments
They have made for you a friend

And all you ever learned from them
Until you grew much older
Did not compare with when they said
This is your brand new brother
This is your brand new brother
This is your brand new brother








Also, to those of you who have taken the time to send us a postcard, thank you. The pile is steadily growing and it's a thrill every time I see one of them in the mailbox. To the rest of you, please send one on our way. We'd so love to be able to show Jack one day how many people from around the world were praying.

Cynthia Plett or J-L Laurendeau
221-294 Beliveau Road
Winnipeg MB
R2M 1T4

It’s Sunday!

Some of you may remember this post. Sometimes we are called to Good Friday. And sometimes we are called to Easter Sunday. It’s Sunday here in the Plett Laurendeau residence. And the tulips are up!

On January 10th we felt as though our world shifted. We were told some shocking news about our unborn son and from that point until May 23rd we felt a heavy load that affected every aspect of our lives. Our son had a very large tumor on his back and we had no idea what our future would look like.

I was very guarded about showing a photo of the tumor on this blog as I felt rather protective of him. I didn’t want people to come on to gawk at my son. I showed close friends and family but that was it. That has changed a bit now and I’ll explain why later.* Below is what the tumor looked like in February. It might be tricky to understand the image completely but at the top is the back of his head and neck and then his shoulder comes off into his arm. As you can see, the tumor covers a large part of his back, basically from his neck down to his elbow. It also sticks out quite far. (If you click on the photo it opens up larger and the labels might help.)

The next photo is Jack directly out of my womb. Already not as dramatic.












And the third photo is Jack on Friday, May 23rd, a day after his birth – a completely different looking growth than what we saw in the womb.









We felt less worried the moment we saw it. And yet, we didn’t know. We waited. Yes, it seemed much less dramatic but perhaps it would still affect his heart a great deal. Or, perhaps he would still have to spend some time in NICU and be poked and prodded and tested. And perhaps he would still have to have surgery or not be able to go home with us as the growth would be too sensitive or tender.

But, just as our world changed dramatically on January 10th it did again on Friday, May 23rd at about 12:15. The pediatric surgeon made his way to our room to take a look at Jack. He removed his sleeper and turned him over. And basically the first words out of his mouth were "that’s it?" And we exhaled. He went on to tell us that he no longer thought it was an AVM at all (it was so hard to tell in ultrasound photos) but that it was an angioma and that it had shrunk dramatically since the first image. (Angiomas are a lot more common and a lot less frightening than AVMs.) In his opinion (and we’ll keep it since he’s one of the top pediatric surgeons in the city) Jack doesn’t even need to go for an MRI at this time and… HE CAN GO HOME WITH US. And there is a chance that he might never need surgery! (Or, if he does it will be more for cosmetic reasons.) Basically, right now we’re just to keep taking photos of the growth to see if it changes and then in a month we are to meet with the surgeon again to see where we go from there.

Life is just so very, very good. J-L and I had moments of dreaming of the best case scenario (maybe he can stay in the room with us! maybe he can go home with us! maybe the tumor won’t look all that bad after all!) but we rarely allowed ourselves to imagine it could be this good.

We’ll always remember Good Friday as we are called to do but for today we are putting on our Easter Sunday clothes and enjoying the tulips.

Thank you again for all of your prayers. We serve an amazing God. (One that shrinks tumors.)

* I felt it necessary to show the original tumor photo so that you could understand how frightening it looked and how banal it looks now.

A quick update

Just came home to water the flowers, grab a bite to eat, and drop a quick note. I'll keep it short:

Jack is great, Abby is great, Cynthia is great, the future for Jack...great.

I will post more (much much more, and photos too), but not for a couple of days as I help out at the hospital.

Thanks all of you. At the risk of sounding cheesy, we love you all.

Thank God.

J-L

May 22nd

So, here it is. Jack's birthday. I have to admit, back on January 10th I never thought we'd make it this far. But, in about 15 minutes we head off to drop our excited daughter (she's having a SLEEPOVER at Auntie Hedder and Uncle Cel's!) off and then we head off to the hospital. And we're equal parts excited and scared and deliriously happy.

And if I type more than that I'll likely start crying and these days it's hard for me to stop so I'd best keep this unemotional. There will be enough time for crying later.

Thank you so much for all your prayers. I have been completely overwhelmed by the amount of people who have taken the time out to visit this blog on a regular basis. We will definitely keep the blog updated as our adventure continues.

In the meantime, there's something I want to ask of you. (Besides continued prayer today.) I'm wondering if you wouldn't mind putting a postcard in the mail to us. I think it would be a very cool addition to Jack's memory box. I know there are a whole lot of you that have been reading this blog anonymously and that's fine, I read lots that way too. And frankly, if you don't know what to write that's fine too. Seriously, all you have to do is find a postcard from your city/state/province or whatever and put our names on it and send it off. You don't even need to sign it if you don't want to. Here's the address:

Cynthia Plett or J-L Laurendeau
221-294B BELIVEAU RD
WINNIPEG MB
R2M 1T4

For those of you who think I'm ridiculously unsafe for putting my address out on the internet, don't worry. That's not our address. Frankly, it's not even the address of anyone we know. Tricky, hey?

So, could you do that for us? Even if you live in the same city or we see you almost every week - I just think someday it would be nice to tell Jack about all the thoughts and prayers that people were sending our way from all over the world.

Thank you. And now, we're off. Hopefully the next time I do this it will be one-handed typing.

In thinking about tomorrow

Today might prove to be the very fastest day ever at the same time as being the very slowest.

Week 38 - The Last One, and a few random thoughts

Well, today was it. Our last ultrasound EVER. But before that, we had the PAC (pre-assessment clinic) with a nurse to fill us in on what to expect next week (next week, holy cow!). Where to check in, where the surgery will be, where the recovery room is, etc. All the fun stuff. For those of you that know me, I am a planner, so knowing more details about the c-section was very good.


The ultrasound. Nurse L was back, and it was very good to have her do the last ultrasound; it wouldn't feel right if someone else did it. Jack is really good, and quite big. Our boy hit the 8 lb. mark, and has these crazy big cheeks. His heart and blood flow are great. In fact, Doctor C even mentioned the chance that Jack may not need to go into either the NICU or T1 (intermediate care) after his birth, that he may actually be able to stay in Cynthia's room AND may be able to come home with us when Cynthia is released from the hospital. I have to say a tear rolled down my cheek as I thought of Jack being able to sleep with his Mommy his first night. But again, there are no guarantees, but it sure does seem promising.


