Welcome to the World, Padraig Shelby!

Folks, we have a baby! Padraig Shelby Crimmins made his debut on Thursday, September 8, at 11:14 am.  He weighs 8 lbs, 2 oz and is 19.25 inches in length.  He has a light covering of strawberry blond hair on his head and is, in my humble opinion, simply perfect.

As it turned out, Padraig had his own idea about when to join the world.  The morning after I wrote that last, pessimistic eviction notice post, I began to feel very mild contractions which increased throughout the day.  By the time we headed to bed that night, the contractions were more regular and much more painful.  When I had a series of contractions that were less than 5 minutes apart, we decided it was time to head to the hospital.

At this point in the night, of course, our boys were asleep.  So we had to call upon a wonderful friend, Heather Bruskin, who raced over to stay with the boys so that we could dash to the hospital.  Heather, we love you!  Thank you so much for being there for us!!

Once at the hospital, they took me back into triage where I learned that, despite the contractions, I was still only 2.5 cm dilated.  Also, the contractions were spaced out further (10 minutes apart) than they had been at home.  The nurse proclaimed me to be NOT in active labor.

Let me tell you, friends, when you are doubled over in pain and also 1 week past your due date and a nurse tell you that you are not in active labor...well, it's a little hard to stomach (pun intended).  The idea of going home for a few hours only to come back for our induction later that day was enough to send me over the edge.  However, just like with my labor with Deaglan, the baby was experiencing some erratic heart rates during my contractions which gave my ob-gyn reason to hold me in triage for more monitoring to make sure baby was okay.  So there I sat on a very uncomfortable cot, moaning in pain, for about 4 hours while they monitored the baby's heart rate.  Everything was stable...except my attitude, that is.  Haha.  Thankfully, when they checked my cervix again, I was slightly more dilated.  3-4 cm now.  This, combined with my induction date that same day, was enough to score me a room.  We moved into Labor and Delivery around 3 am.

Things seemed to move pretty quickly after that.  I was given the epidural a couple of hours later, in addition to pitocin to shorten the length between my contractions.  By the time they checked my cervix again at 10 am, I was fully dilated.  It took about an hour to get all the necessary people in place, so I started pushing around 11 am.  Three pushes and viola!  We had our precious baby boy!

Padraig is Gaelic for Patrick.  We are playing around with the pronunciation right now a bit, but we are leaning toward Pad-rig instead of Paw-drig.  Both are great.  Hopefully we'll come to a decision soon so the poor kid isn't totally confused!  His middle name, Shelby, is a family name on my mother's side.  You might remember that my mom's brother who passed away about 3 years ago was named Shelby.  He was a wonderful soul, full of character and kindness.  We are thrilled to think that our Padraig Shelby will share a name with such a special person.

I will write again soon with pictures of our other two rascals meeting Padraig for the first time last Friday.  Thanks for your well wishes and thoughts!  We are mighty appreciative.

Eviction Notice

Here we are yet again.  Another stubborn boy refusing to evacuate my uterus.  Another induction date on the books.  Unless this wee little guy starts to make his way out in the next 36 hours, he will be "assisted" out starting on Thursday, September 8th, when our induction is scheduled.  We are supposed to call at 6 am that morning to see if there is room at the inn.  If so, we'll head right over.  If not, we'll have to wait until we get the go ahead.  Either way, we should have Baby Boy #3 in our arms at some point Thursday or Friday.  Good Lord, I hope this induction doesn't take as long as it did with Fionny.  Surely not with a third baby...right?  Fingers crossed.  Hopefully the next update I post will include pictures of our newest little prince.  Until then, folks.

Overdue

For those of you keeping track at home...yep, still no baby.  We are now 3 days past our due date of September 1st.  But who's counting?

This girl.  I'm counting.

You'd think after 3 pregnancies, all of which have gone over the assigned due date, I would be old hat at this waiting game.  After all, as several folks have reminded me, it's not like it's going to get easier once Baby arrives.  I should just chill out and enjoy this relative calm before the storm.  Right?

Right.  Well, folks, I am here to tell you that I am failing miserably at being patient this time around.  Yep, give me a big fat F for Patience.  I deserve it.

Most of my impatience, of course, is due to my sheer excitement to meet this newest little member of our family.  I can't wait to hold our Baby Boy in my arms, nurse him, name him, love him, introduce him to his brothers...the list goes on and on.  It's so strange to carry around this piece of our family for 10 months without yet knowing his face, his voice, his personality. I cannot wait to begin knowing this child.  I cannot wait.

But there is more.  Although I don't think of myself as a particularly anxious person normally, pregnancy definitely brings up a string of anxieties for me.  At first, of course, it's anxiety about the pregnancy being healthy.  Will it continue or end early in miscarriage which can be so devastating?  Once I am past the first trimester, my anxiety transfers into concern about the growing baby.  Is everything okay?  Is his development on track?  Later in the pregnancy, my anxiety becomes about getting the baby to full term so his organs are fully formed.  Once I reach full term with a baby, I can breathe easier and relax. Baby is fully cooked.

