Henry and I have wonderful news to share with all of you who have been following our family on 'Harry's Journey'.
We are thrilled to let all of you know that I am 15 weeks pregnant with a baby boy, due March 24th 2010. We decided we wanted to know whether we were having a boy or girl - we've had enough surprises to last a lifetime these past 1.5 years, and for all three of us it was important to know what to expect in March.
Lydia is slowly coming around to the idea of another brother. She *really* wants a little sister, so was pretty disappointed to find out the baby is a boy. But now she has 5 months to adjust to that fact!
Henry and I are both a bit shocked - I was sure the baby was a girl, because so far my pregnancy has been much more like Lydia's than Harry's.
I'll try to scan our first ultrasound pictures, which we got on Monday. We got a great shot of his profile and to me he looks exactly like Lydia and Harry - same de Jong nose and same mouth as his big brother and sister. I am sure we'll get another blond haired, blue/green eyed clone of Henry!!!
Love,
Cynthia
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Monday, September 21, 2009
Cancer Mom
This is a poem another Cancer Mom posted on her blog yesterday. Her son Victor has been fighting neuroblastoma for *five* years, since he was a wee 7 month old baby. Victor's cancer has relapsed severely and his family is considering their options. So please say a prayer for a little boy named Victor, who just wants to go to Kindergarten this year.
This poem breaks my heart but also rings so very, very true, especially the part about being able to direct a wagon and an IV pole (and 5 or 6 different lines of tubes running from a variety of machines on said IV pole to a port directly into your child's chest) to a playroom without hitting anything ...
Cancer MOMS
I belong to a special group of women
My friends and I have an amazing bond.
We never wanted to be in this group,
Yet we are in, for life.
Maybe we have met, maybe we haven’t,
Yet our love for each other is boundless.
We know the pain the other one feels,
And we share our victories small or huge.
Words like chemo, IV, Zofran , bald heads
Are always parts of our conversations,
As well as roidrage, tears, and meltdowns…
We always know where the closest puke bucket is ,
We can hold it in one hand and if necessary,
Swallow the sandwich the other hand was holding.
We can drive to the hospital ,
Park in the dark parking garage
Make our way thru the halls of the hospital
And to the appropriate floor,
Settle in a room, turn the TV on,
Give instructions to the head nurse,
Silence loud beeping IV pumps,
Direct a wagon AND an IV pole
To the playroom without hitting anything
Make our way back to the correct room
And all this, mind you,
With our eyes closed at any given time.
We know how to draw blood from lines
Sticking out of little kids chests.
We can hold them down with one hand ,
While a nasogastric tube is inserted in their little nose,
And be on the phone with their dads at the same time.
We can live for days on hospital food,
And on maybe only one meal a day .
We know the names of up to 20 different drugs ,
Their purpose, dosage and time to be taken.
We are always on call, 24 hours a day ,
Seven days a week.
We are used to not always looking our best,
Hard to do with only a few hours of sleep .
Make up , hair styling, skirts are words of the past .
We have become addicted to texting ,
hospital, clinic, home, wherever…
We talk sometimes at all hours of the night ,
We know we can count on someone to be up.
Then for one of us , the world stops .
She has to walk away, broken.
This job is over .
The job is over, but the fight is on.
Remember , I said we were in this forever.
We are friends, sisters, temporary nurses,
We are each others rock, each others punching bag,
We listen , we vent , we cry , we laugh together .
We share our lives and our deaths
We share our pain and our victories.
We are strong, but not by choice ,
Sometimes we win , sometimes we lose,
But never are we defeated .
We are not nurses
We are not doctors,
We are cancer moms…
Peace,
Cynthia
This poem breaks my heart but also rings so very, very true, especially the part about being able to direct a wagon and an IV pole (and 5 or 6 different lines of tubes running from a variety of machines on said IV pole to a port directly into your child's chest) to a playroom without hitting anything ...
Cancer MOMS
I belong to a special group of women
My friends and I have an amazing bond.
We never wanted to be in this group,
Yet we are in, for life.
Maybe we have met, maybe we haven’t,
Yet our love for each other is boundless.
We know the pain the other one feels,
And we share our victories small or huge.
Words like chemo, IV, Zofran , bald heads
Are always parts of our conversations,
As well as roidrage, tears, and meltdowns…
We always know where the closest puke bucket is ,
We can hold it in one hand and if necessary,
Swallow the sandwich the other hand was holding.
We can drive to the hospital ,
Park in the dark parking garage
Make our way thru the halls of the hospital
And to the appropriate floor,
Settle in a room, turn the TV on,
Give instructions to the head nurse,
Silence loud beeping IV pumps,
Direct a wagon AND an IV pole
To the playroom without hitting anything
Make our way back to the correct room
And all this, mind you,
With our eyes closed at any given time.
We know how to draw blood from lines
Sticking out of little kids chests.
We can hold them down with one hand ,
While a nasogastric tube is inserted in their little nose,
And be on the phone with their dads at the same time.
We can live for days on hospital food,
And on maybe only one meal a day .
We know the names of up to 20 different drugs ,
Their purpose, dosage and time to be taken.
We are always on call, 24 hours a day ,
Seven days a week.
We are used to not always looking our best,
Hard to do with only a few hours of sleep .
Make up , hair styling, skirts are words of the past .
We have become addicted to texting ,
hospital, clinic, home, wherever…
We talk sometimes at all hours of the night ,
We know we can count on someone to be up.
Then for one of us , the world stops .
She has to walk away, broken.
This job is over .
The job is over, but the fight is on.
Remember , I said we were in this forever.
We are friends, sisters, temporary nurses,
We are each others rock, each others punching bag,
We listen , we vent , we cry , we laugh together .
We share our lives and our deaths
We share our pain and our victories.
We are strong, but not by choice ,
Sometimes we win , sometimes we lose,
But never are we defeated .
We are not nurses
We are not doctors,
We are cancer moms…
Peace,
Cynthia
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