It sunk in today as we were discussing the surgery with the nurse; we are having another baby. A boy. A son to carry on my family name. A boy named after his Pepere. You have no idea how proud that makes me. It never really mattered to me about having a boy until we found out that Jack was, well, Jack. Believe me, I would have been over the moon with another girl, but this is really cool on a whole other level.


I am so proud of Cynthia. This pregnancy has not been easy on her, for many reasons. But she has been so strong throughout it that I can't help but sing her praise. Moodge, once again, thank you for making me a father, and for enduring two very difficult pregnancies. You are the best.


We will talk again soon. Thanks for stopping by, we appreciate it.


J-L

We are down to single digits!

Yikes!

Random thought that occurred to me last night as I tossed and turned: You know that ad on tv where they show how the bed partner won't feel the other person's movements? And they prove it with the glass of wine and the person jumping? I'd like to see it redone with a 9-month pregnant woman trying to turn over in bed. I bet you they'd be cleaning up wine faster than you can say "bowling ball mattress".

Week 37 - And then there was one

We had the second to last ultrasound this afternoon, and all is well. Jack now weighs 7 lbs 8 oz., and is still breech, but moving like crazy and causing his Mommy to lose her breath more and more. In fact, Doctor C. didn't even talk about TH today, which is definitely a first for us. Our fantastic Nurse L. was away sick, and while her replacement was a nice enough lady, she was no L. We really missed her today. She has become an integral part of all this, and all for the right reasons. We hope she is back for next week.

Doctor K and Doctor C will be in and out of the hospital over the next 14 days. For a planner like me, this is a little disconcerting, because I need to know how things will unfold (will we make it to the 22nd, will both doctors be there, etc.). But alas, there is nothing I can do; no answers once again. It still bothers me to not have any answers to my 7 million questions, so we'll just have to wait and see, again.

Next Thursday is our PAC (pre-admission clinic) for the surgery and the aforementioned last ultrasound. I can't believe that 17+ weeks have passed since we found out about TH. And now, in 2 weeks we will get to meet our little boy. We. Can't. Wait.

I have to say it again; thanks so much for your prayers and positive thoughts. We are grateful for them and for you.

J-L

16 more days

Did you know that a hamster's gestation period is 16 days? I'm not saying I'd LIKE for ours to be that small (how would you possibly get mentally prepared?) but I'm not so sure that I'm crazy about 266 days either. (Although, I know, it could be worse: elephants? Around 645 days. Ugh.)

And thus concludes your science lesson for today.

There's an update, must be Thursday (Week 36)

3 weeks from today our son will be born. Wow. That's THIS month. Which, is good 'cause I'm pretty much ready to be able to see my feet again and to be able to breathe with some normality.

The appointment went well today. He's still doing well. Yes, TH is still there but outside of that everything is good and normal.

He's got quite the chubby cheeks, our boy. (Stay tuned for an updated ultrasound photo, hopefully tonight.) He's right around 7 pounds. Apparently that's fairly average but with 3 weeks still to grow I'd say there's a definite probability that he will be heavier at birth than his sister (7 lbs. 13 oz.)

Interesting to note: He is still breech. Most babies (to the tune of 94% according to our doctor) have turned by this point in the pregnancy. Only 3% more turn in the next 3 weeks. Apparently he's decided that he wants to be born by caesarean section even if TH weren't in the picture.

Week 35 update

Thursday Thirteen

1. TH continues to get flatter.

2. Which, is good for the c-section as it makes things a bit safer for delivery.

3. And, it's also good as there’s a chance that by the time Jack is born strangers that see him with clothes on will likely not even know what is beneath. (just being the protective mom)

4. It appears that Jack will be born on May 22nd. A Thursday. As it should be.

5. Which is sad in that initially they were toying with May 15th and now this means that I will have to be pregnant for one more week.

6. And I know it shouldn't be about me and I shouldn't be whining with all that's gone on but goodness does pregnancy seem never-ending some days.

7. It also terrifies me that (as the 22nd is only 3 days from his due date) I will go into labour beforehand. Yes, they will still do the c-section but um, I will also have contractions. Seems to me that that then becomes the worst of both worlds.

8. We met with the surgeon again.

9. He threw out a few more options and possibilities. But "we won’t know until he is born and tests have been run". And we're done with those. We're sick of them. Don't throw any more stuff at us unless it's something you know for sure.

10. He's a very smart man who is the top in his field for a reason. That being said, he does not spend a lot of time speaking in layman's terms and we mostly sit there stunned and confused. I could have kissed our nurse when at one point (and after the surgeon had been going into medical terms about the "fetus" for far too long) she piped up "His name is Jack".

11. Speaking of kissing near strangers: J-L has been having a rough week. Things have been hitting him hard about Jack and at one point he mentioned this to our doctor. In his words: "I just feel like I should be able to fix it. I'm the dad. That's my job." To which our doctor said: "You ARE fixing it. You are here week after week AND you are caring for your wife and daughter. Do you know how many men disappear or stop coming to appointments when things don't look good?"

12. J-L is able to take the Thursday (the 22nd) and Friday (the 23rd) off as personal days as well as the following week still leaving us 2 weeks for a trip this summer. As I said to him in the van leaving the hospital: "I NEED that trip. It's my light." We’re just so thankful with our understanding job situations.

13. We're a little down today. I don't know if either of us have figured out why as things aren't any better or worse this appointment than any other. But, he left there wanting some fried chicken and I've been wanting cheesecake all afternoon. Easy this ain't.

Week 34 update

This week J-L and I decided to place a bet as to Jack's weight. Whoever loses has to buy the other person a treat of his/her liking on Saturday.

J-L’s guess: 5 lbs. 4 oz.
Cynthia’s guess: 5 lbs. 6 oz.
Jack’s weight: 5 lbs. 11 oz.

Yes, that does mean I'll be enjoying some sort of treat. But, for those of you keeping track it also means that Jack has gained nearly a pound in a week! (No comments about the ice cream consumption helping that out, darien.) And for any of those who might be curious, the average weight of a baby in week 34? Um, according to 3 different websites: about 5 pounds. As our nurse said as she measured his head: "Whoa, good thing you’re not pushing THAT out."

Other tidbits:

- Next week the surgeon will be visiting again. He wants to see an updated ultrasound of Jack as he hasn't seen one in awhile.