For older mothers, or at least for me, the relaxation doesn't last too long.  You see, there are increased risks for older moms in late pregnancy.  The placenta can deteriorate at a faster rate, and the risk of stillbirth is slightly greater.  Many doctors do not recommend going at all past one's due date once you are AMA or Advanced Maternal Age (yep, I'm an old lady at the ripe age of 39).  My doctors have been a little wishy-washy on the timing of an induction.  I have gotten mixed opinions, depending on which doctor I happen to be seeing at any given appointment.  One discouraged me from going past my due date at all and said that she offered induction at 39 weeks.  Another refused to induce me until I was several days past my due date.  It's enough to make one's head spin.  To be honest, the whole thing has made me a little nervous and a lot ready for this pregnancy to end already in a smooth delivery of a healthy baby.

The good news is that I have been carefully monitored over the past 5 weeks, and everything looks great.  Amniotic fluid is still at a very healthy level, baby's heart rate is strong and his kicks are regular.  My last appointment was Friday, and I was dilated 2 cm.  Baby's head was way down, and his position is great.  I requested an induction date for this coming week if he doesn't come on his own, and I was told that someone will be calling me with a date.  The holiday weekend is throwing a bit of a wrench into things, so I don't expect to hear until Tuesday now about the induction date possibilities.  But hopefully no later than Thursday of this coming week.  Just a few more days.  We can do this!  Right?

I'll keep you posted once we have an induction date...or, even better, a baby!  Thank you to everyone for your check-ins, your thoughts and prayers, and your kind words over these last couple of weeks.  We look forward to sharing happy news soon!  I will close with this recent picture of Deaglan who is obviously not stressing a bit about a missed due date.  I should really take my cues from him, my soon-to-be middle son.  Not a care in the world, this kid, except when he will get another pouch of apple sauce.  Until next time, folks...

Letting Go

I turned on my computer early this morning (thank you, insomnia) to write a post about Fionny going to overnight camp later this week and the emotions that accompany this for me.  Letting go of him for 4 nights (he will go Tuesday -- Saturday).  Falling asleep without him being under my roof, snug and safe in his bunk bed.  For 4 nights.  Waking up in the morning without seeing his sweet face standing over me and then cuddling him when he inevitably crawls into bed with us for 5 minutes before declaring that he is "SO hungry" and needs to go downstairs to eat breakfast.  For 4 nights.

Before hunkering down to write this post though, I checked Facebook briefly.  Just a quick check.  Sandwiched between the perky, upbeat posts of families on vacation, there were two shared posts by a couple of cancer mom friends about children I don't know.  One is local, one is not.  One is in the PICU at our hospital, fighting for her life.  Her parents have asked people to pray for a miracle.  Barring a miracle, they fully expect that they will lose their little girl sometime very soon.  She is 3.  The other child, who is not local, died last night at 6 pm. She was 10.

These parents are confronting the idea of "letting go" on a level that I fear more than anything in this world.  As hard as it is to say goodbye to Fionn for 4 nights, it is just that.  Four nights.  I think the thing that makes those 4 nights so hard is that it taps into that fear for me.  That primal fear that he is not mine to keep.  That Conor and I could find ourselves at the end of a long and terrible road someday with Fionny (or any of our children).  It is terrifying.  My thoughts are with these families this week as I confront my own minor feelings of letting go.  And I will never take for granted how lucky we have been thus far in this journey.  Never.

As it is in our incredibly lucky universe, my task tomorrow is this.  I get to pack up my little boy for 4 nights of overnight camp at Camp Sunrise which is a camp in Annapolis for kids with pediatric cancer.  Most of the kids are treated at Johns Hopkins which sponsors the camp.  We learned of Camp Sunrise by a University of Maryland student and pediatric cancer survivor whom we met last year as part of Fionn's experience with Team Impact.  He highly recommended the camp and said he attended it as a camper and now returns as a counselor.  Fionn heard "camp" and immediately gave it the thumbs up.  Fionn loves anything "camp."  Recently, following one of my many proclamations about how Fionn "loved" something, my mom said, "Fionn seems to love everything."  I have been thinking about this ever since she said it earlier in the week.  There are plenty of things Fionn despises (reading, writing, and regular non-chocolate milk come to mind), but in general...yes.  He loves life.  He loves fun.  New adventures.  New friends.  ANY activity.  It is one of my favorite things about my boy.  He runs headfirst into any and all new experiences without a moment's hesitation.  And he never looks back.  What's more, he immediately seems comfortable and at ease in his new surroundings.  It is so different than me.  So enviable to me.

So I shouldn't have been surprised at all when we picked Fionn up from his first day of day camp at Camp Sunrise last night at 5:15 pm (after Conor literally peeled him away from the other campers), and he ran to the car with an excited grin on his face.  "Mom, it was so much fun!  And, Mom, there are a LOT of other kids who are staying OVERNIGHT!  They are going to sit by the fire and SLEEP there! I wish I could do that too!"

I felt simultaneously elated and sick to my stomach.  I truly love that Fionn feels confident enough and ready to spend time away from home.  And I truly trust the camp and the staff.  They have oncologists there at all times and are completely well-versed in everything related to Fionn's nightly chemo regimen as well as any fever emergency that might arise.  Plus, it's only 30 miles away.  We can easily pick him up at the first sign of homesickness or sickness in general.  And yet...four nights.  What if he cries?  What if someone is mean to him?  What if he is mean to someone else?  What if it rains and storms, and I'm not there to make sure that he is safe and dry?  What if he hates it?  All of these thoughts came tumbling through my mind like rapid-fire snowflakes as I sat in the car with my son last night.

