A few quick Liam cute things

The event that caused this blog post will come after the following two cute "Liam-isms":

• "Excuse me" --> LIAM TRANSLATOR --> "I'm scuse me"
• "Quesadilla" --> LIAM TRANSLATOR --> "Case of dilla"

So this evening, Liam was eating the last piece of a delicious cake our neighbor brought us after they heard of Noelle's diagnosis.  He was eating it real slowly and avoiding huge sections of it.  He kept asking for something else, but I was determined that since he got the last piece, he was going to eat it.  After a while (and eating around 2/3 of it), he said, "I'm all done.  This cake is too spicy."

Of course, the cake was never spicy, so we just assumed he was using the wrong word, but I didn't press the issue.  We put him to bed.

Two hours later, Grandmommy is cleaning up his dessert plate from the table, and she decides to take a bite of what was left.  She starts laughing at the same time she's cleaning out her mouth.  Liam had used one of his favorite toys at the table it seems: The cake was covered in pepper.  Too spicy, indeed.

On Cancer

Lately I've been thinking I could totally write one of those blogs by moms of special-needs children. For lack of a better name, it would be called "Special Needs Mom." I'd have a unique voice, you see: a mom with chronic illness raising an autistic son, a daughter with cancer, and another son with... a bunch of stuff. I would have lots of followers and get lots of feedback. We'd share stories and tips and together would create a community of support and learning and I would feel heard and understood.... But everyday, life happens. So I think, maybe next year. Or in a few years. Or posthumously.

Today a lot of life has happened. Aside from an evaluation and therapy for Liam, I've spent hours in the hospital. Right at this instant I am holding my infant daughter as she sleeps, IV fluid dripping through a tube and straight into her chest. She will get the first of many doses of chemotherapy sometime tonight while I am sleeping. I strikes me that there are some things I know about her future, and a lot that I don't.

I know her hair will fall out. I know the large bulge in her pelvis, which has practically doubled in size since I first discovered it, will start to shrink. I know she'll lose her appetite and slow down on her growth. I know she'll be in the Lord's hands. That whatever the outcome is, He has her best interest in mind. I don't know how hard this is really going to be, going in and out of the hospital for her doses of chemo, for I don't know how long. I don't know if the chemo alone will be able to shrink her large tumor enough. I don't know if there will be long-term effects. I don't know whether she's in the 65 percent who survive this type of cancer, or the 35 percent who don't. It's okay not to know that, though, because of what I do know: The Lord is in charge, and He loves us. I have a forever family, sealed in the temple of God. Life doesn't end at death. And most of all, (despite occasional panic) I feel an overwhelming peace and confidence from the Spirit of God telling me that everything will be okay.

So my life goes on. In a way, having a couple of high-maintenance boys along with my sweetie daughter helps me cope with her cancer: there is a lot to distract me, to keep me from brooding on depressing things. So while I won't have the time to write the blog I envision, at least I will enjoy being a mom to these three hooligans. We'll figure it out as we go along.

Here are some pictures we took for fun one day while I was pregnant with Noelle:

Jack Fell Down and Broke His Crown...

And Noelle came tumbling after.

I dropped Noelle down the stairs. It doesn't sound good, and it wasn't. The stairs are wood: no carpet to soften the blow. I tripped while carrying her a few weeks ago; I just got a few bruises, but it was much worse for her. The short version is that she cracked her skull and we were in the hospital for a few days.

The longer version is that the day after we fell, her head was really starting to swell, becoming quite misshapen. I had one of those mothering instincts that said: "That just isn't right. I'm taking her to the doctor." And, indeed, it wasn't right: the doctor said to take her to the ER. So the fun started.

Child Protection always gets involved with injuries like this. I told my story countless times. The police ran a full investigation (complete with a search of our house at 4:30am; I've had my Miranda rights read to me: check that off the list!). Noelle got a CT scan, X-rays from head to toe, and other things she hated. I stayed up all night the first day in the hospital. We were released later the next day, but went back again the day after.

Unfortunately I didn't have a camera, so we couldn't take a picture of her with all of her sweet wires coming from her.

I had taken her back again because she vomited, was lethargic, not eating, and running a fever. Turns out she had a cold. But given her injury, you don't want to take chances.

Now she's doing great, apart from having decided she likes to be held a lot more. They said the fracture would easily heal on its own. There was a question as to whether there'd been any bleeding on the brain, which could have caused brain damage, but despite a disagreement between the radiologist and the neurosurgeon, they decided there wasn't (phew!). All the same, they had us give her anti-seizure medication for a week, just in case.