- We signed a consent form this week. A consent form that says that they can take photos of our son to use in medical publications. To quote our doctor: "Because, when we discovered this about Jack, we couldn't track down any research about it and we'd like to help any doctors who may come across this in the future." And we understand. And we want to help too. But, goodness, does that bring about a mix of emotions: The scary reminder of how rare and unusual this is. But, also, the happiness that perhaps someday in the future we'll be able to offer some other desperate parents some hope. (And yes, I did make sure to ask if we could receive copies of any publications done.)

- Next week we will also likely learn what Jack's birthdate will be. It's ironic in a way, hey? For all the (and there are too many to count) unknowns of this pregnancy and the upcoming c-section and his life (and ours) post-delivery, there are several details (name, sex, birthdate, approximate size) things that we know that most expecting parents do not.

Week 33 update

And there it is, that word again:

Hope has a way of turning it's face to you
just when you least expect it
you walk in a room
you look out a window
and something there leaves you breathless

Hey, if this blog does nothing else it'll get you hooked on Sara Groves.

Our version for today:

Hope has a way of making you cry
just when you least expect it
you ask the question you're afraid to ask
for fear of the answer
and the answer lets you breathe

The question: Will we be able to hold Jack after he is born or will he be whisked away to NICU right away? Will Cynthia (it was J-L who asked the question) be able to nurse him?

The answer: Assuming his heart is doing well and he's breathing fine you'll be able to spend some time with him before he goes.

Thank you.

At one time, some 13 weeks ago we wondered if he'd make it to 40 weeks. We wondered if he'd live. And now it seems that we might even be able to HOLD him when he's born.

Exhale.

And other than that the appointment went well. He's now 4 lbs. 13 oz. He's still doing well our boy. Our beautiful boy.

Week 32 - Getting closer

Due to a much needed holiday that my girls are taking, we had to move up the ultrasound to this morning. We had a full room today at the WP; Nurse L, Doctor K, Grandma, H, N, J, M, Abby, Cynthia and me. Things are looking great for our little boy. The tumour is now 0.41, thanks to Jack growing and the growth flattening out . I don't care why the ratio is down, but it is. We got some really good 3D shots too, which is always a bonus. His little man-face and hairy noggin stole the show this morning. If I do say so myself, our son is a handsome little dude. Apparently our boy is not shy; he has no problem showing off his business, much to the chagrin of his female cousins in attendance. All in all today was, to quote a friend of mine, wicked awesome.

The news has been more encouraging as every week passes, and while I want to shout from the rooftops that it is only smooth sailing ahead (or at least it feels that way), I have to be careful to not get too confident or complacent, because that's the time when something silly will happen. I don't want silly, I don't need silly. Therefore, from here on in I shall remain cautiously optimistic.

In 7 weeks, we get to hold our son. Thank you God. You rock.

J-L

P.S. Thanks for stopping by to check us out, we really appreciate it.

A letter to my wife

* I had this post up briefly a couple of days ago, but took it down because I thought that this wasn't the place for it. But since you all know so much about us, this is the place for it. And besides that, I want it here. So there.

Cynthia,

I love you.

I know how difficult this pregnancy has been on you. With Abby, you suffered through prenatal depression, as you do now with Jack. Compounding that is The Himp on Jack's back, the growth that makes us mad, sad and frustrated. The mass that makes us tired, fearful, and anxious. I just wanted you to know that you have been handling it all so well, and that I am very proud of you. It would be so easy for you to just shut down and spend every evening in bed, but you don't do that. You still get on the floor to play with our beautful little girl, still entertain our friends on Thursday nights, and still give so much to Kidventure at church. I wish I knew how you did it, because I don't think I could.

You are strong, Moodge, much stronger than you give yourself credit for. I know sometimes you think that you are not handling it very well, but you are. Even when you are having trouble breathing because Jack is practicing his Riverdance routine on your lungs, or when the world seems to be coming down around you, you persevere. You do what you have to do. Not everyone could/would, but you do.

As I said before, I am very proud of you, and I am honoured to be your husband. Thanks just doesn't seem to be enough, but thank you so much for going through all this for our family. You are the best wife and Mommy a guy and a little girl and boy could ask for. We are lucky and blessed to have you.

I love you.

Your boy.

April

It is April 1st today. Know what THAT means? No, this wasn't some grand April Fool's Day scheme. Sigh. It means that I can now officially say that we're having a baby next month. NEXT MONTH! YAY!

Week 31 - Good

Jack is doing well, really well in fact. His heart, lungs, blood flow, brain activity, everything is normal. This is good. TH is flattening out some more, and Jack continues to outgrow it, and Doctors C. & K. are very happy with how things are progressing. This is good. We got confirmation today that yes indeed my beautiful wife will be delivering our little man by c-section, on or near Week 39, so this will put the big day at somewhere around May 18th. This is very good. We finally get to see our boy. This is very very good. Soon after that (very soon, we hope and pray) TH will be removed and we won't have to think about it anymore. This is the goodest of all (I know it's not proper grammar, but I have to keep the theme going).

Thanks for being a part of this with us, you've helped us so much. We owe you one, all of you.

J-L

Addendum (Jack's mom here): Incidentally, he now weighs 4 pounds. 4 pounds! Isn't that crazy? And, as we've been told the last few weeks: He has a whole lotta hair. Which, for those of you who saw his sister as a newborn, should not come as a shock. I just wonder if it's purple and yellow and brown like Abby seems to think it will be.

Thoughts on Good Friday

I've been thinking a little bit about Good Friday lately (that one's for my siblings: it's how so many of my father's talks began).

I know I’m a little late with this one seeing as it's now Monday and the Easter dress has already made its way to the laundry hamper and the chocolate bunny has been consumed down to the stomach and legs. But, bear with me because sometimes I think one needs to write things out even if they're a little late.

A few bits of clarification before I begin on my diatribe:

- I do NOT feel that we have the most tragic event befallen our family. I think there is some heartbreak to it but there are many others (including you perhaps?) who have it MUCH worse than we do. Please don't interpret this post as a sympathy ploy.

- And this one is difficult for me to write as I am typically a very private person: I struggle with prenatal depression. There, it's out. Life for me during my pregnancies can be very dark and bleak. I try to hide it as best as possible but in my quiet private moments it haunts me and chokes me. This was the case with my first pregnancy as well so it really has little to do with the circumstances of this pregnancy.