It would have been possible to say no, of course.  To lie to Fionn and tell him that he isn't able to stay as an overnight camper because we signed him up as a day camper.  It would have been so easy to pretend that the director DIDN'T tell me earlier that day that Fionn could stay overnight any and all nights that he wanted.  That he has a bed and a cabin and 2 counselors already assigned.

But looking at the shining eyes of my son last night in the car, it was clear that there was only one real answer.  "Yes, Fionny, you can do it.  You can stay overnight at camp."

"Yay," he said, bouncing a little in his booster seat.  "I love camp."

Letting go, I am learning, can be a blessing.  I am lucky to have the luxury to let my little boy out on a short tether.  It is his choice.  Our choice.  Letting go, I am learning, can be a luxury.  When it's temporary.  And natural.  And desired.

Keep those other cancer families in your hearts this week if you would.  No parent should ever truly have to let their children go in the way that these families are encountering this week.  It's so unnatural, so wrong.  Screw you, Cancer.  SCREW YOU.

Summer Check-In

I know it's been light years since I checked in.  Sincere apologies, friends.  Trust me when I say that there just hasn't been too much to report.  We have simply been too busy living and having a great summer to do much blog-posting.  Oh, it's just been a wonderful summer so far.  I can't tell you the joy I derive from average things ever since Fionn got sick.  Finishing off a bottle of sunscreen because we have been outside SO much.  Watching my boys run through the sprinkler.  Hanging out with friends at the pool.  It's all so normal and so absolutely exquisite all at the same time.

Speaking of exquisite, we just returned from a fabulous week at the beach in Rhode Island.  We were there with 4 other families, and it was just so much fun.  Even though our boys argue constantly when it's just the two of them, adding so many other kids to the mix had a fabulous buffering effect.  There were arguments among the kids to be sure, but it was SO nice to have a break from my two boys fighting each other at least.  It was also just so nice to spend time as a family since I feel like we haven't had too much family togetherness time lately due to Conor's work schedule and a lot of Spring travel.

Here are a few pictures from our amazing trip.

A quick note about the last photo.  I am 8 months pregnant now!  It has mainly felt like a long pregnancy so far, but I have to say that these last couple of months have flown.  It's hard to believe that Baby Brother will be here in just 8 weeks!  I am feeling great for the most part.  A little lower back pain, but nothing too terrible.  A little heartburn, but nothing some Zantac can't fix.  I feel lots of movement from the little guy, and I can tell he is getting bigger because his feet are definitely pummeling my ribs at different times.  But again....it's nothing too terrible, and it's honestly a joy to feel his movements.  Definitely my favorite thing about pregnancy.  I am enjoying this pregnancy, I really am.  That said, I can't wait to meet this little bugger.  There is always a surreal element to having a baby until he is literally in my arms.  I can't wait for that.  I truly can't.

After a wonderful week in Rhode Island, Fionn and I are back at clinic today.  It's Fionn's every-three-months spinal tap day which makes for a longer morning.  In preparation for the surgery, he couldn't have breakfast which often makes these mornings difficult.  Not today.  Fionn is handling it like a champ so far.  Of course, his head is buried in the I-Pad, but that's okay.  Whatever it takes.  That's my motto.

One last thing before I sign off.  We are gearing up for Fionn's annual Lemonade Stand.  All proceeds benefit pediatric cancer research.  This is our 3rd lemonade stand, and we are so excited to be doing it again.  It's always such a fun event.  This year we are pairing with the Town of Kensington which is having their monthly Summer Movie Night that night.  Our stand will take place across the street at St. Paul Park so that we can maximize foot traffic to the Movie Night event.  We will also hold the stand a bit later than usual -- 5:30-7 pm -- so that folks can go straight from lemonade sipping to moon bouncing!  There will indeed be a moon bounce, food trucks, and a fire truck touch.  The movie will start after sunset around 8:30 pm.  Here is the link for our fundraising page!

https://www.alexslemonade.org/mypage/1246943

Our Cup Runneth Over

Friends, it's been an emotional couple of weeks.  Maybe it's the pregnancy hormones talking, but I have been on the verge of tears at least once a day.  For the best reasons.  In short, I have been touched to my core by the goodness of people.  By the love people have shown to our son and our family.  We are overwhelmed, deeply moved, and filled to the brim with gratitude. 

Shortly after I posted my last blog about Fionn losing his hair, I received an incredible email from a friend, Lauren Dworkin, who had organized a few other families in the neighborhood.  All of their little boys wanted to shave their heads to support Fionn in his hair loss.  She said there were at least 3 families, and she expected there would be more as the week continued.  Would Fionn want to do this?  A group shave after the baseball game that coming weekend?

