Next Step in Surrogacy: Lupron Shots

This morning a momentous occasion occurred. We took the next step in the surrogacy (IVF) procedure. I gave myself the first shot of Lupron.

The first step of this whole process began on September 30, 2010, when I took the first progesterone pill. Taking the progesterone caused my body to have a menstrual cycle, which I don't normally have. Unlike previous times when I've taken progesterone, I felt remarkably non-hormonal and didn't observe any mood swings. This was a relief.

The second step involved starting birth control pills, which I've been on for one month. Thankfully, I haven't noted any side effects from them either. No weight gain, nausea, or mood swings. Years ago when I took birth control I experienced mood swings and weight gain. I will continue taking birth control for six more days, while also injecting one dose of Lupron each morning.

Lupron is a drug that is used (in my case) to suppress my own ovulation. Since the eggs we are using are my sister's, we don't want my ovaries to release any eggs. I will take the Lupron for exactly two weeks. The day following my last dose, I will begin applying Vivelle dots (estrogen patches) to my abdomen. After about 8 days of estrogen, I will have an ultrasound to check the lining of my uterus to make sure it's thickening properly. The estrogen patches will be changed every two days until the end when my sister's eggs will be retrieved. In the last week before the transfer, I will also be taking a estrace pill (more estrogen) vaginally. All of this estrogen is to prepare my endometrial (uterine) lining to receive the egg(s).

It's all getting closer and more real now. The transfer should be around December 2-3, 2010. Wow, it's hard to believe it's so close, only about 33 days left. The whole thing is so exciting! I don't think I was this excited when we were trying to conceive using Clomid back in 2008. It's different knowing that this is for Val. I'm actually starting to feel a little anxious. You know that feeling when you're in your bathroom waiting for the pregnancy test stick to finish doing its thing and give you the news. That's sort of how I'm feeling even now. I'm hopeful, nervous, and excited.

I'm doing everything I can now to keep myself healthy. I've backed off from drinking coffee and have cut out all caffeine. I'm not eating processed foods, but mostly fresh fruits, veggies, lean meats, lower-fat dairy, whole grains, etc. I've dropped from 198 to 178 and am glad to have another month to lose more weight. I want to be at the healthiest weight I can be so that pregnancy is easier and healthier.

I Don't Care . . . I Like Me!

On a trying day not long ago, I found myself standing face-to-face with my 10 year-old son. To be honest it felt slightly like a Mexican stand-off. Let me recount those moments . . .

We'd had a very difficult morning that involved lots of driving, baby tears and screams, long periods of waiting at a doctor's appointment, and one of our dogs biting the vet. Without further detail, one can imagine the lovely day we were having. During one slight, but desperately needed lull in our day, my son went to our van to retrieve one of his precious Beanie Babies. He's been a collector of sorts for years. Each is special in it's own way and he can recall the details of how each of them have come to join his little "Beanie" family.

Standing in front of the vet's office watching him play with this particular stuffed animal created a stir in me. It was a white umbrella bird with a pink crown of hair that stands up like Don King's. All I could think was here was my 10 year-old son, playing with a very feminine-looking bird out in public. I decided to say something to him. Though I can't recall my exact words, they were an appeal to his masculine side and an attempt to get him to put the bird back in the van. Taking it from his hands, I told him most boys wouldn't be playing with a white and pink bird in public.

My highly introspective son stood there a moment contemplating what I'd said, all the while staring at the bird. After a long pause, he reached for bird saying, "I don't care what people think. I like me." His words left me speechless. In a flash, I was ashamed and thought back to a book I'd read in college called "Real Boys". The premise of this book is that boys suffer low self-esteem and other problems as a result of societal expectations related to masculinity. (That's a HUGE nutshell.) I realized I had just tried to lay on my son what society had brainwashed me with as a child - boys should be tough, act tough, and shun creativity and anything remotely feminine. Wow, that's the dumbest thing I've ever heard!