And now on to Good Friday. Why Good Friday and not Easter? Well, for this year anyway, Good Friday seems to have more affect on me than Easter. Sometimes as Christians we get carried away with Easter. It's the celebration. It's the reason we are. He was resurrected. He was dead but he ROSE AGAIN. This is fantastic. It's worthy of shouting and a hallelujah or two. That moment of the stone being rolled away and the vacant tomb is enough to base my belief system on. Absolutely! There is nothing wrong with Easter.

But.

Easter could not have happened without Good Friday. The death had to be there. The pain, the suffering, the separation from God. I do NOT want to celebrate that. I want the day off work but I do not want to mourn the heartbreak and sadness that is Good Friday. God turned his face from Jesus. That is a hard fact to wrap my head around. Frankly, let's just move on to the party…

Nope, not this time.

“My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me!” It's there. I can’t avoid it. And it's important. It's key. I need to remember the pain.

Some of you may have noticed the verse I now have posted at the top of our blog. It comes from the Old Testament. The Israelites were instructed (more than once) to remember where they had come from. It's important. In this verse specifically it was referred to as Ebenezer. "Hitherto hath the Lord helped us". God took them OUT of the pain, out of slavery but they were not to forget the pain. Not that they were to dwell on it or become bitter about it but rather that they were to remember that God had been there too. He was there during the milk and honey but he was there during the times in the desert as well.

Sometimes I have the desert and sometimes I have milk and honey. I am called to remember that God was there during both times.

I am a wee bit of a gardener. We moved into this house in August, too late for a summer garden for that year. And yet, I planted some tulips. In fall. This seems odd in a way. Why would I plant tulips in the fall, just before the frost? Well, tulips do BETTER if they have a time of hibernation, a time of cold. That's right, they are better, healthier, stronger and bolder if they go through pain.

Sometimes I am called to pain.

In order for there to be Easter I need to have Good Friday.

And later this year when my tulips are blooming it's important that I don't forget the icy winds of winter.

Week 30 - The more things change

We had a special guest join us for the ultrasound yesterday. Abby and I went to pick up Cynthia so that we could see Jack as a family. There was a bit of a wait, but Abby got to hold the pager, so she was happy. When we got to the room, we introduced Abby to Nurse L, then later to Doctor C and Doctor K. Abby was unsure of what was going to take place, but she sat quietly in the dark and waited for the show to begin. She was her usual inquisitive self: "where's Jack?" and "why goo Mommy?" and "Daddy drink the goo?" (which if you've seen the video of our typical Thursday that was posted a while back, you'll understand). I think the thing Abby liked the most was laying on the bed with Mommy while we looked at the pictures of our boy.

Things have changed a little bit. The size of The Himp has decreased from 0.54 to 0.45. It is a little deceiving though, because it is not really getting any smaller, it is just flattening out and covering a bit more real estate. Doctor C says that this is good, because it will be less traumatic on Jack when he is born. She mentioned the C word again (in this case ceserean), which always makes me feel a little better. (I'm no doctor, but I just can't understand why there is even a thought of a vaginal birth when our son has a rather large growth on his body.) Apparently he has quite a bit of hair on his head already, and looks very cute (they say this to us every week). Either way, his heart is very good (no excess water to be found), blood flow is healthy, and he is growing at a normal rate (he weighs 3 lbs. 4 oz.). So far so good.

For now we are one day closer to May 25th. One day closer to seeing our boy. One day closer to the surgery that will remove TH from Jack and our lives forever. One day closer to being a family of 4. One day closer to getting back to the Old Normal. One day closer.

J-L

Week 29 - Status Quo

We had 2 appointments today. Cynthia had her blood pressure checked (excellent, by the way) and her blood sugar checked (4.3, again excellent), then it was off to the ultrasound. Nothing new to report; Jack is growing, The Himp is growing, but both at the same pace (TH is half the size of Jack's head), so that is a good thing. Our boy is very active, and we got some great 3D pictures of him (see the upper right corner of this blog). His little heart is beating well, and there is no excess fluid around it, so that is another good sign. All in all, a very good appointment.

Next week will be week 30. It's been 10 weeks since TH was first detected, and it will be, God willing, another 10 weeks before our son is born. This is our normal now; weekly ultrasounds, endless questions, and a bunch of stress thrown in for good measure. By now, the doctors are quite confident that Jack will live, which is the best news EVER. But there is always the chance that from one week to the next something could go wrong. I hate that possibility, but I know it exists. And some days it takes all the energy I have to not lie in bed all day and just disappear. All I know is that this needs to be over soon. For Cynthia, for Abby, for me, but mostly for our little boy. It's time for TH to be gone from our lives.

Please continue to pray; you have no idea how much those prayers help us through this crazy time that is now Our Normal.

J-L

Spring can do that

Yesterday after work
We took a walk
Hand in hand
In the melting, slushy snow
No hats
No mittens
We talked of our day
And she found the moon
And a helicopter
We watched cars drive by
And we laughed as they splashed in the giant puddles
“I want a pool” she said
My darling girl you will get one
It will be small but it will be summer
And I felt some of the worry
And some of the fear
And some of the sadness
Melt from my shoulders
If only for a moment

Week 28: A rose by any other name...

Scattered thoughts today; sorry for that.

Things are status quo, as they have been for the last 8 weeks; Jack is growing, the tumour is growing, but Jack's heart shows no sign of distress or strain. I am very grateful for this, and I thank God for this. But every Thursday at around noon, I ask myself the same questions over and over again: is this the week where something goes wrong? Is this the week that the tumour has become too large for Jack to manage? Is this the week where he needs to be born so that the tumour can be removed? And so far so good, it hasn't been the week. And hopefully not next week, or the week after that.

We met with a couple of neonatologists this time around. They are the doctors who work in the NICU (neonatal intensive care unit) at HSC. The place where Jack will be taken as soon as he is born so that they can commence the various tests needed to find out how best to tackle the tumour. I keep thinking that if more doctors are added to Operation Himp Removal that we would get some answers to our never ending questions. But they don't have answers for us either. And so we wait. Again.

About the tumour. We found out that it is not a tumour (insert your Arnold imitation here). The doctors are quite certain that it is an arterio-veinous malformation (to be called AVM from here on in). And since it is not a tumour, it is not cancerous. So good news in that sense. Now it's a whole other bunch of things to worry about. Now it appears that one of the NICU docs thinks that a vaginal birth is more possible than a c-section. And Jack may be able to leave the NICU if surgery doesn't happen right away. Or he'll have to stay in the NICU if the surgery doesn't happen right away. Or this. Maybe that. Possibly this. Perhaps that. Too many scenarios to take in at once. So many ifs, ands, or buts. So much uncertainty. Enough with it already. Give us some answers to our questions. Tell us that Jack will have surgery a few days after he is born, recover quickly, and then we can all go home TOGETHER, a family of four. Tell us that our boy 's little heart will not be damaged because of the (insert expletive here) AVM.