Folks, I have to tell you that I was unable to respond to this email for a solid 45 minutes because I was so emotionally undone.  I cried the best, biggest, fattest tears, and it was exactly what I needed to do.  As I mentioned in my last post, Fionn's hair loss has been difficult for me in ways I didn't anticipate.  It was a jerk back to reality when we were perfectly happy living in Dreamland for the greater part of this past year.  We realized that we would probably be shaving Fionn's hair quite soon, and I have to tell you that the thought of Fionn returning to school with a bald head and all the questions and stares this would inevitably entail....Well, it made my heart ache for him.  Fionn is a trooper and a warrior and the strongest person I know in so many ways, but he is still just a little boy.  He wants to be normal and liked and accepted.

So when Lauren suggested that maybe Fionn wouldn't have to be alone with his shaved head, I felt the clouds part a little bit.  This could work.  This could help. 

But, of course, it had to be Fionn's decision.  When he arrived home from school, I asked him what he thought about some of his friends shaving their heads with him that coming weekend after the baseball game.  The shy smile that spread across his face is one that I will never forget.  "Mom, Mom...Wait," he said with his palms pressed to the table.  "Myles, Everett, and Colby would all shave their heads too?"  Then that smile again. "Okay, I will do that."

And so we did. That next Sunday after baseball, the kids and their families all gathered at the Dworkins house for a Shave Fest.  Fionn didn't want to go first.  He was hesitant.  No problemo.  Myles Dworkin stepped right up to the plate and received a buzz from the best (in my humble opinion).  

Fionn followed the brave lead of Myles and went second.  Then Colby, Sam, Alex, Reilly and Will.  Before long, we had a house full of bald-headed little boys.  It was the most beautiful sight. 

If there was any doubt in my mind that Shave Fest was the most amazing thing ever (and there wasn't, by the way), it would have immediately drained away the following morning as we headed out to the bus stop.  Fionn's reaction to his new shaved head had been mostly positive.  It bothered him a little when he tried to sleep that first night (strange sensation of bald head on pillow, I guess), but he was largely okay with it.  But that morning as we approached the bus stop, Fionn stopped.  He touched his head nervously.  He hid behind a telephone pole.  "I don't want anyone to see my bald head," he said with a frown and tried to make himself as small as possible behind the wooden pole.  He asked me to go over to the other families waiting at the bus stop and tell them what had happened.  The hair loss, the shaving.  Debrief them, if you will.   

So Deaglan and I walked over to the small group gathered at the bus stop.  I started to explain that Fionn was feeling self-conscience and why.  I told them about the hair loss and the shave over the weekend.  

Then all of a sudden, everything changed.

The Pearson boys from down the street rounded the corner on their way to the bus stop.  Their backpacks were jangling, their step was jaunty, and their heads were bald as a baby's bottom.  Immediately, my boy came out from behind the pole and sprinted through the park toward the Pearson kids.  Laughing, smiling.  At ease.  They boarded the bus together, one bald bunch of little boys. 

And that was it.

But then it wasn't actually it.  A couple of days later, I received a text from John Tillman, the head coach for Maryland Men's Lacrosse.  As you remember, Fionn has been part of an amazing experience called Team Impact this year which pairs kids with cancer with a college sports team.  Fionn was matched with U of MD Men's Lacrosse, and I cannot tell you how important this team has become in Fionn's life.  Everything is Terps, Terps, Terps now.  He talks constantly about his "team" and when he can see "the guys" again.  He absolutely, 100% feels that he is an integral part of this team.  And that is 100% because of Coach Tillman, Coach McFarlane, and the incredible bunch of players.  

Coach Tillman's text was inquiring about Fionn's hair loss.  At the previous week's game which Fionn attended, Conor had mentioned to Coach Tillman that Fionn's hair was falling out again.  He mentioned that we were staring down a bald head at some point soon.  That night, I told Coach Tillman that we did indeed shave Fionn's hair last Sunday.  I assured him that Fionn was doing fine, and the hair loss was by no means indicative of a negative turn in his treatment or prognosis (many of the players were wondering).

The next day, I received another text with a picture.  The picture showed Coach Tillman with his newly shaved head.  An hour later, I received another picture of two of the players with shaved heads.  And then another one with two more players a few minutes later.  

And then, a few days later, we received this.

Friends, there is just no way to describe how it feels to have this sort of support for our little boy.  And, you know, I don't think I even need to describe it.  I think you all get it.  I think you all feel it.  Cancer is a sonofabitch.  God, is it ever.  It takes, and it takes, and it takes.  But there is one thing I have seen during this journey.  And I have seen it in spades.  Goodness. Oh, there is so much goodness and love in this world.  So much kindness.  We have been bathed in it lately.  Just marinated in love.  I cannot, will not EVER be able to adequately express how much this love buoys up our family.  Thank you, from the deepest depths of my heart, for supporting our little boy.  

I will close with a link to the article that ran on the U of MD website about the lacrosse team shaving their heads.  It's a pretty awesome article with some adorable pictures of the guys with Fionn.

http://www.umterps.com/ViewArticle.dbml?DB_OEM_ID=29700&ATCLID=210968088

Everything I Learned About Life I Learned From My Nearly 6-Year-Old

I'll just say it.  Fionn's hair is falling out again.  It started last week.  Strands and strands of blond hair glinting on his shoulders and his pillow.  Small clumps in the bathtub.  Hairs falling in his face and his food when he eats.