Anyone who knows my son knows he is very creative, loves to read, and though he loves to swim, he isn't really an athlete. He's compassionate, loving, sentimental, and a sometimes philosopher. Occasionally, he brings me breakfast in bed or makes a cute homemade note for me. He loves board games and cries when he sees injustice or hurt animals. Truly, he is a wonderful young man and I am so blessed to have him in my life. So why in the world would I want to change him? Put simply, I don't and I won't. I don't want to regurgitate onto my son any dysfunctional societal attitudes regarding his masculinity. Let him have his pink-haired Beanie Baby bird - and let me learn again that the best thing I can do for him is give him Godly guidance and love and encourage the person God is turning him into. I'm so proud of my son. One of my favorite quotes applies so well to what I think of my him today. “Today you are You, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is Youer than You.” ~ Dr. Suess

Sometimes as a parent I get it wrong. It's so important when I'm having a less than stellar parenting moment that I'm wise enough to reevaluate my position and courageous enough to change my stance if necessary. I can't be dogmatic. As much as I'd like to be, I'm not always right. Changing my mind or allowing it to be changed by my son is nothing to be afraid of. It doesn't make me a weaker Mom. It refines me.

At times I turn dialogue with my son into a monologue. Better to listen to him tell me who he is than to tell him who is going to be. Who am I to think that he has nothing to teach me? The truth is that I learn from him everyday. What if I spent more time actually hearing what my son has to say? What if all parents did the same?

Oh my God, I can see!

For months my husband has been poking fun at me because he says I have to hold things too far from my face to read them. I have taken exception to the notion that because I can't read six inches from my face that I have a vision issue. What makes his distance any better than mine? I've been fairly indignant on the issue.

Two nights ago I traveled to Wal-Mart with my sister to pick up some prescriptions from the pharmacy. As usual, there was a wait during which time we began to browse the area around the pharmacy. I stared at some of the shelves contemplating that there must be some need I was having for which one of the products in front of me could fulfill. Really it was simple boredom as we passed the time waiting for the pharmacy tech to sort out my insurance.

Having exhausted the ace bandage and contact lens aisle, we shifted toward the reading glasses display. I recalled playing pretend with glasses as a little girl, wishing I had to wear them because I thought they'd make me look older and smarter. Suddenly I could hear my husband's chiding in my mind. I gravitated to the display determined to prove him wrong which I would promptly do upon returning home. Grasping the nearest package with smallish print, I also turned to grab the lowest level of reading glasses. I had practiced reading the small print on that package and found it to be readable, but blurry at the distance my husband said I should be able to see it clearly. Still holding the package at the same distance, I unfolded a pair of funky, leopard and green +1.00 reading glasses and slipped them on, perching them on the end of my nose. "Oh my God! I can read!," I said to my sister. I was stunned!

After several photos of me feigning depression while trying on various glasses, I settled on a red pair with stars and rhinestones on the arms. It seemed to fit my personality - and my face. Now it was time to make our way home and take it like a woman when my husband said I told you so.

The first person to notice was my ten year-old son. He asked me what was hanging from my neck. I pulled the glasses from their little "necklace" holder and slipped them on. He smiled and hugged me, telling me I looked like Memere (my mom). I laid my head on his shoulder and faked a boo-hoo while laughing and telling him Daddy might be trading me in for a younger woman with better vision. We both chuckled and he told me he was sorry. When I asked why he was sorry he said, "Because you had to get glasses and it means you're getting older."

Now in the last ten months I have undergone some major stress! There is no doubt my hair is much more gray. I can handle daily military life, schooling Koen, raising the twins, the transoceanic move, and two major surgeries, but something about having people ask me if the twins are my grandchildren and if my 35 year-old sister is my daughter is about to break me! But did I mention that I can see now? These glasses are meant to allow me to "see" a whole lot more than just what is in writing now. It's the beginning of seeing a whole new me, even if the new me is running head-on into a mid-life crisis precipitated by other people erroneously thinking I'm old! LOL And by the way, my wonderfully gracious husband told me I looked cute in my glasses and didn't even drop a hint of an "I told you so." I think he must have seen my fragile state. :)

New Breasts & Old Choices

I pulled out my drains today. Actually, I pulled one and my sister helped pull the other one. I was supposed to have a doctor's appointment for my post-op during which the doctor would have pulled the drains, but having seen it done after my first surgery it wasn't an intimidating prospect, so out they came. I feel much more free and can snuggle the babies on my lap with being concerned about them pulling my tubes out. That's a great step in the right direction.

