Late in the summer of 2008 I was enjoying life as a newlywed
with very little responsibility. Funny how the months following your wedding
are similar to the months following graduation from college -- pressure of
planning has been lifted, cocktailing often, and no immediate expectations from
anyone.
During that time I had the pleasure of attending my
company’s management off-site (super fun)
which included team-building, lots of sharing, and an “expert” motivational
speaker telling us we should “strive to
do what we truly want to do in life.” Let me tell ya, in a dark ballroom in
the basement of The American Club in Kohler, WI no one was doing what he or she
truly wanted to do in life.
However, we all played along and participated in the
activity Mr. Expert explained would “help
us become better managers and media experts and humans” . . . or something like that. While I
mock, I can still clearly remember one super lame activity five years later.
Mr. Expert had everyone write his or her life story in 7
words. “Where do you want to go? What do
you want to be? What do you expect of your future?” Yep, everyone groaned
and whined about how that was impossible and silly and what does this have to
do with media? But we took a few minutes and came up with our seven-word life
story.
Next, Mr. Expert asked a few of us to share with the group.
Here are a few:
“I should have been a writer instead”
“This job needs to pay more money”
“Three years I won’t be in media”
Sensing a theme here?
Finally, my former manager and friend, Rebecca, who was
sitting across the room, raised her hand to offer her seven-word life story:
“Exactly where I thought I would be”
“What?!?!” I shouted. “No way, those are my exact words as
well.”
Mr. Expert glared at me and said, “Let me see your paper. Never
in all my years have I ever seen two exact same seven-word life story.”
He was actually mad but we thought it was perfect. Rebecca
and I are . . let’s just say very detail-orientated (I am sure some of the team
that worked for us might have some other words). We worked well together, had
the same work ethic, and both LOVED the movie Girls Just Want to Have Fun.
Post off-site, Rebecca and I joked about our seven-word life
story often. I came back to those words frequently (maybe off-site, team building exercises are not totally worthless).
I truly was exactly where I thought I would be -- happily married to my best
friend, taking advantage of the fabulous city, working at my dream company from
college, and enjoying life. Don’t get me wrong everyday was not roses, but for
the most part life made me smile.
Fast-forward to December 20, 2011 . . . my 32nd
birthday and the night before our amniocentesis. Facebook overflowed with
birthday wishes from friendly faces who had no idea we were not smiling. Each
one was sweet and heartfelt but it was Rebecca’s that stuck “Happy Bday Jen! I hope
you still feel your 7 words are true.”
I cried as I read the line over and over and over. I so
badly wanted to say “No, I’m lost. I never thought I’d be here anticipating an
amnio during my birthday dinner. This is not where I wanted to be. This was not
my vision from the summer of 2008.” I spent much of the holidays crying wondering
if I would ever find my way back.
By January 3, 2012, after hanging up the phone with the
geneticist, I no longer had words for my seven-word life story. Nothing. It was
blank.
I never imagined I would spend 5 hours a week watching therapists
teach my son to sit, to hold his head up, and to play with toys. I never
imagined I would spend 3 hours a week shopping for, making, and cleaning up
blenderized food to feed through a tube that goes into my son’s stomach. I
never imagined I would know the words Wolf or Hirschhorn. I never imagined I
would spend close to 200 days (if you add up all the hours with over-night
stays and doctor’s visits) in a children’s hospital in the first two years of
my son’s life. I never imagined shooting up in the middle of the night hoping and
praying my son would take a breath after a rough coughing fit. I never imagined
wondering if my son will ever see 2 . . .5 . . . 10 birthday candles on a cake.
And yet . . .
I never imagined the joy of watching
our 21-month old son roll over after 5 minutes of trying very hard. I never
imagined I would tear up as my 3-year old holds his brother’s hand teaching him
how to push his favorite John Deere tracker. I never imagined friends from long
ago reaching out to learn more about our son. I never imagined getting long,
strong hugs from close friends and strangers after meeting my son. I never
imagined having a whole new group of friends who have little buddies similar to
our son. I never imagined how much love and strength a chromosome deletion
could bring to a marriage and family.
Today, on January 3, 2014, two years after hearing “We got
your results back and we found a chromosome abnormality. There is a small deletion
on the short arm of chromosome 4. This has been classified as a very, very rare
syndrome known as Wolf-Hirschhorn Syndrome” I have my words back.
“Kinda where I thought I would be”
or
“Exactly where I should be right now”
My seven-word life story has slightly shifted but I’m still
the happy newlywed from 5½ years ago and I sure have far more love and smiles
in my life than I ever imagined.
Cookie decorating Day |
Cookie Decorating Day |
Waiting for Santa |
Holiday Sing-a-Long at School |
Matching PJs are the best |
Brothers in bowties on Christmas Eve |
Connor asked for a harmonica and bongos - JD asked for a rocking horse . . . Santa delivered |
Christmas Morning besties |
Our gift! |