another year...

About this time last year I wrote a post that was born of memories... Memories that were both joyful and painful. As my sidebar states, I live somewhere near Montreal. I listen to the rock station here (CHOM Rocks!), and every year they hold a radiothon for The Montreal Children's Hospital. Today is the first day of the radiothon and I'm home with my Chicklet who has a fever and a tummy ache (probably a version of the flu I had about a week ago). My heart breaks as I listen to parents recount their losses, for not all stories have a happy ending. But one thing is constant in all their stories... there are angels walking among us in that very hospital, and their support through the most difficult times a parent can be faced with bring renewed faith that there is good in the world. Here's the story I shared in that post... with a few minor edits. (You can read the original here if you're so inclined) Hope... give... life... angels... better days December 24th, 1997. Christmas Eve. I sit up in bed, surrounded by darkness, and it hits me. I get out of bed and make my way to the washroom, as quickly as I can waddle. It feels like the child I’m carrying is trying to push my bladder up through my right nostril and if I don’t get there soon, the Great Flood of the Saguenay back in 1996 will look like a someone spilled a glass of water. As I open the door I come face to face with the man responsible for the basketball that has slowly been inflating itself under the skin of my previously flat stomach (have I mentioned that basketball was invented by James Naismith, a Canadian?) and start doing the pregnant woman’s version of the peepee dance. We exchange a quick nervous glance and he knows.. if he doesn’t move, I’ll run over his 6ft 190 pound frame on my way to relief (a few friends have experienced a mild version of sudden impact with me.. and I all but knocked a few of them down). Um, sorry dear reader, you are NOT following me in here. *door closes* *hum the theme to Jeopardy here as you wait or look for Waldo in the bus at the top of the blog* OH NO! I remember that I’m actually not supposed to go this morning.. have to keep it in if I can as per doctor’s instructions and of course the father-to-be chimes in with that very comment as I am about to sit down. Ok.. you can come in now… Might as well start washing up. As I stand in front of the sink brushing my teeth, I stare at the woman in the mirror. Who is this slightly puffy faced woman standing before me? Man am I glad I’m not her… I don’t want to be in her shoes.. wait… wool socks. Not today… The phone rings, he answers, I pretend I’m not interested… it’s Mom.. oh now I’m really not interested. I want to crawl back into bed and pretend today never came. I especially want to go pee, but that ain’t happening either. He hands me the phone with a sheepish smile, kisses my forehead and whispers “it’s your mother”. **cue sinister music here** The following takes place in French, so I’ll translate. “Hi mom” “No, I haven’t listened to the traffic report” “A jam huh?” “I’ll be ready in 30 minutes, I just need to find a tent to wear and I’ll be good to go” “Yes mom, I’ll be sure and wear nice underwear” “no Mom, I didn’t go pee” “ok, see you in 30 minutes” I have dear reader, as a courtesy, spared you the other end of the conversation which was quite long and filled with numerous admonishments and instructions, and talk of what the neighbor’s daughter had done lately (or something to that effect). My mother had a tendency to become chatty when nervous, or should I say chattier. My child’s father-to-be stands in the doorway waiting for me to hang up. And when I do, eyes rolling and head spinning, he walks up to me, hugs me and asks me to call him as soon as it’s done. He turns quickly, I hear him sniffle and heads out to go to work. I have an appointment at Montreal’s Children’s Hospital for an ultrasound. They want to look at my baby's heart. I’d been having a lot of contractions lately and since my due date was Valentine’s Day and a while away, my OBGYN , a lovely slip of a woman who although little had a look in her eye that told you she was the kind of person that could rival Atlas in world shouldering duties, had me regularly scheduled for fetal monitoring at the hospital where I was to give birth. It was during one of those routine visits that the nurse had heard something that made her frown, stand perfectly still and close her eyes. Have you ever wondered why we do that? Closing our eyes when we want to listen better? Goes against everything your mother told you doesn’t it: “look at me when I talk to you!”. I of course, have never used that line on my child or the big grown middle-aged babies I work with (I much prefer “Yes, I am an agent of Satan, but my duties are largely ceremonial” when it comes to them). There was a skip in my baby’s heartbeat. And my heart sank. I think it may have stopped beating altogether for a few minutes as I held my breath. My doctor was informed and I had to go back the next day so she could listen to it herself. That’s when she told me she was going to send me to The Montreal Children’s Hospital for an ultrasound of my child’s heart. The appointment was made and I was surprised how quickly I had been given one. Which didn’t reassure me one bit. I am standing in the kitchen by myself on Christmas Eve morning, desperately needing to pee but holding it in, wanting a big ass cup of coffee, in my pyjamas, looking at the bedroom door across the hall, my feet unable to move, knowing I had to get dressed and ready… Next thing I know I’m sitting in my mother’s car, cursing the seatbelt for adding that extra bit of pressure I needed to make my holding it in a complete experience. I thought it couldn't be any harder to hold it in until we hit a pothole (I swear Jimmy Hoffa was in that pothole) and I start wondering if my mother ever got her seats scotchguarded. I’m quiet during the trip and my mother feels the need to ensure that sound waves will indeed fill every single moment of the trip. We park the car in a lot near the hospital and we make our way through snowbanks and slush towards the entrance. I waddle elegantly (yeah right) and we walk in looking for admission. We go through the whole process of registering, I'm directed to the proper floor and told where to go. The lady sees I am nervous and reaches out, in that moment I feel I have made a friend for life... that an angel has touched my hand. In was the first in a series of celestial contacts. I meet the nurse who greats me with a soft smile, introduces herself to my Mom and leads us to a blue room full of equipment. She asks me if I've managed to hold it in. Proudly I say yes .. ''but I don't know how much longer I'm going to be able to''. She laughs and tells me we'll get started in a few minutes. She has a lovely lilting laugh and I know I have met angel number 2. I sit on the examination table and take the gown she hands me telling me she'll give me a couple of minutes to slip it on and then the doctor will come in and get things started. Mom stays with me, I put on the gown (it's surprisingly soft). And I wait... The nurse peaks in and checks on me and the doctor follows her in. He steps up to the side of the examination table and extends his hand as he introduces himself and starts explaining the process. ''Of course you've had an ultrsound before, this one will allow us to get a good view of the baby's heart''. At this moment I feel the need to blurt out that I don't know the baby's sex and would really like it to stay that way. He smiles and looks at Mom who would love to know and says ''well, Grandma, looks like you're not going to find that out today now doesn't it.. ''. I have to say, the staff at this hospital are some of the most caring and compassionnate people I've ever met, it's a hallmark of the Montreal Children's Hospital. I'm helped onto my back and the lights are dimmed a bit, it's actually quite soothing. The equipment is turned on, the nurse lifts up the gown and the jelly wasn't even cold. Now that's a detail my full bladder appreciates. I look at the monitor and I have no idea what I'm seeing. It seems like at eternity and he finally says ''this is your baby's heart''. I can see the rapid beating.. my baby's heart. The most beautiful thing. I feel Mom's hand on my foot but I can't tear my eyes away from the screen. ''It's normal, a beautiful strong heart''. No truer words have ever been spoken, my girl has shown me how beautiful her heart is. She has throughout her 9 years taught me so much. My baby... I can't tell you how it felt, there are no words. An expecting mother's deepest fear is that something will go wrong. My baby's heart is perfectly formed, and I am surrounded by angels. My daughter is now 10, basically healthy and is currently reading in bed. Other parents aren't so lucky. I'll be calling in today, to give. To give back. Love you all more than my luggage! Hugs, smooches and gropes!