Now that the drains are gone I have been able to get a better look at my breasts and the incisions. The incisions run horizontally along my sides under my arms ending just before the edge of where my back begins. I didn't expect them to be quite that long, but the lines are smooth and rather thin. In time I think they won't be very noticeable. For now, they keep me from being very mobile in my upper body. Reaching across my chest is difficult without some amount of discomfort and lying on my sides won't be easy for some time. I long for the days when I'll be able to sleep on my side again. That is something I've truly missed during this more than 4 month process.

So far, my breasts don't look like I thought they would. I know there is still swelling and they will shift and look different over the next several months. It'll be nice when they reach their new normal look. They are much softer than the tissue expanders - no more rocks in my chest. I can't say that they feel like my real breasts though, which were much softer. I'm sure the swelling is contributing to the extra firmness I'm feeling as well, but a certain amount of firmness is here to stay. This is not a bad thing of course. I joked for years with my husband about trading in my old boobs for new, younger ones. This is NOT the way to go about having a boob job, but there has to be a silver lining to the 4 months of pain I inflicted on myself through this choice.

Speaking of this choice, if I haven't said it already, I would do the same thing all over again. It's not completely over yet. There is still the question of the third surgery to construct a nipple, as well as the future tattooing of the areolae. At this point I can see why some women are content to have no nipples at all. Having gone through this much already, suddenly a nipple becomes less important, especially because it is purely cosmetic and will have no sensation. Then there is the question of projection. How far do I want my new nipple to stick out? I don't want to look cold all the time, but flat won't do either. What's the right decision? Maybe I'll just skip this one, at least for now. I really have a lot more important things on my mind for the time being; like schooling Koen, making holiday plans, getting pregnant for my sister and brother-in-law. Those things are all way more important than I non-feeling nipple I think. When the time is right I'm sure I'll blog about that one as well. Until then, onward and upward. :)

The Day After Reconstruction

I'm sitting here fighting the effects of vicodin and valium in order to write my thoughts on this day after my surgery. It's been an odd day.

The day began at 7:30 a.m. with me in the bathroom stripping my drains. It was odd to be back to dealing with drains again. Without much thought, I grabbed my alcohol pad and began pinching the tube on my right side while sliding my hand down the tube toward the bulb attached to the end. It only took a moment before moving on to the left side for more of the same. Again I followed the same procedure, only I had forgotten that all things have been more uncomfortable with my left side than my right. I quickly stripped the drain and released the tube, upon which I felt a deep sucking pain in my upper chest at the top of my "breast". I had an odd thought as I was nearly passing-out from the pain - "Is this what a sucking chest wound feels like?" Of course I wasn't bleeding out, but I was seeing a large donut-like circle with a black center floating in front of my eyes. Quickly, I sat on the toilet and called for my mom. When she couldn't hear me from the other side of the house and past all the noise of breakfast cooking and babies squealing I purposed to make it back to my bed where I promptly fell asleep for another two hours. So much for starting school with my son on time.

Eventually, I came too and joined the family. I was feeling rather fine with pain meds in my system and was able to sit with Koen and guide him through his school work. Much of the time I wanted to lie my head on the table and rest, but was determined for us to not lose a day of school work. As the day went on I washed a few dishes and was able to do a little paperwork which felt productive. I was just seeing the wood grain on the top of my desk when I began running out of steam. Was it really possible that I had done so little and could be that exhausted?

