On Tuesday night we sang "Happy Birthday" to our son Jack and as I watched him blow out the three little blue candles on his cake, I began to cry. Tears flooded my eyes and began to spill down my cheeks. Silently at first and then I exhaled and a little cry escaped.

And then Jack asked, "You OK, Mommy?" With a sly smirk on his face, the one that comes with a glint in his grey-green eyes. A look that's full of innocence and mischief all at the same time.

"Yes," I said with a smile, wiping away the tears. "I'm just remembering the day you were born."

"Oh," he giggled in reply. Not really making sense of my reaction or it's explanation.

Someday I'll tell Jack about the day he was born. About how scared his Dad and I were when we found out there was something wrong. I'll tell him about his first trip to the Doctors at the Children's Hospital at Dartmouth-Hitchcock (CHaD)when he was eight weeks old-the visit where the Doctor laid out the plan for removing the giant melanocytic nevus that covered 80% of Jack's back. Telling us there would be surgeries and tissue expansion. Talking about risk and options and timelines. I tell him about how I couldn't imagine my little newborn baby boy having surgery. How I cried because I was so worried, because I didn't want him to be in pain.

[Tweet "No parent wants to see their child in pain. Help fund the care. @chadkids @runfargirl #beaHERO"]

I'll tell him about his MRI and show him the picture of him waking up from the anesthesia wearing his SuperMan onesie. And then I'll tell him about his first surgery at four months old, how his Dad played Pink Floyd songs on the plastic, pink Disney Princess Guitar in the surgical waiting area to pass the time. I'll tell him about the drive home from the hospital in the blizzard, how the drive that normally takes two hours, took four. I'll tell him about the moment I took him out of his carseat, trying so hard not touch his back fresh from surgery and crying with him as he wailed in pain from being moved. I'll tell him about how we slept on the couch that night, him lying on my chest breathing softly.

I'll explain how his skin expanded with the balloons underneath--how his Dad and I filled them each day for three months. I'll laugh a little as I tell him some of the silly things his Doctor used to say and do at some of our visits, like the time he pretended to be a cow to distract Jack while we filled the tissue expanders.

I'll recall his second surgery and the wagons at CHaD. How we pulled him around and around the surgical waiting area in the little red wagon until he fell asleep. I'll tell him how we watched the computer monitor, walking by once, twice, a thousand times, to see when his status would change and he would come out of surgery. And how after the surgery he seemed like he was in so much pain, and there were so many meds. So many meds. And Daddy will add how the nurse kept coming in all night to check on him and how he barely slept in the chair beside Jack as we listened to his every breath, willing him to be OK. Dreaming, in our half-sleep of the day when it would be over and Jack wouldn't remember a thing; hoping that would be true.

And I'll tell Jack about the night we rode in the ambulance all the way up to CHaD. And how scared we were, how we hung on every word the Doctors and nurses at CHaD said wondering if you would be OK. If you would recover. I'll tell him about the day we left and show him those little blue shorts the Child Life staff gave us for him to wear because he had arrived at CHaD in just a diaper--the ones I don't think I'll ever get rid of.

And I'll tell Jack about how strong he was, that you beat the odds. And I'll say to him, "You are BRAVE and TOUGH and STRONG. And that scar on your back is proof."

Someday, Jack will know the story of his first year of life. But for now he's happy to blow out his candles and pretend he's twice his age.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nkaSTjRQF_Q

Those candles might not be possible if it weren't for the Doctors and staff at the Children's Hospital at Dartmouth-Hitchcock. They were the experts that walked us through a difficult year, that cared not just for our son but for us as well.

Which is why I'm still pushing to raise more money. Money that will help ensure that the expert care, the little red wagons, the pink guitars and little blue shorts are there for another child just like Jack.

On October 18th I'll be running the CHaD HERO 5K in support of CHaD Kids and Families. My goal is to raise $6000 by October 14th. As of right now I've raised nearly $2000. Four thousand dollars in 14 days is no small task. But if I don't push to raise the money, who will? Where will the funding come from for the families just like ours?

<a href="http://chad.donordrive.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=donorDrive.participant&participantID=4907">Make a Donation!</a>

[Tweet "Help @runfargirl raise $4000 in 14 days as she runs for @chadkids #beaHERO #whatsyourwhy"]

Please take a minute to visit my donation page. Every little bit counts whether it's $5, $25 or $500. Please help me make a difference. Even if it is simply sharing this post with a friend.

You can donate by clicking HERE.

[Tweet "Every little bit counts. Please help @runfargirl make a difference for @chadkids #whatsyourwhy"]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v6YChxhQwQ8

--Sarah

Candles: watching Jack turn three

POWERED BY SQUARESPACE