There are some things I just can’t wrap by brain around...

Do you recognize this sweet child? The eight month old baby girl was abandoned in a parking garage in Toronto last week. She was found by a woman who thought she was walking past a doll lying face down on the freezing concrete landing of a stairwell (it was one of the coldest days in the city of Toronto this winter so far). The only reason the lady stopped was that the “doll” cried. They have security tape footage of someone driving up the ramp to the second storey and straight to the stairwell, getting out of the car to look in the stairwell. This monster, I mean, person went back to the car, opened the passenger side door taking the baby out and then left her on the floor. “It” got back into the car and took off in a green four-door sedan, believed to be a recent-model Ford Escort. She has been named Angelica Leslie by the kind souls currently caring for her. Angelica – well that is the face of an angel now isn’t it? And Leslie, after the street she was found on. Police currently believe this poor little soul may be American and are investigating this lead further with the help of the Buffalo police department. No one, despite the media coverage has come forward with any clues as to who Angelica really is. You can see the news report if you click on this link. My first “mommy gut reaction” was to curse those responsible for leaving a sweet little angel out in the cold and driving off ... and then I decided to open my heart and look at what could possibly motivate someone to leave a child behind. People do unfathomable things when desperate. But I failed. She has bruises... I’m angry. If you run a search on the subject of abused and missing children there are too many links... so many children are missing... too many... Childfind Canada National Center for Missing and Exploited Children (USA) Missing Children Society of Canada Victims of Violence – Canadian Center for Missing Children Operation Go Home (Canada) If you’re a mother or father, and you can’t cope with taking care of your child, no matter what the reason is... there are other options. Adoption, foster care, therapy... children are not disposable. They matter. Cédrika belle ange, on te cherche... on ne t'oublie pas... You’ll have to excuse me, I’m going to go hug my daughter now... Love you all more than my luggage! Hugs, smooches and gropes!

