We first learned we were expecting Elliot in August 2017. That very morning, I had just run my first 5k—a milestone I never imagined I’d celebrate while discovering I was pregnant. We had only recently started trying and hadn’t expected to conceive so quickly. Still, something inside me had whispered that this time would be different. When we saw the positive test, excitement and joy overwhelmed us. We were ready for our oldest son, Pacer, to have a little playmate—a brother or sister to grow up with, to laugh and explore life alongside him.
The first trimester was rough. I was sick almost constantly, and my cravings were… particular. I couldn’t imagine eating anything but expensive steaks from fancy restaurants. Elliot, it seemed, already had exquisite taste! By the second trimester, though, I began to feel better. I could enjoy walks again, play with Pacer, and soak in the everyday moments of our growing family. Everything about my pregnancy with Elliot felt perfect—healthy, peaceful, and filled with love.
My delivery with Elliot was just as smooth as my pregnancy. I was in labor for about 13 or 14 hours before he made his entrance on April 18, 2018, weighing 7 pounds 14 ounces. The instant I held him, I felt a completeness I had never known. I’ll never forget the nurse leaning down and saying, “Look at those hands,” as his tiny fingers reached out to me. Elliot was a gentle, sweet baby, always smiling and full of warmth.
Sleep, however, was always a struggle. I worried endlessly that he wasn’t getting enough milk while breastfeeding, as he seemed unable to settle into deep, restful sleep. I treasured every nap, no matter how short, snapping photos to capture these fleeting moments.
When Elliot was three months old, a routine moment of play turned into the beginning of a terrifying journey. As he sat on my lap, I noticed a lump on the left side of his abdomen. It was subtle, but new. I called Sterling over, and we both agreed that it needed to be checked the very next day. At the time, I tried to dismiss it, thinking it might just be constipation or a small harmless bump.
The following day, we brought Elliot to our pediatrician. After a careful examination, the doctor suggested consulting another doctor from the clinic. My confidence wavered when this doctor dimmed the lights and shone a flashlight across his belly—it felt like a scene from a nightmare. Soon after, our doctor returned with news that shook us to the core: Elliot had a mass in his abdomen. Unsure of its origin, they immediately referred us to the Pediatric Unit at the hospital, where a room was already waiting.
The drive to the hospital was tense. Pacer kept asking where we were going, excited for playtime, oblivious to the fear in our hearts. I fought back tears and prayed silently, sensing this was just the beginning of a long, uncertain road.
At the hospital, the staff welcomed us warmly. Elliot was quickly hooked up to monitors while nurses offered Pacer toys and books so we could focus on the medical team. An ultrasound revealed a large mass stemming from his left kidney, obscuring the kidney entirely. Confusion and fear swirled through us—we only wanted our baby boy to be okay.
Hours later, a doctor entered with a nurse and greeted Pacer, inviting him to the playroom. My heart sank, knowing this was likely the moment that would deliver grave news. Once Pacer was safely away, the doctor introduced herself. With calm certainty, she explained that she suspected Wilms Tumor, a kidney tumor typically seen in toddlers, rare in infants as young as Elliot. Then she paused, saying, “Now you can cry and have a fit before we continue, because you will need to be strong for Elliot.” Sterling and I held each other and wept, grief and fear mingling with love for our tiny son.
After our tears, the doctor outlined the next steps. Elliot would undergo a CT scan to determine if the tumor had spread. Surgery was urgent—waiting was not an option. Over the next three chaotic days, we juggled scheduling the surgery, celebrating Pacer’s third birthday, and arranging our stay at Ronald McDonald House. Family came to help with Pacer, and we were profoundly grateful for their support.
Surgery day was one of the hardest of my life. Elliot, only four months old, would undergo major abdominal surgery. I could hardly imagine him being taken from me, fearing I might never see him again. We kissed him, took photos, and held our breath as the nurses wheeled him away. Sterling and I clung to each other, tears streaming, hearts aching for Elliot, Pacer, and the life we had envisioned.
Eight long hours passed. I paced the hallways, finding strength in the photo of Elliot’s smile. When the surgeon finally returned, he told us the tumor was the size of a cantaloupe, explaining why Elliot had never been able to get comfortable enough to sleep. Recovery was seven days in the hospital, alternating stays between Elliot and Pacer. The pathology report confirmed our worst fear: Elliot had stage 3 Wilms Tumor.
Elliot’s treatment began immediately—radiation and chemotherapy, each session requiring sedation and a dedicated team of nurses. I remember the first day vividly: I ran from the room in tears as nurses prepared his chemo, unable to watch. The hospital staff became our extended family, guiding, comforting, and supporting us through the long weeks.
The day Elliot rang the bell, marking the end of chemotherapy, we were overcome with joy and relief. Though the journey was far from over—regular CT scans would continue—the worst was behind us. Today, Elliot is three and a half years old: sweet, strong-willed, and full of charm. Watching him play with Pacer, seeing his hugs and smiles, I know he is here to make a difference, even in ways he doesn’t yet understand. Every moment with him is a blessing, and we cherish each one with gratitude and hope.
