“Surprise, Mrs. Thomas, the test is positive”. “What test?, the young mom begs for an answer. “You're pregnant.” The inspiring peace in his eyes makes you realize you're supposed to be happy about this moment but then you look at your husband. You are both terrified. “Now it's just not a stomach bug, I'm even more sick to my stomach. It's the gut-wrenching realization that you may not live much longer. We had decided four years ago that we couldn't do this again. We barely made it out alive with the first baby. Between being born too early and momma almost dying, it would be too dangerous and selfish to bring another life into this world, but God has another plan. Four months later, everything is going fine, we have a name picked out, bedroom painted pink and a plan to not leave my first baby without a mom. Then karma kicks in and kicks me straight to the ground, literally. While wearing three inch heels in a church parking lot, I loose balance trying to protect one baby from oncoming traffic that I forget, there is a baby in my belly that needs protection too. While I'm on the ground I rip my heel off of my foot and realize that my ankle is obviously broken, deformed and dangling off my leg. I'm rushed to the hospital and doctors have to look at the dusty medical books to see what medication can be given to a pregnant woman. The baby in my belly is still alive but my leg won't be much longer if it's not fixed quickly. The next week is full of terror as I have to make the choice to have a big surgery to save my leg, my lifestyle, my peace. I know it's not good to take pain medication or have x-rays while pregnant but I don't have an option. Either pins, plates and screws, or amputation. I think I make the right decision until the guilt connects the understanding two years later. The baby and I both make it through delivery, learning to walk, learning to eat, learning to pee in the potty but then our world is turned upside down. On a random night, her dad looks at her and asks “why is your nose swollen?” In the few words that she has found over the past two year, she explains; “it's a jewel.” “Like one of these plastic ones?” he asks holding up a shimmery plastic gem. Antibiotics, scans, biopsies and several months later, I get the call no parent can prepare for. “Hi I'm looking for the parents of Birdie?” “Yes I'm her mother”, I say with fear chocking me, stealing my breathe . “Mrs. Thomas, Birdie has cancer” the doctor has tear rearing up in his eyes that you can hear running down his nose through the phone. My mind went blank as soon as I hear the “c-word”, I know he told me more details but I can't hear them. Momma is already in fight mode. I have to fight to save this baby that God gave me when doctors say I couldn't have anymore. I know there is a grand plan for her, but I have to help get her there. “We need to get you in for an immediate PET scan and biopsies,” the oncology team details the treatment plan. A year of chemotherapy, thirty days of radiation and a surgery to remove the entire tumor. Halfway through chemo, it's time to cut the monster out of her face. We know that Rhabdomyosarcoma has little fingers that invade every part of her little face but the doctors are on the same page as us. “We will need to cut it all out, leave a hole in her face and probably take more of her face off until we get clear margins,' the surgeon tells me. “I'm not here to make her look pretty, I'm here to help save her life.” This surgeon is why we chose to get treatment here instead of the world-renowned hospital next door. I know that this is going to be harsh. My little baby has half her face ripped off by a scalpel, in a desperate attempt to save her life. The beeps, lights and constant heart-pounding fear cripples my mind, destroys my faith and paralyzes my understanding. My baby is on life support, I was not prepared for this. I can't protect her from any of this, I'm the one helping the nurses hold her down while she's poked and prodded. The next six months, is a blur. Doctor appointment, infusion day, radiation day and still working a full-time job, somehow doesn't break me. Two years later, my baby is still alive, her face is deformed but the only thing that matter, she does not have cancer anymore. She may not be able to breathe through her nose, may have random aches and pains, my not be able to have adult teeth or a baby of her own, but she's alive. As I try to explain that we're still fighting the effects of the horrific treatment, all of the other kids that started this journey with us, have pass on. “Momma, I'm just lucky” she says through eyes that have seen more than I ever will. “I know baby, everyone has been praying for us” I say with conviction in my heart. We may never know positively if that broken ankle is what did this to her, but I will fight until my dying breath to help her through it. We're paving the way for those that come behind us.