Our children change our lives. We have good days and
bad days with them, in fact sometimes, and maybe even often, we rotate the good
and bad with each passing minute. One minute Marco will be hugging me saying, “I
wuv you mom” and the next he’ll close fist punch me in the face because he can’t
have a seventh package of fruit snacks. A few months into my second pregnancy,
after one particular instance where Marco had won rounds 1,2,3 and 4 of a
boxing match with my face I laid on the kitchen floor and cried because I
couldn’t believe that I actually thought having another one of these things was
a good idea. I remember Marco rode into the kitchen on his bike and ran over my
hand, winning round 5, and I cried harder in sheer disappointment with my
choices. I’m sorry but I do not believe anyone that says parenting has been
easy for them. Those that claim this notion are either on psychotropic
medication, have a full time nanny, start drinking at 7AM or have a really bad habit
with lying. And then there are those moments that are so endearing and
wonderful that it cancels out the pain from the last blow to the shin, face or
private part. Those are the moments when you say to yourself, “I want another
baby.” Marco had one of those endearing moments once, which is why I got
pregnant for the second and last time.
As weird as it sounds I have actually enjoyed the
deliveries of each of my children, thanks to epidurals, which are way better
than any Wednesday-Saturday night I had in college. However the side effects of
their deliveries were way worse and I don’t want to discuss any of that. The
anticipation of meeting each little baby has been so exciting and I can
remember vividly both moments when each of my children were handed to me.
Obviously Simona’s delivery was different than Marco’s and it was just as
emotional but in a different way. I have looked at my Adventure through
Cancerland as a ruler. All along my “ruler” each inch was a different step to
completing the process and delivering Simona was a significant step towards
progression. I was induced at 5 AM, binge watched Season 1 of Jane the Virgin
and by 1:10AM our sweet little baby was born. In between those times I learned
the secret code that the Labor and Delivery nurses use for when an ugly baby is
born (“ She looks just like you, mom.” Think back to if you have ever heard
that…), answered a lot of questions about my cancer by every single person that
came into our room, watched Darin take a nap, rooted for Jane to ditch Michael
and marry Rafael, gave recaps of each episode to each nurse that came in so
they could binge watch a telenovela vicariously through me and deliver babies
at the same time, watched Darin take another nap and plotted how I could hurt
him, paranoia that my milk ducts weren’t removed from my right breast set in
around 10 AM and I started to panic that my missing breast would magically fill
with breast milk and I would explode because there would be no way to get it
out, sat with said paranoia for numerous hours and wouldn’t share the
information with anyone because I knew this is what we called an “irrational
fear” in grad school, listened to Darin complain that the hospital couch was
uncomfortable and upped my plot to hurt him, talked to my OB about breaking my
water, paranoia sets in that my OB was going to wear a pirate hook to break my
water, shared said paranoia and got made fun of (thanks Dr. T!) because
apparently that was a confirmed irrational fear, attempted to have water broken
and almost climbed up the wall in pain, epidural started, paranoia sets in that
I will be the .000001% of the population that has a horrible side
effect-specifically a spinal injury that leads to a brain disorder, I do not
share that information, facetime my sister but for some reason I end up
facetiming my brother in law’s father-so I explain to him how my labor is
going, water breaks while bouncing on a yoga ball-ewww, long period of time
where nothing happens, more boredom, no progress, turn up Pitocin, no progress,
crank up Pitocin, shift change of nurses, answer more cancer questions, exhaust
Season 1 of Jane the Virgin, more waiting, more Pitocin, night time sets in,
paranoia sets in that then it suddenly hits me! No, not the labor pains,
something worse, way worse. I blurted out to Darin, “Oh my God, what are we
going to do if Marco is the good one?” You see I had never considered this
option over the past 36 weeks. Never once. But, in those last few hours it
dawned on me that we had a 50/50 chance of Marco being dethroned and the odds
are always against me. I sat in a daze for awhile picturing what my life was
going to be like, then 10 PM rolled around and…it’s go time aaaannnnddd the
epidural wears off! Darin’s face starts to resemble the color of silly putty
and he says he needs to use the bathroom. The nurse calls the front desk to say
there may be a “dad down” in the hallway. I’m holding my own leg, the baby is
coming and Darin takes a break to pee. 1:10AM a beautiful, healthy baby girl is
brought into the world and lays right on my chest and holds my finger. I
remember thinking how strong she seemed. The nurse smiles at me and says…, “She looks just like you, mom.” That’s
right, she said it. I WAS JUST TOLD IN SECRET NURSE CODE THAT MY BABY WAS UGLY.