As much as it pained me, I spent most of the day avoiding the babies because they wanted me to pick them up and I couldn't. It was just upsetting for them, so I tried to redirect them to my mom or sister. I really just wanted to be able to snatch them up and cuddle them, but I've been here before with my first surgery and knew better. I did that the first time, insisting that I could lift them without hurting myself and wound up paying a price. I really had to resist their cuteness and especially their cries. Thank God my family was here to give them the attention they needed.

By late afternoon I was completely spent and gave-in to the call of my bed. I collapsed into an oblivious slumber, sleeping right through the wonderful dinner delivered by a friend from our home school support group. At approximately 11 pm, I woke to the sound of a crying baby and, realizing I was hungry, made my way to the kitchen. One bowl of cereal later and a slow trip to the bathroom for my evening meds and I was back in bed. The whole day was a slow blur, but whew! One day down, two weeks and six days to go until I can pick up my babies - and six weeks to go before I can go back to running. It'll be there before I know it and I'll be so glad.

Eeny, Meeny, Miny, Colonoscopy!

The day of my surgery, my sister and I were sitting in the waiting room contemplating the early morning giddiness we both seemed to be manifesting. I'm not sure why but everything seemed funny. Both of us being military wives, it's nothing new that we are ID'd nearly everywhere we go. It's a fact of life we've grown as accustomed to as our daily underwear change. On that morning though it struck us as quite odd that I would be carded for my surgery. In essence, this is the conversation that ensued . . .

Why are they ID'ing you? I mean what person in their right mind would walk in and say, "Eeny, meeny, miny . . . colonoscopy - yeah, I'll have the surgery that guy over there is having!" Of course it was me checking in for my reconstructive surgery! LOL The fun didn't stop there as we found other silly things to laugh about.

At one point, I noticed Valerie looking around at the other patients in the room. She was trying very nonchalantly to glance out of the corner of her eyes at the feet of all the gown-garbed patients' hospital-issued socks. As it turned out, every other patient in the room was a man. Suddenly Val leaned over and whispered in my ear, "Do your socks have stripes on both sides?" Top and bottom is what she meant. When I told her yes, she laughed and revealed to me that she thought it was just that all the men in the room were dumb. We both got a big chuckle out of that one, especially as she looked down and saw the rubbery stripes on the top of my feet too! Actually, I was beginning to sound like Muttley. You know, the canine side-kick of Dick Dastardly in the Wacky Races cartoons from my childhood? (Yes, I sound like Muttley when I laugh hard, hence my occasionally used nickname.)

We just couldn't stop laughing. Why was everything so funny? I still don't know. One thing is for sure though - it made the waiting to go under the knife bearable. Thank God for my sister! We chatted the time away so effortlessly that I even came up with a new doll. When I was a kid there was a doll named "Chatty Kathy". I asked, what if created a new doll and called her "Chatty Natrix"? Somehow one of my sister's nicknames I've bestowed on her came from a blending of a previous nickname along with the Matrix movie as I had one day envisioned her dodging bullets like Keanu Reeves' character. The name "Natrix" was born and she is now lovingly referred to as both Aunt Ralph (Ralph was my childhood nickname for her) and Aunt Natrix (this is obviously the more "super hero" version of my kids' aunt, which of course she is to them).

I started to contemplate what characteristics the Chatty Natrix doll would have. Let's see . . . she would obviously have to have at a minimum:
1. obnoxiously white, straight, and cavity-proof teeth, and be a dental expert
2. eyes that squint really hard as she laughs
3. an accompanying canine companion larger than her and roughly the size of a Clydesdale
4. a built-in psychology manual and parenting manual capable of delivering timely insights at the pull of a string
5. and no doubt, a really cool Matrix-like black jacket and coordinated shades that would flow as she dodged life's bullets with grace like Nemo (if you haven't seen the movie, this isn't funny to you at all).