Hair loss is not something we expected at this stage of treatment.  It's not the norm, not what's expected.  But it's not entirely rare either, according to our doctors.  It happens.  Fionn is still taking chemo every single night which attacks rapidly dividing cells.  That includes hair cells.  It's shitty and no fun, but it happens. 

On the list of side effects that my child could be experiencing from chemo, this is not a big deal.  I know this.  Logically, I know this.  And yet.  My heart hurts every time I run my fingers through his hair and pull out a small handful of golden strands.  I wince when I see his head in the bathtub, so sparsely covered now with hair when it's wet.  It a small price to pay for the life-saving effects of Fionn's chemo, but it hurts just the same. 

When Fionn's hair grew back last year, it represented a return to normalcy for him.  For all of us. A return to health.  Vibrancy.  I hated cutting it even for small trims.  As if Fionn were Samson, and his hair gave him strength somehow.  With his new hair, he started to blend in with his peers again.  He was the boy with the curls, not the sick kid with the bald head.  I loved that he got to blend and be "normal."  I liked it for myself too.  It was nice that there wasn't always an elephant in the room when meeting new friends. 

We aren't sure if all of his hair will fall out, but it's looking like it's headed in that direction.  We will probably buzz cut him soon, and then perhaps shave it if it continues to fall out.  It will be Fionn's choice, of course.  He told me today that he would like to shave it again as long as he gets a special ice cream sandwich afterwards.

Fionn, my amazing child, has been taking all of this in stride.  When I asked him if he was bothered by the hair loss, he squinted up at me and shrugged, "Eh, kind of."  But then he proceeded to pull out handfuls of hair from his head and pile them up in a bowl to make "hair ice cream."  Fionn then served this ice cream to his little brother who squealed with delight and tried to pull out some of his own hair to make his own frozen concoction.  To no avail, of course.

So there you have it.  When life gives you hair loss, just make hair ice cream.  Words of wisdom from Fionny Crimmins.

Home Again

I just wanted to post a quick update for those of you who might be keeping up with Fionn solely through this blog.  Fionn was discharged on Sunday morning from the hospital once his ANC reached 150.  Because Fionn is in Maintenance, his doctors felt that 150 was good enough for discharge.  I'm pleased to report that Fionn looks and feels great, and he even returned to school today.  The docs think that this latest ANC plummet was a result of a virus he is fighting.  Fionn is definitely coughing and sniffling.  I think the virus, coupled with a recent onslaught of medication (spinal infusion, Vincristine, and 5 days of steroids the week before last) worked together to lower his counts so dramatically.  Fionn is currently on none of his chemo medication, but we will return to clinic on Monday the 9th to check his counts.  I am sure at that point his chemo will resume, although surely at a reduced level until his counts return to "normal."

As always, thanks for your thoughts and prayers.  We are so very appreciative.  I will finish with a picture of Fionn with the superheroes who visited the hospital last Friday.  I've said it before, but I'll say it again.  Children's Hospital is such a special place.

Curveball

Man, we are so out of practice. When Fionn spiked a 102 degree fever yesterday, I didn't think much of it.  I figured we'd run to the ER, get a dose of antibiotics and be home in time for a late dinner.  It was a nuisance, a huge one, but not a big deal.  Conor was able to meet us at the hospital, so I took Deaglan with me.  I didn't take a bag of stuff for Fionn or for Conor or myself.  My arrogance that Fionn's counts would be totally fine to go home was huge.

And, as it turned out, dead wrong.  So when the ER doc walked in and announced that Fionn's ANC was 20, I did a double-take.  "20?" I said incredulously.  "As in 2-0?"

Yep.  20.  As in piss poor.  Just for reminder's sake, ANC stands for Absolute Neutrophil Count.  It is basically a measure of the quality of Fionn's immune system or his ability to fight infection.  A normal ANC count for a regular person would be 1500-8000.  Fionn's ANC count is supposed to hover somewhere between 1000-2000 while he is still in treatment.  If it gets too high, the concern is that his body is not metabolizing the oral chemo that we are giving him every night which leaves room for leukemia cells to sneak back into his body.  Fionn's ANC 10 days ago at clinic was 2000.

Now it is 20.

If the ANC of a feverish oncology patient dips below 200, it is an immediate hospitalization.  They need to determine the cause of the low ANC and make sure it's not something bacterial or some other sort of infection at play.  They also just need to keep Fionn safe and stable. 

So here we are.  Inpatient again for the first time in a year.  Fionn, as you all know by this point, was not at all upset by this news.  He has been very eager for another hospital stay.  And can you blame him?  Here is what happened on the way up to the 4th Floor tonight.

 

This is just another reason to love Children's National.  Fionn showed interest in the medevac helicopter pilot with whom he shared an elevator ride.  Five minutes later the pilot was escorting him onto the roof for a quick look-see. 

Thank you all for your thoughts, prayers and offers to help.  We will have a better idea of what's going on when we meet with our oncologist later today.  As it turns out, the Timing Gods were smiling on us yet again in terms of this mini-crisis.  My wonderful mom just arrived last night for a visit and will be with us until Tuesday of next week.  Deaglan was so thrilled to see her and even more excited to hear that he will get to spend the whole day with her tomorrow while I return to the hospital to be with Fionny.  I expect that tomorrow will involve a lot of dancing to the jukebox tunes in the living room since that is what they did immediately upon entering the house last night.