But at least we are another day closer to seeing our boy, so we have to cling to that, and try not to let the negatives get the best of us (starting tomorrow, of course).

J-L

Thursday Thirteen

Thirteen Things That Make Me Happy

1. I am off today. This has meant a leisurely bath as well as some lame tv.

2. [photo removed]

3. In just under 2 hours we get to see our son again. This is our 7th ultrasound and they have not become dull or taken for granted. I know I’m lucky to see him every week.

4. Tonight some of my favorite friends are coming over. We’ve been getting together on Thursday nights for 7+ years already. I hope it never ends.

5. [photo removed]

6. [photo removed]

7. My husband. He knows pregnancy (even the more normal one I had the first time around) is not easy on me, emotionally or physically. And so he steps up… over and over again.

8. [photo removed]

9. That so many people are reading this blog and praying for us and emailing us and commenting. I feel blessed and humbled every single day.

10. That I live in a country with fantastic healthcare. Had this happened generations ago or in a different country the results would likely not be as favourable.

11. [photo removed]

12. [photo removed]

13. [photo removed]

Connect the dots

Abby moved around a lot in my womb but never woke me up at night.

Jack moves around a fair amount too but not nearly as much as Abby. That being said, Jack has kept me awake at night at least 3 nights due to his dramatic movements.

Abby slept through the night at one month old.
Jack...

I'm in trouble, aren't I?

Week 27

When I was pregnant with Abby the doctor who was to deliver her was a teaching doctor. And so, nearly every week I saw a different intern. Some lovely, capable. Some terrified and unsure of themselves. However, I was "of a certain age" (over 35) so each and every week I was asked the exact same questions by each and every intern: "Are you going for your amniocentesis? Are you going for your triple screen?" (Those in the medical profession please correct me if I've forgotten the name.) The answers to each of those questions was "no" every single week (why they didn't note that in my file was beyond me). Some of those interns would get a frightened look on their faces when I said "no". "But EVERYONE over 35 gets them done here in Manitoba." I would then calmly look in their faces and ask them "why?". Their response was some type of variation of: "Well, it can tell you if your risk for having a baby with Down's syndrome or spina bifida is higher." "Okay, that's fine but is there anything I or you can do for my baby in utero if it's discovered that the risk is higher?" "Well, no." "Okay, well keep in mind that we believe that this child is God's gift to us and that He will help us to care for whatever comes our way. We have no intentions of terminating the pregnancy. So then in my mind the only thing that will happen is that I will spend the next X number of months worrying about my unborn baby and what life will be like afterwards when in all actuality, it only means the RISK is higher, not that I am going to have a baby with Down's syndrome or spina bifida. The thing is, I'm going to worry anyway, it's what I do, I don’t really need to add extra stress by worrying more. So, thanks but no thanks."

I think back on those conversations often with this pregnancy. How I was able to shut the door on worry and how not knowing just felt better to me. Sometimes I wish that I could "not know" for this pregnancy too. Don't get me wrong, I think it's in Jack's best interests that we know now. That they can prepare ahead of time and learn and study. I do understand that and I’m thankful for that. But, the worry can burn the eyelids and choke the throat. This week we heard these words: "Next week I want to introduce you to a neonatologist." Why? Well, because Jack will be heading into NICU or intermediate intensive care directly after birth. I knew that he would need to spend some time in there but there was a small part of my brain that was holding out hope that his time in there would only be after surgery. That we would be able to head home as a happy family of four after he was born and we would just have to bring him back in for tests and the surgery. That I would be able to breast feed my baby in my bed. That we would get to hold him and cuddle with him just as we did with Abby. And yes, in this lovely world of mine the sun WAS indeed shining and the birds were singing. But, that's not to be. We have to head home as three, same as we came in. I have to go through the pain of childbirth and then leave my child there. And we have NO IDEA when the surgery will be and how long he will be there as they poke and prod and test him. I know millions of mothers have lived through this. I also know that one day this will all just be a story that we will tell Jack. And yet, for the next three months I also have to know that I don't get to have "normal" and for right now that's just breaking my heart.

Another BIG little word

This weekend I thought to myself that I would like to buy an outfit for Jack. In anticipation. Something to look at, to hold, to touch (perhaps to weep into on occasion) for the next 89 days. That's the first time I've had that thought since January 10th.

You do your work the best that you can
you put one foot in front of the other
life comes in waves and makes its demands
you hold on as well as your able

You've been here for a long long time

Hope has a way of turning it's face to you
just when you least expect it
you walk in a room
you look out a window
and something there leaves you breathless
you say to yourself
it's been a while since I felt this
but it feels like it might be hope

- Sara Groves It Might Be Hope

Update in point form (Week 26)

- The word the doctor used? Stable.
- The size of our baby? Over 2 pounds. Lovely.
- The size of the tumour? Proportionately the same as last week.
- Heart? Still madly pumping. No excess fluid built up around it (one of the signs of a heart in distress).
- His movement? Very, very active. They had trouble getting proper images and kept commenting on how much he was moving. (Actually, they comment on this every week which makes me wonder: Do my babies move more than most as Jack actually moves less than Abby did.)
- The mom and dad? Happy to have made it one more week.
- Days to go until my due date? Double digits! 94 left.
- This Sunday? We enter the third trimester!

Any questions?

Thoughts on a Wednesday

The thing about Thursdays is... I look forward to them. A Lot. They give me peace and comfort. I'm very glad they are there. I'm very glad for that weekly 1:30 appointment. I'm very glad they are keeping such a close eye on our babe. And yet, as one approaches (and especially the drive there) I feel a certain scary sense of impending doom all the same.

Valentine's Day (Week 25)

Our Valentine's date? Seeing our son again and giving candy to some of our favorite doctors and techs. Which, in the grand scheme of things, isn't a bad date. Well, except for that Thing that shall remain nameless.

The head to tumour (okay, so much for remaining nameless) ratio is still the same so that's good. Other than it disappearing altogether or shrinking it's about the best news we can get. His heart is still good.