These don't even scratch the surface of all this doll could be based on the original, but I could never nail Valerie down to a fixed set of characteristics anyway. She's a polymorphous creature able to both leap tall buildings in a single bound and simultaneously blend in with the bystander. She's my sanity and my proverbial muse. She's both simple and beautifully complex - and she's my sister! :)

Being ever the extrovert, once my IV was placed and the staff began to grow in numbers around my pre-op cubicle, I continued to chat up the nurses when suddenly my whole world began to slur. Actually, according to Val it was the sound of my voice. I looked at the nurse anesthetist and said, "Did you just give me something?" Of course she had and within about 10 seconds I reached a place where no memories remain. I don't recall the bed moving or any sounds and afterward was sure that I had fallen into a deep coma until Val shared with me that I was still mumbling rather unintelligibly and attempting to carry on a conversation as they rolled me down the hall toward the OR. We had all been laughing together before they drugged me. I'm sure that's why I woke up laughing.

They say you wake up however you went to sleep. I'm glad my awesome sister and husband were there to greet me as they rolled me past the waiting room whereupon I was laughing and shouted out to the whole room, "I have BOOBS!" As the room full of people chuckled at my cheesy smile and obvious joy, my sister announced to them, "It's been awhile since she's had boobs." Apparently this was also a declaration I made several times while being rolled down the hall toward the recovery room. LOL

Thoughts Before Reconstructive Surgery

I'm going in for my second surgery tomorrow to remove the tissue expanders (TE's) from my chest and have the implants put in. It'll be odd to have breasts again. All the changes my body has undergone over the last almost four months have been unbelievable. I've gone from having breasts that have fed babies, to no breasts at all and feeling rather manly, to slowly growing mounds that sit high on my chest and are hard as rocks, to tomorrow going back to having breasts again. It's a lot of changes to digest.

The first surgery left flaps of skin on my sides that I've begun lovingly referring to as "Thing 1" and "Thing 2". When they told me the flaps would be gone after tomorrow's surgery I was almost nostalgic. I said, "But I was about to name them!" LOL We all had a good laugh. I was seriously considering Thelma and Louise.

I spoke with my roommate earlier today and she gave me a head's up about what to expect. We had our mastectomies on the same day and recovered together. Last week she had her reconstruction surgery. It was nice to have her share her experience. There were even questions she spawned in me. I thought I knew everything to look forward to until then.

Like the night before every major planned event in my life, I've had a hard time settling my mind. I'm nervous and excited. There's even a part of me that is sad to let it come to an end. This experience has helped to further shape me into the person I am. It's been such a huge part of my life that it's come up a lot in conversation. Now that it's going to be finished, I won't have as much of a reason to talk about it, yet it's still molding me.

When I was widowed I found it hard to talk with anyone without telling them about Jason's death. How could I leave out a reference to something that had and was changing me so drastically? I thought they needed to know in order to "get me". Will this be a similar feeling? It's not exactly the same, but it's certainly made me a different person. This too, like every other experience I've had, will become part of the fabric of my life. Once the scars heal and no one can tell from the outside that anything is different about me it'll become another way to relate to others in similar circumstances.

I've written all my brain can process at this hour. My body is sufficiently exhausted and it's time to call it done. This time tomorrow, I'll be thanking God living life to the fullest. :)

Have a Nuk and a Nap

I have a new song I sing for Karter. Imagine this to the tune of the old Coke jingle "Have a Coke and a smile. " It's amazing how enduring a good marketing jingle or slogan can be. This one came out in 1979 and here I am more than 30 years later…still singing along.

Have a Nuk and a nap,
makes you feel good,
so refreshing,
makes you feel right,
have a Nuk and a nap…

That's the way it should be
when Mama likes to see
Karter smiling at me…

Have a Nuk and a…
Have a Nuk and a nap.

The Wisdom of an Older Brother

Yesterday I was standing in the kitchen talking with my husband when I heard my 10 year-old son Koen laughing intensely and sounding physically strained. The accompanying sounds of my 14 month-old daughter Lisse struggling gave rise to a quote from my son that I couldn't pass up the opportunity to document.

