hannah and caroline and the little kumquat and me
(part one)


sunday morning, we were heading into firehouse off of highway 11 when sarah's dad, bill, shook my hand and said, "congratulations". i am paraphrasing the next part but it went something like this..., "there is no truer symbol of hope than bringing a child into the world."

i wasn't sure how he meant the comment.

it could've been just from the baby angle. baby=symbol of hope. a new life. completely innocent. completely unaware of how truly fucked up the world is. parents, entirely aware of how truly fucked up the world is, make the intentional decision to create a new life anyway. in the baby growing inside of the mommy's belly is not only a life, but a metaphor. the parents telling the world that they feel that all is not lost, not only for their current children but this child, too, and they are not afraid for this child or this child's future generations. the baby represents optimism, a moment in time flip of the bird to the cynic inside all of us, an expression of belief in the potential good of our fellow man and the goodness of our creator that allows miracles such as human creation to be within our reach and control.

it could've been from the kevin angle. at least, there was a part of me that heard it that way. there have been few people that have been as in tune with my every day anxieties over the last 18 months as sarah's dad. sarah's dad is a doctor, so any time anything odd happened to me, he was one of the first we talked to. a weird feeling i had never noticed or paid attention to before? will you call your dad? an experience relating to my expelling of bodily waste that worried me? will you call your dad? my being dizzy for several months post-operation? will you call your dad? something i read on the internet? i am pretty sure i just found my cause of death on webmd. will you call your dad? each time, he patiently (from what i am told) heard sarah's retelling of my most recent malady and responded back to her in a loving and educated and rational way. he didn't make fun of me (from what i am told). he didn't tell me to sod off (from what i am told). he just told me in so many words the same mantra that my therapist did. is it possible that little bump on your head that has been there as long as you can remember will end up killing you? maybe. is it probable? um, no.

more than likely, some of both of those sentiments were captured in bill's words and, however he meant them, i appreciated it.

in spite of all the clean scans, positive test results, return to health, and encouraging words, there have been many days in the last eighteen months i was certain my fate was in immediate peril. after my late january scan, i put my doctor on the spot.

dr. wade. this is unfair of me to ask you, but you have gotten to know me and my anxieties pretty well over the last 18-20 months. i have two concerns with the idea of having more children. one, i want to be relatively certain that, barring something unforeseen and unrelated to my having kidney cancer, i would like to be around and a part of that child's life for a long time. two, i also am worried about my children now and in the future-tense being at greater risk for having the same issue.

dr. wade: (smiles) that's not how this kind of cancer works. you shouldn't worry about that.

(here's the unfair part) so, if i were you, would you, you know, not try again?

dr. wade: (smiles) i think you should feel good about going on and living your life in whatever way you want to. we're going to see each other for a long time.

the rest, as they say, is now history.

"there is no truer symbol of hope than bringing a child into the world."

sarah is pregnant. twelve weeks on thursday. the due date is one week before my own birthday, october 23rd.

let's do this.