We formally asked Dr. Schneider and Dr. Mytopher to deliver our son and they formally accepted. And that just feels stupidly good because we seriously heart them. It's felt very foolish to me all along that we would introduce another doctor into the midst when those 2 know us and our boy so well. They are also going to accommodate us as much as possible with just doing the prenatal care at the same time as the ultrasounds which means less time missed from work. AND, the glucose tolerance test that I have to take sometime in the next few weeks? Well, they said "don't bother, we'll just take a vial of blood one of the next times you come in". Lovely, lovely news. It likely sounds trivial in a way but missing more work and seeing more doctors was not necessarily on my list of things I wanted to do in the next 15 weeks.

Hmm, what else? Our boy weighs about a pound and a half already. And you know that little thing babies love to do? The one where they grab their toes while lying on their backs like this:












Well, we got to see Jack do that in my womb. Which, to date, is the coolest thing we've seen on the ultrasound yet.

A BIG little word

The year is 2000. We as a children's ministry leadership team have sat down together to plan out our next series and to come up with actions to some new songs.

Trust, trust in the Lord
Lean not on your own understanding
In all, all of your ways
Acknowledge him
He'll make your path straight

We decide that the action for trust should probably be something like hanging on to a rope for dear life and trying to climb up it, little by little because it's not always easy.

You'll be my God for life
I'll walk by Your side
With your hand in mine
I'll go where You lead me

The year is 2002. I am traveling Europe with 2 of my favorite friends. It is midnight, we are in the middle of rural France with no campground in sight. A song comes on the cd player that makes me smile as I sit in the backseat worrying. It's not always easy.

Trust, trust in the Lord
Lean not on your own understanding
In all, all of your ways
Acknowledge him
He'll make your path straight

We do find a campsite. It is, unfortunately, closed for the season (it's late fall). It is, fortunately, not locked up and we stay anyway.

My eyes can only see
The ground beneath my feet
Your dreams are greater
Your ways are higher
O Lord please show me

The year is 2008. We are teaching the lesson of Gideon in our children's ministry. The one about the fleece and the dew and the Mideonites. Someone casually picks this song. It's been a month (to the day) since we found out that not all is right with this pregnancy.

Trust, trust in the Lord
Lean not on your own understanding
In all, all of your ways
Acknowledge him
He'll make your path straight

Together with the kids I do the actions and sing, hanging on to my rope because it's not always easy.

Bless my thoughts
My dreams my imaginations
Step by step
Your delight, Your creation

Yup, it's Thursday again (Week 24)

Sarah: Hello, my name is Sarah. Loreli is off sick today so I'll be doing your ultrasound.

Cynthia: Hello, Sarah. I'm Cynthia, this is my husband J-L and this is my mom, Margaret.

I climb into bed, pulling up my shirt and pulling my pants down slightly. Mom sits down on the chair and J-L stands beside her.

The transmission gel is squirted on my belly...

J-L: So, is it warm today?

Cynthia: Yup, nice treat, the warmed gel

... and the ultrasound is underway.

Cynthia: Mom, do you see that moving part? That's his heart. And the white lines are his spine. Those smaller white lines are his fingers. And those are his toes and that's...

Sarah: Oh my, I've never seen that before.

Cynthia: Yes, few have.

Sarah: I wonder what I'm supposed to do exactly.

Cynthia: Well, I do know that they measure the circumference every week and do a ratio of it to the size of his head.

Sarah: Oh, okay. I'm not exactly sure where they measure it.

Cynthia: They bring up the shot where you can see the 4 chambers of his heart and they measure the tumour's circumference in that shot so that it's the same measurement they're getting every week.

Cynthia: Plus, they measure his heart rate at his head and his heart as well as at the tumour.

It felt rather fun to be the "expert" in the room. I'd say by about week 36 I'll be able to do my own ultrasounds.

And it was positively lovely having my mom there. I found it a nice distraction to explain things to her instead of just focusing on That Thing.

(The only sucky part was the hour+ wait in the waiting room but 2 techs were off sick so what can you do.)

Things are as good as they could be. His heart is still pumping as it should. He and the tumour are growing at the same rate. And I'm in a much better place than I was last week.

The Unknown

I wasn't going to post this one, I was going to save it for myself and for J-L because sometimes I feel as though I come on here only to whine and other than the bleepin' tumour our life is just so very, very good. But then I asked my sister-in-law and her exact words were (I hope she doesn't mind me quoting her): Transparent is good, whether it's all roses and sunshine or not. And there are many of us who care desperately about how you are, on a day to day basis. Fuel for prayers is not a bad thing.

I'm weary of the unknown. It feels like a large portion of our life is unknown from now until a long time after Jack is born. Here is a list of the unknown:

- can the tumour latch onto his spine or other internal organs
- how big his tumour will get
- if he'll suffer any consequences from the surgery (other than a scar)
- what exactly the tumour is
- when I'll deliver
- whether I'll deliver vaginally or by c-section
- where I'll deliver (there's now a wee bit of talk of sending me to another city)
- whether I'll make it to 40 weeks
- whether he'll live
- will we get to hold him after he is born
- will I be able to breast feed
- when his surgery will be

But there IS one thing we do know. To quote a song that has pretty much incessantly been running through my head for weeks now:

We can laugh and we can cry
And never see the strong hand of love hidden in the shadows

In a more lighthearted vein...

Does anyone else know a 27 month-old who can look at an ultrasound photo and recognize body parts?

And yet more doctors' appointments.

This past Thursday we found out that I will still need to visit my regular GP and eventually my ob-gyn the same as any other pregnancy. As much as they're looking at Jack every single Thursday they are not keeping that close an eye on me. And so it goes. I'm sure there are some of you that wonder why exactly it is I'm whining about doctors' appointments. I should just be glad that we have such an amazing healthcare system and be thrilled that they are keeping such a close eye on this unusual situation. I am. Very, very glad. But the thing that puts the lump in my throat and the tear in my eye with these constant appointments is exactly that word: "constant". Over and over and over again we have to be reminded how nothing is normal and there is a chance nothing will ever be as it was before. And over and over and over again we get asked the same questions and we ask the same questions and we really know nothing more than ever and neither do they.

I remember that when my dad died, it seemed that day took on everlasting meaning. Things either happened before or after August 8, 2003. We have a new date like that. Everything happened before or after January 10, 2008.

And so off we trot to meet with my gp this afternoon. And if she DOESN'T find out that my blood pressure is kind of high and if the number on the scale DOESN'T shock her while then *I* will be amazed.

Quick update (Week 23)

Jack has grown as has his tumour. Thankfully, it's at about the same pace.

We got to see him in 3D today and while that was lovely I don't know that I was emotionally ready to see his tumour that way.