Koen called from the living room saying, "I like that Lisse won't quit, because she's persevering and that's a good lesson to learn . . . unless you're persevering against your older brother."

He's a wise one. :)


Big brother and little sister. They adore each other.

Surrogacy: The Hope of Giving Birth to My Niece or Nephew

On September 30, 2010, my sister Valerie, her husband Aaron, and I had an appointment at the Jones Institute for Reproductive Medicine. After years of trying to conceive and suffering a heart-wrenching number of unexplained miscarriages, they decided to take me up on my offer to be a surrogate for them. We headed to our appointment in torrential rain, feeling uncertain what the clinic would say about my suitability because of my age or medical history, including my recent bilateral mastectomy and upcoming reconstructive surgery. All our apprehensiveness would turn out to be unfounded.

After filling out tons of paperwork, consulting with the doctors, and both Valerie and I having ultrasounds, her for her ovaries and me for my uterus, we were given the green light. It turned out to be much easier than I thought. There will be lots of coordinating of schedules along the way, trips back and forth from Florida for both Aaron and Valerie, and probably some nail-biting, but we now have a time frame. In fact, we were certain they would have a reason to make us wait and were surprised when I was given my first prescription to be started the very next day! That night I headed out to the Wal-Mart pharmacy to turn in my prescription. We couldn't believe it. The transfer should be sometime around Thanksgiving, using her egg and his sperm.

On October 1, 2010, I zipped over to the pharmacy to pick up my meds, then crossed the parking lot and stopped in front of the pet store. I sat in my van with the first pill in my hand. Feeling overwhelmed by the emotional events of the previous two days, which included losing my beloved Shiba Kenji, being worried sick trying to find our Papillon Dexter, then the elation at finding him, I had to take a moment to pause and just breathe. The event I was about to mark was huge - so much bigger than me in that moment. The last nine months of my life had been wrapped up in one big exclamation point. Funny, nine months is the length of time most people associate with a pregnancy.

Holding that little, white, Progesterone pill in my hand represented the hopes and dreams of so many people, starting with my sister. It also guaranteed that the next year of my life would be no less emotional than the last. I could say that the next year will be wrapped up in a huge question mark. That thought didn't frighten me. I'm a Navy wife and therefore accustomed to question marks. :) One thing was certain, God is in control and will either use me to make my sister a mom or not. There I was, alone to ponder the enormity of the decision we'd all made together, my family and hers. I was thankful for those quiet moments. I prayed and gave the whole process to the Lord to make of it what He wills. Of course I also put in my personal request to finally become an aunt. :) How amazing just to think of having the opportunity to bring my niece or nephew into the world.

After praying, I threw back my water bottle and popped the pill in my mouth, thinking, "Here we go!"

The Day We Found Dexter

The morning after Kenji died we awoke at 7 am and prepared ourselves to search for Dexter. I had already prayed and asked God to protect him and bring him home. I didn't know what losing both of them would do to Koen. Dexter had been missing the whole night through horrible rains that had left Elizabeth City, N.C., severely flooded. By 7:30 am we were ready to go.

First, we went out and drove around the neighborhood again calling Dexter's name and whistling to no avail. Then we headed back to the house to call the Albemarle Pet Crematoria to find out about cremating Kenji. The funeral director was at our house within 15 minutes to pick him up. The whole thing seemed surreal and, though I was crying, I felt detached and numb.

Afterward, we left again to begin knocking on doors while we waited for the animal shelters and animal control to open. We started with our closest neighbor and planned to work our way down the street. At our neighbor's house we shared our news and she told us the hour she had last seen Dexter. She recommended we check across the street from her because he might have been able to get under a door that is left cracked open for their dog. Could he be in there? We left and went straight across. After showing Dexter's photo to the very nice lady, she told us her daughter had seen him running down the middle of the main road in front of our house. Traffic, she said, was stopping for him and he was running toward the gas station at the end of the road. Our road is highly traveled and has no shoulder, only deep ditches. That sighting was about 7 pm. I decided to abandon our door-to-door search and go instead to the gas station to show his photo to the staff.