Hope... give... life... angels... better days

December 24th, 1997. Christmas Eve. I sit up in bed, surrounded by darkness, and it hits me. I get out of bed and make my way to the washroom, as quickly as I can waddle. It feels like the child I’m carrying is trying to push my bladder up through my right nostril and if I don’t get there soon, the Great Flood of the Saguenay back in 1996 will look like a someone spilled a glass of water. As I open the door I come face to face with the man responsible for the basketball that has slowly been inflating itself under the skin of my previously flat stomach (have I mentioned that basketball was invented by James Naismith, a Canadian?) and start doing the pregnant woman’s version of the peepee dance. We exchange a quick nervous glance and he knows.. if he doesn’t move, I’ll run over his 6ft 190 pound frame on my way to relief (a few friends have experienced a mild version of sudden impact with me.. and I all but knocked a few of them down). Um, sorry dear reader, you are NOT following me in here. *door closes* *hum the theme to Jeopardy here as you wait or look for Waldo in the bus at the top of the blog* OH NO! I remember that I’m actually not supposed to go this morning.. have to keep it in if I can as per doctor’s instructions and of course the father-to-be chimes in with that very comment as I am about to sit down. Ok.. you can come in now… Might as well start washing up. As I stand in front of the sink brushing my teeth, I stare at the woman in the mirror. Who is this slightly puffy faced woman standing before me? Man am I glad I’m not her… I don’t want to be in her shoes.. wait… wool socks. Not today… The phone rings, he answers, I pretend I’m not interested… it’s Mom.. oh now I’m really not interested. I want to crawl back into bed and pretend today never came. I especially want to go pee, but that ain’t happening either. He hands me the phone with a sheepish smile, kisses my forehead and whispers “it’s your mother”. **cue sinister music here** The following takes place in French, so I’ll translate. “Hi mom” “No, I haven’t listened to the traffic report” “A jam huh?” “I’ll be ready in 30 minutes, I just need to find a tent to wear and I’ll be good to go” “Yes mom, I’ll be sure and wear nice underwear” “no Mom, I didn’t go pee” “ok, see you in 30 minutes” I have dear reader, as a courtesy, spared you the other end of the conversation which was quite long and filled with numerous admonishments and instructions, and talk of what the neighbor’s daughter had done lately (or something to that effect). My mother had a tendency to become chatty when nervous, or should I say chattier. My child’s father-to-be stands in the doorway waiting for me to hang up. And when I do, eyes rolling and head spinning, he walks up to me, hugs me and asks me to call him as soon as it’s done. He turns quickly, I hear him sniffle and heads out to go to work. I have an appointment at Montreal’s Children’s Hospital for an ultrasound. They want to look at my baby's heart. I’d been having a lot of contractions lately and since my due date was Valentine’s Day and a while away, my OBGYN , a lovely slip of a woman who although little had a look in her eye that told you she was the kind of person that could rival Atlas in world shouldering duties, had me regularly scheduled for fetal monitoring at the hospital where I was to give birth. It was during one of those routine visits that the nurse had heard something that made her frown, stand perfectly still and close her eyes. Have you ever wondered why we do that? Closing our eyes when we want to listen better? Goes against everything your mother told you doesn’t it: “look at me when I talk to you!”. I of course, have never used that line on my child or the big grown middle-aged babies I work with (I much prefer “Yes, I am an agent of Satan, but my duties are largely ceremonial” when it comes to them). There was a skip in my baby’s heartbeat. And my heart sank. I think it may have stopped beating altogether for a few minutes as I held my breath. My doctor was informed and I had to go back the next day so she could listen to it herself. That’s when she told me she was going to send me to The Montreal Children’s Hospital for an ultrasound of my child’s heart. The appointment was made and I was surprised how quickly I had been given one. Which didn’t reassure me one bit. I am standing in the kitchen by myself on Christmas Eve morning, desperately needing to pee but holding it in, wanting a big ass cup of coffee, in my pyjamas, looking at the bedroom door across the hall, my feet unable to move, knowing I had to get dressed and ready… Next thing I know I’m sitting in my mother’s car, cursing the seatbelt for adding that extra bit of pressure I needed to make my holding it in a complete experience. I thought it couldn't be