The Rest of the Story...

I wish I could say it was pure excitement from the first ring. This time around, however, I’d questioned. And when my phone rang less than twenty-four hours from submitting our “Yes”, I wasn’t sure what to feel but numb. My fingers shook as I answered to hear the words I’d waited so long to hear: “Jamie, she chose you.”

It was November when we knew we’d heard from the Lord about adoption. June when we purchased our new home in preparation. October when we submitted our application. Then finally, it was the beginning of July 2018 when we completed our home study and handed over our profile books to the adoption agency.

From there, we waited as those books landed in the hands of twenty-three women over the course of nearly two years. Twenty-three mamas considered our family for their adoption plan. Twenty-two times we received a “No, your family isn’t right for this child” response. And twenty-two times our hearts were broken.

That twenty-second “No”, however, nearly did me in. I wrestled with the allure of giving up. All of this I’d shared exactly three weeks prior at the 2020 Starting Point Banquet. But while I thought I’d left that stage confident, the doubts still hovered far too close. So when we received an email for our profile book’s twenty-third debut, “No” was the answer I wanted to give.

I’m so thankful for my husband’s wisdom in times like these. The details of the case seemed too complicated. ‘No’ would have been easier. But as we sat in our kitchen, we both knew, “No” was the wrong answer. It was 2:55 pm that Wednesday afternoon, when Rob typed out our simple, three letter response to the email we’d received only an hour prior: “Yes.” By 10:30 the next morning, my phone rang.

Tears sprang to my eyes as I think of the sudden doubt that flooded my heart in an instant. With every heartbeat a new question sprang to life as we weeded through the details. While each one still bombarded my senses (and on occasion continues to plague my mind), I’ve never been more aware of a divine setup as when our feet crossed the threshold of that hospital room.

Nor will I soon forget the words his first mama spoke with clarity that sunny afternoon. With her tiny babe still tucked against her chest, she looked us in the eyes and said, “I knew you were the ones.” She who was brave yet broken and hurting has a confidence in us I may never know.

Who am I to be this boy’s mama? This boy with a smile that radiates across his every feature and makes his eyes disappear into his plump cheeks. This boy with contagious giggles and the sweetest little voice. This boy with thick, black, curly hair. Daily I see and hear his first mama wrapped up in this little boy I call mine. Who am I to be this boy’s mama? I may never comprehend the magnitude of that question.

So I lean into God’s infinite plan when those questions stare me in the face and refer to His wisdom that poured through a bright smile that filled this strong woman’s face. I was chosen to be his mama; I treasure that truth.

I wish I could end our story there. Long wait, happily ever after; but as most stories go, this isn’t how ours has panned out. That Wednesday afternoon as we read through our email, what had me questioning our answer most was the possibility of a diagnosis. Six weeks after Quinton Phoenix was home, we learned the news we’d feared.

Hunter Syndrome.

A quick google search tells of the dire repercussions with this awful disorder. Hunter Syndrome, or MPS II, occurs in 1 in 100,000 to 170,000 children and in a severe form, like Q has, life expectancy can range anywhere from 10-20 years old. Due to its rare nature, Hunter Syndrome treatments are limited at best. Only one FDA-approved treatment exists but it can do nothing for neurological degeneration. Every other treatment is either experimental in nature or reactive to the disease progression.

Hunter Syndrome is often not caught until irreversible damage is found. But because our son’s first mama was forthcoming with its possibility, Quinton was offered a chance most don’t receive: A bone marrow transplant. A transplant removes the marrow in the bones that cannot break down the buildup of proteins, with marrow capable of doing so. The shortened version: It’s a chance for our son. So we took it.

September 16th, Rob and I packed up our tiny baby and a scarce amount of necessary items, hugged our big kids farewell (thanks to COVID they weren’t able to join) and moved to Pittsburgh, PA for a ninety-six night stay away from the comforts of home. October 9, 2020, after nearly three months of surgeries, waiting for the right cord blood donor and two weeks of chemotherapy, Quinton received his bone marrow transplant.

This road has been hard. The emotional turmoil it has evoked continues to surprise in ways we never anticipated. All five of us are wading these murky waters of trauma and an immunocompromised child. Yet, I can say with confidence: God is oh, so faithful and has walked with us every step of this treacherous journey. All the hardships of the wait, pale in comparison to the joy it is to be this boy’s mama; diagnosis or not.

Even with his bone marrow transplant, we have no idea what Quinton’s health will look like in the years to come. He could still have all the same complications, joint and mobility concerns, cognitive delay, etc. Or, he could have a fairly normal life. We don’t know. God is writing his story just as He has been since long before his birth.

If I could somehow have known all that would transpire this past year when we received that email, I wouldn’t have hesitated. There would have been no pause; no second-guessing the path. Being this boy’s second mama, his constant and comfort is worth any heartache I will ever know. This path has marked us, yes. It has changed us. But I wouldn’t trade it for easy. It’s in the unknowns, the uncertainty and fears we’ve met our Savior in ways we never could have known otherwise.

Tears are always on the brim when I realize how close I was to missing this. Life is worth the risk. He is worth the risk. I am simply blessed.

I don’t want to neglect this opportunity to thank those of you who have prayed over our family this past year. I truly believe our son is not only in our arms, but alive today because of the many who have stormed Heaven’s gates on his behalf. Life as a family of five has been easier yet harder than we ever imagined. Mostly though, it’s been sweeter after walking this journey.