God dammit. I started laughing because that was my second fear. Parents, don’t
try to tell me that never crossed your mind when your baby was in utero, you
thought about it, you know you did! My first fear was that I wasn’t going to
have a healthy baby. Thank goodness she was healthy, but great, now she’s ugly.
To be honest, she looked just like a baby turtle, so I couldn’t really be mad
at Nurse Secret Hurtful Remarks. But that secret code also insults the mother’s
looks. My OB asks we want to take our first family picture and at the same time
I say, “Sure!” and Darin says, “That’s okay.” To recap, I’m down to one boob,
stretch marks everywhere, a large varicose vein and now I have an ugly baby
that looks just like me, which must be true because Darin is refusing to take a
photo with us. This is the opposite of winning, people.
In all seriousness, that stuff didn’t matter. That sweet
baby looked right into my eyes the second I held her and she just stared at me.
She still does in the same content way she did the first few minutes of her
life. It was like she came out knowing that she was not only a miracle but my
guardian angel who truly saved my life. You see, had the cancer been found any
sooner aborting her would have been among the list of options presented by my
medical team. Had the cancer been found any later, the possibility of the
cancer spreading to my lymph nodes would have been much higher. None of those
options are ones that I like to think about, but they must be discussed in
order to put this situation into the correct context. We visit yet again, how
cancer impacts and clogs up all the aspects of our daily lives like a tree root
does with pipes. Cancer doesn’t just happen and go away, the impact lingers, it
forces conversations to be had that are ugly, it puts thoughts in our minds
that are normally too painful to think about or locked so far away that we
forget they were ever there in the first place. All of those moments that I hid
somewhere to bawl my eyes out, the seconds that would tick by in the dead of
night as I lay thinking of gut wrenching scenarios, the awful ethical dilemmas
that we faced with each decision, the fights that Darin and I would have that
stemmed from fear and desperation, the loneliness and isolation that I felt
going through this even though I had the best support system anyone could ask
for, I mean all of this crap, for lack of a better term, was gone instantaneously
when I held this sweet baby for the first time. She calmed me completely and I
promised her that I fought and sacrificed to make sure that I would get to hold
her and that I would fight even harder and sacrifice even more to make sure I
could watch her grow up to be the badass woman warrior she was determined to
be, even if she does look just like me.
Over the next two days Darin and I knew we needed to
give her a name that encompassed her badass journey. My breast surgeon
recommended, “Crusher” but that didn’t sound feminine enough to me. “Crusha,”
maybe, but “Crusher,” no. My surgeon also offered to bring in some fake tattoos
to give her a sleeve before we left the hospital. I wish she would have. For two days, Darin
and I studied this baby’s every move to see what sort of name would come to us.
It was important to incorporate both of our mother’s names, as they were and
are both very strong females and of the upmost importance to us. We decided on
Simona Ilci List Arigoni. “Ilci” is the combination of both of our mother’s
names. Simone means “one who hears” or “bearer of the cross”, and for her, it’s
perfect. To hear, does not just mean the audible. It’s to be aware, to read
between the lines, to interpret. I couldn’t think of a better name for a better
person, because she truly is the best person I’ve ever met.