I'll keep you posted on Fionn's status as soon as we know anything.  Thanks again for your love and thoughts.

Party of Five

It is so fun to have some happy news to share about our family that has nothing to do with cancer.  Friends, we could not be more thrilled to announce that we are expecting our THIRD baby boy late this summer!  I am 20 weeks pregnant this week which means the due date is technically September 1st.  That said, I am hopeful that this little guy might decide to be more timely than his brothers.  A wee bit early even.  That would be novel, especially since Fionn and Deaglan have stayed stubbornly put until 41 weeks and beyond.

Fionn and Deaglan.  I can't believe there will be another little boy following them around before long.  I will have you know that our Fionn could not be more excited or adorable about this baby.  At least once a day, he says something to the effect of, "I am SO excited about this baby!" or "I just can't believe we are going to have another baby in our family!"  Deaglan, on the other hand, seems completely oblivious.  Or maybe he's in denial.  I am definitely a little worried that my sensitive, emotional little Dex might struggle the baby arrives.  Another, pint-size little guy to steal his adorable thunder?  Dexie don't play that.  But we'll see.  Maybe he'll surprise us and roll with it better than I think.

Here's one more ultrasound picture of the wee one.  It's 3D so a it's a little freaky.  I love it though.  We've never had a 3D image of one of our babies, and it blows my mind how much you can distinguish about his features already.  I think he looks just like Conor's baby pictures.  Fionn, however, was very concerned that Baby Brother will be orange.  It's an understandable concern, I must say, but something tells me we're going to be okay.

A friend asked me recently if Fionn's health issues made it easier or harder to decide to have another baby.  It's such a good question, and I've thought about it so much since this friend posed it to me.  All I know is that we always wanted more children, and Fionn's cancer diagnosis never altered that desire.  I can only speak for myself, but I think cancer's presence in our lives made me feel even more strongly that I wanted another child in our family.  I'm not sure exactly why, but my best guess is that it has to do with realizing how important family is to me.  And how important my boys are to one another.  When they aren't fighting (which is half the time...ah, 75% of the time, who am I kidding?), it is simply magical between them.  They understand each other in a way that Conor and I can't touch.  They make each other laugh hysterically.  Fionn might torture Dexie most of the day, but he won't hesitate to tell you that Dex is his favorite person on this planet.  I look so forward to seeing the dynamic between them change but hopefully (eventually) flourish as we add another little boy to the mix.

Three boys.  Good Lord.  Sometimes I still can't believe it.  I just hope my house is still standing in 5 years.  For that matter, I hope I am still standing in 5 years.

Have a great week, folks.

Haunted

Tonight I put Deaglan to sleep as I often do.  I turned out the light, turned on the sound machine, and arranged all of his many blankets and pillows around him the way that he likes.  Deaglan lowered his head and snuggled in.  Then suddenly he shot up in bed and grabbed his forehead.  He started to cry.  I had no idea what had happened.  I didn't hear him hit his head.  I didn't see anything happen.

And that's when the thought crossed my mind.  What if it's a tumor?  What if Deaglan has cancer too?  How many stories have I heard from other cancer parents that start just like this?  "My child was fine, and then he wasn't."  "My child suddenly experienced a sharp pain in her leg/arm/head/chest, and that was the cancer."

Now I'll pause here to say that I know that all parents have these catastrophic thoughts about their children from time to time.  The nightmare scenarios.  The worst case possibilities.  We all do it.  It's part of parenting, this insidious worrying about your children.  I know I certainly had these thoughts prior to Fionn's diagnosis.

I think the difference is that now I know that cancer is not just a nightmare scenario that happens to other families -- but not to ours.  It has already happened to us.  And it could happen again.  Statistically, Deaglan is more likely than the average child to get cancer because his brother had it.  It would still be incredibly rare, but it happens.  I know families who have experienced this very thing.  It's out there.  Floating in the atmosphere of possibilities.  And it haunts me.  It claws at me.  Like a sticky, translucent spider web I can't see, but I also can't quite seem to shake.

Let me reassure you that Deaglan immediately calmed down tonight, and it was clearly just a bump from the headboard of his toddler bed.  (That damn toddler bed.)  But the fear lingered for me a bit.  I stayed extra long in his room even after I heard his breathing slow, just watching him sleep.

Friends, things are so good right now for us.  So very good.  Fionn is healthy and happy.  He is thriving.  His biggest excitement at the moment is the fact that he has his first "wiggly tooth."  He is all aflutter about this.  It is, quite simply, adorable.  Fionn loves his friends.  He loves his Legos.  He is a normal little boy who insists on wearing athletic shorts at all times now, even if this means wearing them over his sweatpants on cold days.

Things are so good right now.  So very good.  And I am terrified that it will not last.  I am terrified that there will be a day when we hear that terrible word that I can't even say out loud without dropping my voice to a whisper.  Relapse.  It is the ugliest, most hated word in my lexicon right now.  Matched only by Cancer.

Right now, my anxiety is calmed by the little chemo pills that we crush up every night and administer to our child while he sleeps.  It is a buffer to the cancer.  I feel like it protects us from harm.  As much as I hate feeding toxic chemicals to our child every single night, I am comforted by these toxins.  They are my friends.

