Twelve months ago, we were about to be dealt a blow that would change our lives forever. However, the nine days leading up to that were pure euphoria with our son Archer entering into the world.
During these nine days, time stood still…
Our beautiful little man turned one this week. What a year it has been.
Archer at two days old. Source: Jill Gregg.
I know for me, at times, it has been very overwhelming looking back at all that we have accomplished in the last year. At significant moments in life, time stands still and memories come flooding in. At significant times during the week, Cam and I have had conversations that go along the lines of… "at this exact time a year ago, I was going in for my CAT Scan to see what was going on in my brain."
"At this time a year ago, I would have been in the ambulance looking at the digital clock near my bed, not knowing that that was the last time I could make out a digital clock without straining my eyes.
"At this time a year ago, I was lying on the theatre table crying tears of joy, seeing our baby being lifted above the surgical drapes."
Rocking Archer to sleep. Source: Chris Epworth Photos.
That moment in time was an amazing moment. And for the next nine days that I had left of vision remains clearly cemented in colour in my memory.
I remember every conversation, every visitor, the pure euphoria felt holding my baby for the first time, the sleep deprivation, but wanting to stay awake just to stare at Archer, and take in the shape of his little lips, his wrinkly grandpa forehead, his deep blue eyes which have since, I have heard, turned brown, every crevice, the colour of his skin.
I am so grateful for those moments. Although it was a whirlwind nine days with trying to take in the news of my tumours, much of that news was overshadowed by this little miracle who I live every moment for.
Archer playing with his presents. Source: Chris Epworth Photos.
So as I reflect back a year down the track on that nine days of my last moments in time of seeing colour in almost full dexterity, they are happy memories.
Even though I wish for my vision to come back, it went out with a bang and on a high so I will hold onto that. I may not be able to see the colour of Archer’s eyes, or the finer details in life, but I can see enough to see his face light up when I am up close, I can hear his infectious laugh and giggles, I saw the first time he rolled over, the first time he crawled, sat up and took his first steps.