The following is what I consider the second half of Davis' birth story. I wrote it a few weeks after he was born and as I reflect on the past year and all that has happened, I am so grateful to have been given this experience. I didn't realize it fully at the time, but it really prepared me for the hardships of this past year.
When I gave birth to Davis, my OB, Dr. Garner, asked me if I wanted him
to remove a couple of moles he discovered. Since I was already numb and didn’t
need any other stitches, I thought, ‘why not?’ He removed 3 moles while I held
my sweet newborn baby boy. I didn’t give it much thought after that.
Fast forward to nine days later. I got a
call from Dr. Garner explaining to me that one of the moles that he removed
turned out to be a melanoma and that I would need to see a dermatologist as
soon as possible so they could remove more tissue. The phone call came as a bit
of a shock, but even after hearing the words, “melanoma” and “cancer”, my
primary concern was still money and whether or not insurance would pay for
whatever procedure would need to take place. The OB office scheduled an
appointment for me to see a surgical oncologist (instead of a dermotologist) two days later. At first I told
Ryan that he didn’t need to worry about going with me to the appointment. My
mom was still in town helping out with Davis and the other kids, and I didn’t
think it was necessary for him to come with me. At the last minute, I changed
my mind. He rearranged his schedule and went with me to the appointment. I
don’t know what I would have done without him there.
The visit with the oncologist was daunting. He explained to Ryan and I
that one of the moles that had been removed was a nodular
melanoma. While most skin cancers grow topically across the skin and are
relatively easy to remove (even if it means skin grafts), nodular melanoma
grows rapidly downward, attacking the lymph system and then spreading
throughout the body. As I sat in the doctor’s office and
listened to the oncologist explain the seriousness of my situation, I had a hard time believing what I was hearing (pretty sure I was in shock). I have
cancer? And it’s possible that it could have spread everywhere and anywhere in
my body?
The doctor examined every inch of my skin and didn’t find any other
moles that looked very suspicious, so at least that was a good sign. He told me
that I would need surgery. He would cut a large incision at the site where the
mole had been removed and extract more tissue to make sure all the cancerous
skin had been removed. He would also inject a radioactive substance into my
body that would trace where the cancer cells would spread (if they had spread).
They would mark the lymph node that the cancer would reach first and extract
that as well. It would be sent to pathology, along with the tissue around the
mole, and we would know within a few days if the cancer had spread or if it
were just an isolated incident. If it had spread, it could be anywhere and I
would need further tests and treatments (such as chemotherapy or radiation). If
it hadn’t, I would simply need to follow up with the oncologist every few months for a few years and then see a dermatologist annually for the rest of my
life.
As Ryan and I walked out of the oncologist’s office, I couldn’t keep
from crying (it’s a miracle I held it together in front of the doctor). He
hugged me and told me that everything would be alright, but as we pulled up to our apartment complex, tears streamed down
his face--it was both touching and heartbreaking to see him worry.
The day of the doctor’s visit was a difficult one. I was so relieved
to have my mom there at that time. She is very practical and when we told her
the news she almost immediately said, “Everything will be ok. Whatever happens,
we can handle it.” I really needed to hear that from her. I am so very grateful that she was with us in Iowa when we found out the news. It doesn't matter how old you are, sometimes no one can comfort you quite like your mother can. We decided to tell
our siblings and parents, along with a few close friends. The more people that could
pray for me, the better, right? Telling everyone was the hardest part.
After crying almost uncontrollably when I told my sister, Allie, I decided I
couldn’t tell many other people. Allie said she would call the other siblings
and do it for me. I was so grateful for that act of service on my behalf. The
outpouring of love that our family felt at that time is hard to describe. It’s
kind of a surreal experience to be the one that everyone is praying for. People
fasted for me, prayed for me, and even put my name on the roll at the temple.
When Mary-Ann found out about the cancer, she immediately rearranged her schedule
so that she could be with us for the surgery. Her love and support was
invaluable. It was so reassuring to know that she would be watching Isaac,
Maddie, and Davis while I had the surgery. We didn’t have to worry about
farming our kids out to a bunch of different friends (though there is no doubt in my mind that our wonderful friends would have gladly helped out with the kids).
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| Allie and I the night before we moved back to Iowa. |
That night we were laying in bed and I looked at Ryan and said, “I’m
just so glad it’s not one of our kids that is sick. That would be so much harder.” He looked back
at me and quietly replied, “To me it’s just the same as if it were one of the
kids.” It broke my heart for him. Sometimes it really is easier to be the sick one.
The surgery was scheduled for Friday, April 16th, which was
a little bit more than a week after my first doctor’s appointment. Everything
went well. Ryan was with me the entire day and waited in the waiting room
during the procedure. I felt like I was in very capable hands with Dr.
Kollmorgan taking care of me. I knew he was a competent surgeon.
The Monday following the surgery I was supposed to receive a call from
the oncologist’s office about whether or not the cancer had spread to my lymph
system. The call never came. The nurse said that it was possible that I
wouldn’t hear from them until Tuesday. Monday was one of the longest days of my
life. Tuesday morning the phone rang. I was in my bedroom changing Davis’
diaper so Mary-Ann answered the phone.
“It’s the doctor’s office.” she said.
I froze. I could hardly speak I was so nervous. The nurse could tell.
When I squeaked out a “hello” she chuckled and after a little bit of small talk
she told me that the biopsy had come back and that it was negative. I felt like
the luckiest girl in the world!
After hanging up the phone, I ran into the living room and told
Mary-Ann the good news. Then I just broke down and sobbed and sobbed and
sobbed. She hugged me for a very long time--It was the best news. I immediately called and told
Ryan and then my parents and siblings. It was a great day.
Though it was a scary couple of weeks and I took quite awhile to
recover from the surgery, both Ryan and I feel like it was a really positive
experience overall. It helped us grow closer to one another and closer to our
Heavenly Father as we had to put our trust in him. We were reassured many times
during this trial that everything would work out just fine, even though we
didn’t always know what that meant. It strengthened my testimony, my faith, and
helped me put my priorities in order more than any other trial I had ever been
through. And I have never felt so loved. The acts of service that were rendered on my family's behalf were countless. I still get teary-eyed whenever I think about it.
My pregnancy with Davis was my hardest. I felt sick almost the entire
9 months. Many times I put my arms around my belly and gently shook my little
baby, telling him that I wasn’t ever going to let him forget how much I
suffered to get him into this world. Now, I consider Davis my little miracle
boy. He saved my life. Whenever I get comments about how closely spaced my
three children are, or how I sure must "have my hands full", I just smile and think to myself how grateful I am that
Davis was born when he was. If not for his birth, I might not be here today.
While going through all of this I remember praying, 'Please let me be able to take care of my family. I just want to be able to take care of my babies.' I remind myself of that after hard or long days when I can't wait until bedtime. It helps me keep things in perspective.
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| Me and my birthday boy on his special day. |
I know Heavenly Father hears and answers prayers. I know that His plan for us is better than our own, and that He can make more of our lives than we ever could without Him.
Happy Birthday, Davis.