any harder to hold it in until we hit a pothole (I swear Jimmy Hoffa was in that pothole) and I start wondering if my mother ever got her seats scotchguarded. I’m quiet during the trip and my mother feels the need to ensure that sound waves will indeed fill every single moment of the trip. We park the car in a lot near the hospital and we make our way through snowbanks and slush towards the entrance. I waddle elegantly (yeah right) and we walk in looking for admission. We go through the whole process of registering, I'm directed to the proper floor and told where to go. The lady sees I am nervous and reaches out, in that moment I feel I have made a friend for life... that an angel has touched my hand. In was the first in a series of celestial contacts. I meet the nurse who greats me with a soft smile, introduces herself to my Mom and leads us to a blue room full of equipment. She asks me if I've managed to hold it in. Proudly I say yes .. ''but I don't know how much longer I'm going to be able to''. She laughs and tells me we'll get started in a few minutes. She has a lovely lilting laugh and I know I have met angel number 2. I sit on the examination table and take the gown she hands me telling me she'll give me a couple of minutes to slip it on and then the doctor will come in and get things started. Mom stays with me, I put on the gown (it's surprisingly soft). And I wait... The nurse peaks in and checks on me and the doctor follows her in. He steps up to the side of the examination table and extends his hand as he introduces himself and starts explaining the process. ''Of course you've had an ultrsound before, this one will allow us to get a good view of the baby's heart''. At this moment I feel the need to blurt out that I don't know the baby's sex and would really like it to stay that way. He smiles and looks at Mom who would love to know and says ''well, Grandma, looks like you're not going to find that out today now doesn't it.. ''. I have to say, the staff at this hospital are some of the most caring and compassionnate people I've ever met, it's a hallmark of the Montreal Children's Hospital. I'm helped onto my back and the lights are dimmed a bit, it's actually quite soothing. The equipment is turned on, the nurse lifts up the gown and the jelly wasn't even cold. Now that's a detail my full bladder appreciates. I look at the monitor and I have no idea what I'm seeing. It seems like at eternity and he finally says ''this is your baby's heart''. I can see the rapid beating.. my baby's heart. The most beautiful thing. I feel Mom's hand on my foot but I can't tear my eyes away from the screen. ''It's normal, a beautiful strong heart''. No truer words have ever been spoken, my girl has shown me how beautiful her heart is. She has throughout her 9 years taught me so much. My baby... I can't tell you how it felt, there are no words. An expecting mother's deepest fear is that something will go wrong. My baby's heart is perfectly formed, and I am surrounded by angels. Over the past two days, Montreal's Children's Hospital has been holding a fundraising drive, The 4th Annual Caring For Kids Radiothon. To listen to CHOM 97,7 FM online (the radiothon ends tonight at 7pm EST) click here Raising funds, raising hope - live from The Children's! Last year, Standard Radio Montréal held the most successful Radiothon in our Hospital's history by raising a record breaking $2.2 millions! CHOM 97.7 generously donated their time, staff and programming to allow the community a glimpse into life at The Children's. During the Radiothon, people have the opportunity to hear patients and their families, doctors and medical specialists' speak on how their lives have been touched by our Hospital. The Caring For Kids Radiothon raises funds to help the Hospital meet its most urgent needs. For 60 cents a day, I along with some other ordinary folks helped purchase 10 medication pumps... and in my daughter's eyes.. I'm a hero. If you’d like to join the circle of hugs and support the Montreal’s Children’s Hospital please click here Please... support your local children's hospital... I pray you or someone you love never needs them.. but it's good to know they're there. You can donate money, your time, books and toys for the waiting rooms and wards... please, just ask them what they need. Love you all more than my luggage! Hugs, smooches and gropes.

Rest

My mother has joined the ranks of the Angels. Her soul was freed from a body that caused her a great deal of pain at 13h35 this afternoon. I was there to hold her hand and kiss her as she passed. She is now with the ones she loves who have gone before her and prepared her place. I feel her guiding me in the right direction. Thank you for all the kind and wonderful words of love and support... I love you all more than my luggage! Hugs, smooches and gropes!