October 6, 2017 will be a joyous day in many ways in our house because it will be the end of Fionn's treatment.  We will celebrate.  We will ring that bell in the clinic with gusto and cry happy tears.  It will be wonderful.  It will also be one of the most terrifying days of my life.  Our buffer will be gone.  There will be nothing to stop the cancer from coming again if that is its will.  And relapse for Fionn means a change in prognosis.  It means falling down the rabbit hole of bone marrow transplants, hospitalizations, and much more chemo.  The very thought of it makes me weak in the knees.  There are times when I worry that I couldn't survive it.  Couldn't endure it.  Oh, I know I would.  There would be no choice.  But it seems so much harder to go through it all over again.  As a dear cancer mom friend told me recently, it can be worse sometimes when you know what to expect.

But this is us right now.  We are doing great.  We are enjoying life and feeling like the luckiest human beings on the planet.  I didn't write this post as a pity party.  I hope it didn't seem like that.  I think I just needed people to know that there is another side to every picture.  We are good, we are happy -- yes.  But we are also scared out of our minds that our good fortune will run out.  That we are operating on borrowed time.  I hope this feeling goes away.  It would be nice to relax into my beautiful life.  But in the meantime, I have to say that I do feel grateful for these amazing creatures of mine (nearly) every minute of every day.  It's a little trickier when they are being assholes, but I'm working on it.  (Even cancer doesn't make you immune to your children being turds, I'm sorry to say.)

As always, thank you for reading and caring about our family.  Until next time...

Don't Blink

My children drive me bonkers.  It has to be said.  The constant squabbling over toys, the early morning wake-up calls, the constant demands for this and that. "Play with me.  Feed me.  Button my pants."  It's exhausting.  They are exhausting.  I am exhausted.

This sentiment is never more keenly felt than during a blizzard.  We are now 5 days and counting since the boys' schools closed in preparation for Snowzilla.  Five days and counting since the snow began to fall.  And continued to fall for 30 more inches.  Five days and counting since we last got in our car and went somewhere different.  (This is all changing tomorrow when we go to Sky Zone in Gaithersburg -- wanna come?)  It feels like 5 weeks.  (Can I get an "Amen" from any parents out there?)

And yet.  Yet.  Even during this time of heightened cabin fever and exhaustion, I catch myself having that feeling.  Maybe you know the one I mean.  That feeling that it will all be over too soon.  (Not the school closures, God love 'em, those can't be over soon enough!)  But just everything else.  Childhood.  What is it they say?  The days are long, but the years are short.  I can definitely verify this first part, and I am beginning to think there might be some proof in the pudding for that second part too.

So here's what I catch myself doing a lot lately.  I find myself savoring.  Taking inventory.  Breathing.  Absorbing.  Not every moment.  Good Lord, some moments are best forgotten (I really don't think I'll ever miss Deaglan whining for more Paw Patrol or Fionn's angry yelling when he doesn't get his way.  But, hey, what do I know?  Maybe these are the little gems I will miss the most?)

No, these are the moments I mean.  One just happened.  Deaglan woke up in the middle of the night (as he does lately a LOT) and yelled for me.  It's 2 am.  I was totally in Dreamland.  Awful, right?  Right.  Totally.  Couldn't agree more.  But stay with me for a second.  So I go in his room and adjust his blankets.  He seriously has like 200 blankets and he likes them all piled around him.  Just so.  And pillows.  Multiple pillows.  Mariah Carey ain't got nothing on this Diva.

So.  I adjust his blankets and give him a kiss.  Then I go over to the rocking chair where I usually sit for a few minutes until he falls back asleep.  This will not do tonight.  Deaglan sits up and wordlessly pats the little silk pillow beside him.  Pat, pat.  Pat, pat.  The universal toddler language for "Please contort your 5'4" body so that you can fit into my 4x2 toddler bed next to me.  And make it snappy, lady.  I'm missing a REM cycle here."

So I do it.  I arrange myself next to him, my legs hanging off the back of the wooden bed like the worst Goldilocks scenario in history.  I'm also pretty sure one of my butt cheeks is floating in mid-air off the side of the mattress.  It's SO freaking uncomfortable.

Deaglan doesn't know that.  He puts his forehead to mine.  I feel his warm breath which still smells like baby on my face.  He wraps both of his little arms around my head like I'm his favorite stuffed animal.  Just pulling me close.  Nestling in.  Sighing with contentment.  Within seconds, it seems, he is asleep, his mouth gaping open as he breathes.  His arms slowly lose their grip on my head and fall back to his sides.  I am free.  I get up from the bed but not without taking a moment.  I breathe it all in.  I savor it.  And then I get the hell out of there because shit, that's one terrible bed for two.

My day is filled with moments like these.  Irritations that are laced with sweetness.  And, sometimes, just sweetness.  Fionn lately has been asking me to dance with him.  "Mama, can we dance?" he says and holds out his hands.  We are in the middle of the kitchen.  The provoking song is usually either "I Like to Move It" from the Madagascar soundtrack or "Watch Me (Whip/Nae Nae)."  Sometimes the last thing I want to do is dance.  I'm cooking.  I'm tired.  I'm texting.  Pick your poison.  But I never say no.  You just can't say no to a 5-year-old dance partner with a curly mop of blonde hair and Star Wars boxer briefs.  You just DON'T, people.  So I hop up, I grab his hands.  And we whip.  We nae nae.