Some days this seems manageable and some days it doesn't. For me, this afternoon fits decidedly in the second category.

The New Normal

It just occurred to me today that at this point in our pregnancy we are typically to have one doctor's appointment a month. Our last appointment with our GP was on January 2nd. Our next one was to be on February 4th. Nice and normal. And yet, in between those two appointments we have had no less than 7 separate doctors' appointments. How much life has changed.

8 hours of our day. (Week 22)

That's right, it's Thursday. And J-L and I sit by the computer with the most hope that we have felt in 2 weeks. There is very little new to report except for this: Jack has grown and if his tumour has grown at all it hasn't grown as fast as he has. And that is a good thing. His heart is still going strong and his size is as it should be at 22.5 weeks. And so, a little glimpse into our Thursdays from now until May 25th.

Random Thoughts on the Himp

- The hardest thing about our situation is the waiting. Waiting for a diagnosis as to what the himp (this is my name for the growth) is. Waiting to find out if it is indeed benign. Waiting to see if the himp gets bigger. Waiting to see if Jack will outgrow the himp. Always waiting.

- I find that I look forward to/dread Thursday afternoons. While I want to see how Jack is doing, and to be able to keep track of the himp's growth, I don't want to know if the himp is getting bigger. I don't want to know if Jack is developing an irregular heartbeat because the blood that is meant for him is being re-routed to the himp. I want to know, but I don't. And it drives me crazy.

- I wonder sometimes if God is tired of my prayer. I am not very imaginative when it comes to praying; it is pretty much "hello God, it's me again. Please let the himp go away. Please let Jack be born safely". I hope God is OK with boring prayer.

- 123 days until our due date of May 25th. One day closer to my little Jack-O-Lantern being born. One day closer to our lives going back to normal, whatever normal is for us now. One day closer to this nightmare being over. One day closer to holding our son.

Please continue to pray for us. As Cynthia said in an earlier post, we are truly humbled and blessed that so many people have us in their thoughts. We are grateful, and we are thankful for all of you; we couldn't go through this without you.

J-L

"Normal"

There was a moment during today's ultrasound when Dr. Schneider typed that word on the screen. I think it is the most beautiful word at the moment. That's probably what I wish for more than anything else.

A normal pregnancy.
A normal birth.
A normal son.

And maybe I get to have ONE of those someday in the next few years. We shall see and we shall hope and we shall pray.

Right now everything still seems to be in a state of uncertainty. They still don't know what it is but they are close to ruling out two things. It does not seem to be a standard tumour and it does not appear to be malignant. And the wait and see game continues... indefinitely.

I asked the surgeon if it is completely unreasonable to think that one day our son will be born, have this removed and will be completely normal in every other way. He (obviously) cannot guarantee anything but he also did not suggest that that is completely unreasonable. I will take any glimpses of hope that I can get.

And back to that word again: Normal. Dr. Schneider typed it in in reference to his heart. His heart seems to be going strong and seems to be completely fine. This is the biggest concern. They now believe that the mass is made up of a lot of blood vessels. A LOT of blood vessels. The tumour seems to be close to the same size as his head. And so they will watch it. We now have a standing date at the women's pavilion on Thursday afternoons. They will watch his heart and they will watch the growth of the mass.

There are things to be thankful for:
- thus far it appears that the growth is 100% external which means it is not affecting his organs
- thus far his heart is beating as it should
- it does not appear to be malignant
- we have an amazing doctor and team looking after us
- we both work at places that are kind to us even though we need many hours off work

There are still many things to pray for:
- our sanity
- Jack's heart to stay strong (I said to J-L that if he lives through all this Jack should be an athlete because his heart will be the strongest out there.)
- no growth in the mass
- 129 (give or take a few) more days in my womb

Again, thank you for your continued prayers. I'm sure we will continue to update this blog with our thoughts and worries but it might not be as continual a flow as we try to live Thursday to Thursday. You can count on at least an entry every Thursday afternoon.

Movements (Week 21)

I think every woman carrying a child obsesses a bit about the movement inside of her. I think that is natural and there is a certain comfort in having a baby that moves a lot (Abby moved CONSTANTLY - still does). This child does not move as much. (I know it's early and he'll likely pick it up as time goes by.) It is very hard (especially once you've been told there's a chance the child may die) NOT to become obsessed with the movements or lack thereof.

Thank you

I have a friend who has mentioned this blog to her mom's group.
I have another friend who has mentioned it in a forum that she belongs to.
My brother has his extended family praying for us.
I know of two internet friends who have linked this blog on their blogs.
My sister linked it on her blog.
My sister-in-law linked it on her blog and that in turn led to another link on someone else's blog.
There could be more that I don't know about (and would love to hear about).

And I feel completely overwhelmed and blessed by it all.

So, thank you.

Running total

Because if nothing else, keeping the stats might be distracting. We found out the news on Thursday. That is 5 days ago. Since that time we have had contact with 13 doctors or techs or social workers. (That doesn't include receptionists and administrative people - strictly the white coats.) And it's only just begun.

And so it goes

I feel as though I need to come on here regularly as I promised I would. And yet, there is just so little to tell.

The appointment with the geneticist felt like a giant waste of time. (Although as a complete aside: He looked exactly what a geneticist should look like. A cross between this and this.) There is nothing genetic about this tumour and I think they knew that all along. Don't get me wrong, I understand the need to look into every possibility but emotionally it becomes very draining to answer the exact same questions over and over and over again.

We met with Dr. Schneider again. I believe she will be our main contact throughout all this and I could almost write sonnets about her. She is lovely and is doing without a doubt what God put her on this earth to do. She is smart and kind and wants so badly to give us answers and to give us hope. But, she can't and I have a feeling that's tremendously hard on her. I have a feeling she is scouring the medical books every night since she first viewed the ultrasound. And we get to hear words like "very unusual" and "extremely rare" and if it's X there are only about 100 cases worldwide which are all very exhausting words to hear and make me want to crawl into bed and close my eyes until this is all over.

Then it was time to head over to the General Hospital for our MRI. Goodness, that was fun (she says, sarcastically). Because (a) Jack moves so much and (b) he's so tiny and (c) (in case we haven't reiterated it enough) they've never seen anything like it I am stuck inside that white tube for what seemed like hours but I believe in total was about 45 minutes. 45 minutes of not moving. About 20 minutes in I felt as though my arms were going to fall off from the pressure of being in the same position. I actually had thoughts of: Was labour worse than this? I know, crazy but that did enter my brain.