No one at the station recognized Dexter, so Koen said, "What's next?" I quickly said, "Let's go down the street to Lamb's." Being early morning, I thought Lamb's convenience store and gas station might have lots of locals in and out. Maybe we could show his photo and get a hit. The two employees said they hadn't seen him, but a line of customers began turning their heads to look at the photo on my cell phone. The second lady in line said, "I saw him last night. He was diggin' in my trash." I was relieved! Her sighting had been later in the evening. As she was giving me details about where she lived, Koen began to yank vigorously on my shirt sleeve. I leaned over to him and he whispered excitedly in my ear, "I prayed and God told me this lady is going to lead us to Dexter!" He sounded as serious as a heart attack. We finished talking with the lady and made for the door.

Jogging to the van, Koen asked again, "What now?" I told him we were headed toward that lady's street. As we jumped in the van, he began saying, "I know we're going to find him! The last time he got out I found him sniffing in the flowers around a neighbor's mailbox." The tone in his voice was one that said he didn't believe that we would find Dexter later, but that we were literally going to go right then and pick him up. He was convinced that God was pointing us toward his best friend. Though I'm a Christian, I was skeptical. His faith was unshakable and I worried about what would happen if we never found Dexter, or worse, found him dead. Would that rattle his faith? Time was running out for my search because I had only an hour before having to leave for a doctor's appointment. My sister had coordinated her trip from Florida and we both had to be there. There was no way we could reschedule.

Turning onto the street where the lady lived, I slowed my speed and we began calling loudly for Dexter. After numerous houses, I saw a front door open and decided to stop. Another nice lady told me she hadn't seen him, but would be on the lookout. After a brief conversation we were back in the van. I backed out and was just picking up speed when I looked to the right and spotted him standing in a flower bed two doors down and across the street from the lady's house. I shouted, "DEXTER! DEXTER! There he is!" I couldn't park fast enough!

Whipping into the driveway, we both sprang from the van and bolted toward him. He was soaked to the bone, filthy, covered in fleas, and obviously injured. Three of his legs were skinned with patches of fur missing and he was barely walking toward us. In fact, he only stepped out of the flower bed and just stood on the sidewalk waiting for me to pick him up. He winced and yelped as I gently scooped him up, snuggling him into my chest. We made our way back to the van crying tears of joy. We climbed in and I passed Dexter over to Koen's lap. The smile on his face was priceless - pure joy!

Before we could even move another muscle I knew we had to stop and thank God for leading us to Dexter. We give Him all the credit. He derailed every plan I had for finding Dexter, which had included calling shelters and animal control and printing fliers to put up, among other things. Had I taken time to do those things we might have never found him.

It occurred to me later that Koen had had the faith to move a mountain. He prayed, believing, and he received. Later, he told me he had a new nickname for Dexter. He called him "The Miracle Dog". What was wrong with me? The night before as I stood contemplating whether to buy him a soft, new dog bed, I was certain I'd probably be wasting my money. I just couldn't bring myself to believe we'd find him alive and had decided against spending the money. Thankfully, Koen didn't share my skepticism.

All day I pondered the lesson I'd learned from my 10 year-old son. I ponder it still. I want to have the faith of a child, my child. Someone later commented that it was my determination that led us to Dexter. However determined I might have been, without God my little man would not be sleeping in his bed tonight with his best friend. I give it all to Him who has given all for me. I'm so thankful for the prayers lifted up by our family and friends. They were all used by God to sustain us through a frighteningly uncertain time.

The sight of Koen and his best buddy together again gives me peace. Dexter's presence has helped to soften the blow of Kenji's death. We all have been reminded that life is short and that we need to cherish and give time to those we love. I'm grateful that we have more time to love Dexter. Now we just need to pamper him until he's well and running circles around us again.


Koen reading with Dexter, August 22, 2009.