It is 9:13am on Friday morning. The boys are enjoying a late breakfast of Cheerios and a sliced banana, and I am typing away from my kitchen office.
(Yes, I have a kitchen office. Where else do “working moms” handle their biz?)
The sun is shining through an open window; the sound of giggling and Treehouse in the background. And I am wondering why – after four long years – I am finally ready to tell the story of Ryder’s birth.
Perhaps it’s to reach out to fellow “Androids”. Perhaps it’s because my sweet little boy will be 4 years old in less than two weeks. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s because of a video I watched this morning, which included three key phrases:
Sick Kids Hospital.
And it is undoubtedly the way I felt in November 2008 when I left the neurosurgeon’s office for the final time, with a spring in my step and a profound wish to never see the hospital again, that I am riddled with equal doses of guilt and thankfulness Ryder is one of the “lucky” ones. Because not every parent exits Sick Kids with a spring in their step; and certainly they do not have the option of “never again”.
The Story Of Ryder
It is shortly after 11:00pm on Thursday, May 8th and I am experiencing tummy cramps that ebb and flow. Our little baby is not due for another three weeks, so I am confused as to why the cramps are taking on a predictable pattern – every 10 minutes or so – with equally predictable intensity. I decide to call Telehealth Ontario, my go-to resource for everything from a paper cut to a raging migraine. After I explain the symptoms and how far along in the pregnancy I am, the nurse (who to this day I picture to look like Aunt Jemima) chuckles and says, “You’re in labour, honey!”…