And now we wait some more. And it's very doubtful that they'll get good images from the MRI or that they will be at all useful. And it's so hard not to be frustrated. The next step after that is a meeting with the surgeon (who will also not be able to tell us anything). The following step is for them to inject a needle into the tumour to see what type of cells they are and if they are malignant or benign. But that has to wait. They don't want to do it too early as it puts Jack at risk and they want him to be a bit bigger first.

And so it goes.

Quick update

Geneticist appointment at 10:30 am today.
MRI appointment at 1:30 pm today.

And it just feels surreal to have words like "geneticist" and "MRI" and "surgeon" written on my calendar like they're the next concert or a lunch date with someone.

An open letter to God:

Before I start, God, I am going to be asking and saying a lot of things that I already know the answers to, but I need to say them, so please hear me out.

I’m sitting here tonight, not sure what to say, or think, or do, but I feel like I have to write something. I am not the best writer in the world, or in Canada, or even in my own home (Cynthia is blessed with that gift), but I want to tell You a bit about what has transpired to our little family in the last 48 hours.

Our unborn son Jack is only 20 weeks old. He has a tumor on his back. We don’t know what type of tumor it is yet, or how quickly it is growing, but we know that it is quite large, and that his life is in danger. Our boy is healthy; his heart, brain, lungs, and limbs are developing as they should. He is active, and kicking up a storm. The doctors say that he is perfect in every way. Except for one. The tumor. The cursed tumor. The one that I would take onto my rather large body a million times over to avoid my son having it on his tiny little body. The one that has me so angry that I can hardly see or think straight. The one that may kill my beloved Jack. The one.

There are so many questions that I have to, need to ask. How did this happen? Why did it happen? Why Jack? Is Jack in pain from this growth on his back? Was it detectable at the first ultrasound 5 weeks ago? Why us? Can the doctors save him? Will the tumor indeed be benign? Will it attach to his spinal chord? Will he outgrow the tumor to ensure that it is safe for him to be born? How will this affect his quality of life?

I love You, God, and I believe in You. I’ve grown a lot spiritually in the past 4 years, and I have come to know that You are a kind and merciful God. When Cynthia’s dad was killed, her family, while devastated by his death, knew that this was Your plan for him and them, and they accepted it. I learned a lot about faith from that incident. I have seen firsthand Your love time and time again. Bringing Cynthia into my life, and blessing us with two beautiful children, that was Your work, and I am very thankful for it.

So tonight, Lord, I sit before You, Your servant, scared, confused, and humbled, and I have to ask You for something. A favor. A big favor. Something that I’m not sure I have the right to ask You, but will nonetheless. The biggest, most selfish thing that I could ever ask for:

Please don’t take my boy.

I know that he belongs to You, we all belong to You. And I know that You have a plan for all of us. And I know that You may need him in Heaven. But I need him too. I need to see his face, to hear him cry, see him drink from his mother’s breast. I need to see him laugh, and cry, and drive his big sister crazy. I need to see him ride his bike, go to school, learn to drive. I need to see him graduate from college, get married, and have a family of his own. I need to hold him, to kiss him, to give him a karate chop. I need to raise him. I need to teach him about life. I need to teach him about You. I need him.

I have nothing to offer You. Lord. All I have is a father’s burning love for his unborn son that knows no boundaries, and the hope that it is not Jack’s time to be reunited with You.

There will be many more prayers to You, God. Please know that I have only begun to pray. Please don’t get tired of hearing from me. I need You to hear me. I need You to answer my prayers.

Please don’t take my boy.

J-L

The name

J-L and I had been throwing the name Jack around for awhile now. In fact, J-L had been calling him that for weeks (we were quite confident after the first ultrasound that he was indeed a boy). And yet, this morning I asked him to stop. I needed to think about it. It suddenly became very important that the name mean something. That it be significant and not just a name we like. (His middle name is very significant - it is the same as his paternal grandfather). And so I got to work. I searched Bible name sites and sites containing the meanings of names. And then, when I still wasn't satisfied I decided to look at what Jack meant after all.

Gracious gift of God.

And it suddenly became very apparent that that was his name.

It only just occurred to me a few hours ago that we inadvertently named our son after my two brothers in a way. My one brother has the middle name of John and my other brother was called Jack by my father (as a nickname that is really in no way connected to his given name, my dad was that way. One of my nicknames was Trudy). What a wonderful little extra blessing.

Introductory post (Week 20)

And there we are. Our planned 20 week ultrasound. A day we've been looking forward to because we're going to find out the sex this time AND (more importantly) we get to see our baby on screen again. Delightful.

And then the ultrasound tech says: "I'm just going to show the doctor these images, to make sure I've taken all the photos I need." And I think: "Oh no, you're not. Something's wrong."

And something is. And in comes the doctor to probe some more. And he throws out words like "growth" and "mass" and "spina bifida". And it gets difficult to breathe.

And they whisk us over to the Women's Pavilion for a fetal assessment. And 3 more people probe at my belly and look at images and take photos.

It turns out our little baby boy has a giant tumour on his back. And I sit here not knowing what to type after that - except that I know this. We need prayers and lots of them because God can do miracles and we are expecting nothing less at this point.

They know very little right now. They know that he has a tumour on his back and that it is big but they've never seen one in this location and they have no idea if it will grow or if it will just stay the same size. At this point he's healthy in every other way. He is kicking and his lungs and brain and heart are all functioning perfectly well. He doesn't seem the least bit bothered by the tumour at this point. (They are relatively confident that it's NOT spina bifida as they would likely see affects on the brain if it were.)

And now we enter the "wait and see" game. They don't anything and we know even less. We are seeing the pediatric surgeon next Thursday and a geneticist on Monday. (If things stay as they
are our baby will have to have surgery shortly after coming out - hence the surgeon.) We also have to go for an MRI but that has not yet been booked.

What else can I tell you? I guess our prayer is that the tumour either disappear entirely (the miracle) or that it not grow at all and not affect our baby at all (that's one of the biggest concerns - that it grow at too rapid a pace and then also affect the baby and his organs and puts his life at risk).

And, we've decided that we will create a bit of a blog with updates. That way you can keep as informed as you want to. Who knows, maybe the blog will only last a few weeks because the news will be so good so quickly.

And the other thing is, we have named him. Because we need to. Because he is our son. His name is Jackson Louis. You can call him Jack. Because he is our "gracious gift from God".

Cynthia, J-L, Abigail and Jack