These are the moments.  Thanks for helping me capture them. 

Catching Up is Hard to Do

First things first.  Happy New Year, folks!  We hope 2016 is a wonderful year for all of our friends and family.

Secondly, I apologize.  It's just plain embarrassing how long it's been since I last posted.  I will make a New Year's pledge right here to be better about updating this blog.  I know that there are folks who depend on these updates to know that Fionn is doing okay.  And I'm sorry for my negligence.  My hope is that those folks always trust that no news is good news in our cancer world.

Indeed, thankfully, we have the good fortune of having no news at this point.  Fionn is doing great.  Better than great.  He is thriving.  Growing (nearly 4 feet tall now!).  Learning new things every day.  Experiencing so many firsts (like the "first" time he tried to forge our signature this week on his "first" letter home from the principal's office for bad playground behavior...ah, the pride! the joy!).  In all seriousness, he really is doing great.  We have now gone 8 months without a hospitalization, folks.  Eight months of feeling like basically normal people.  It feels like a lifetime.  A wonderful, fun-filled lifetime.  And we are grateful beyond belief.

I'll have you know that Fionn asked me to take these pictures of him.  I could not get my camera fast enough.

Gosh, I especially regret my procrastination in posting lately because so much has happened in the past 2 months.  It seems impossible to catch up.  I'm not sure that I do the last few months justice without writing a novel.  Which I have no intention of doing.  So I'll just try to pick out a few highlights of the past 2 months.

#1: Team Impact

Our family became part of this wonderful organization this past Fall.  Team Impact pairs kids with cancer with local college sports teams.  The child becomes part of the team, attends practices, games, etc.  We had the good luck of getting paired with the University of Maryland Men's Lacrosse Team which is a pretty incredible bunch of young athletes.  In addition to being national champions, they are also great guys.  They have treated our Fionny like a little brother.  It has been an amazing experience...and the real season hasn't even started yet!  Here are a few photos from Fionn's tenure as a Terp.

Pizza and bowling with the team in Decemeber

Fionn also started his own lacrosse lessons in November, and so far, he loves it!  Our boy definitely has a competitive spirit, and lacrosse seems to be a good match for him.  We'll see!

#2: Thanksgiving News Interview

Our family was asked by Children's Hospital to participate in a segment for the local news about gratitude and Thanksgiving.  We were so honored to be part of the segment, although I would really like to go back in time and cool it on the animated facial expressions during our interview.  But whatevs.  Most importantly, the footage of Fionn is great, and it makes me smile every time I think about how candid and cute he was with the reporter.  I will post a link to the interview here for any who might have missed it.

http://www.nbcwashington.com/video/#!/news/health/-WhyImThankful--Beating-Cancer/355153961

#3: Our Trip to CA

Immediately following Thanksgiving, we took a wonderful vacation to California where we got to spend lots of QT with our Crimmins Family out there.  We also got to spend time with my best bud, Meg, and her beautiful family.

Cousin love

Reading with Uncle George

If there's one thing a Crimmins loves, it's a swimming pool!

At the zoo

At Stone Brewery (the best brewpub EVER!)

Lexie, Meg's daughter, and Fionny

Gorgeous Crystal Cove

Hard to say who had more fun at Legoland!

#4: Christmas

We had a wonderful Christmas this year.  Just wonderful.  It could not have been more starkly different than last Christmas. Last year, we went through the motions of Christmas, but our heart wasn't in it. Fionn was on steroids.  He was sullen and lethargic.  Angry.  We were walking around on eggshells around him.  We cancelled any plans we had with friends that Christmas as well as really anything outside the house because we knew Fionn couldn't handle it.  Or maybe we couldn't handle it.  Hard to say.  Whichever it was, Christmas was sad and really pretty terrible.  My dear husband, who adores Christmas more than anyone I have ever known, was so depressed by the whole thing that he took down our decorations by noon on the 26th.  Everything.  Even the tree.  It was like it never happened. 

This year, Fionny felt great.  He was happy and enthusiastic.  He was healthy.  There could not be a better gift than health for one's child at the holidays.  

Making cookies

Eating those same cookies

Giving theirs lists to Santa

With buddies at the Kennedy Center

Happy as a clam with his new Lego sets

One man band: Dex with his new guitar and ukelele

#5: New Zealand

Last but not least, I took an amazing trip with my dad to New Zealand immediately following Christmas.  It was a 10-day adventure that I will never forget.  Amazing scenery, exciting adventures, the kindest people you will ever find anywhere, and, most importantly, special time with my dad who I love so very much.  Here are just a few photos from the trip.

Helicopter ride to the glacier in Franz Josef

Glacier hiking in Franz Josef

Hiking near Milford Sound

Gorgeous botanical gardens in Christchurch

Hiking in Franz Josef

Beautiful Queenstown

This concludes my recap of the last 2 months. Thanks for slogging through it all.  Happy 2016 to you all, and here's hoping next year is full of adventures, joy, love...and health.  Above all, health.