Hanover Park girl's recovery a 'Christmas miracle'

Denise and Brian Carr race over to investigate all the fuss.They find therapists hovering over 7-year-old Stephanie, who's sitting up on her own. The girl catches herself as she starts to waver. The parents beam with pride.It's a feat the Carrs never thought they'd see this Christmas. At Thanksgiving, they were making Stephanie's funeral arrangements.Inexplicably, the Hanover Park girl is now well enough to be a patient at Marianjoy Rehabilitation Hospital in Wheaton. She's getting intensive therapy for the effects of the brain tumor she's battled for most of her life and that nearly ended it twice."She's our Christmas miracle," Denise says.Stephanie will get a day pass from Marianjoy to spend the holiday with family. Her mom said she can expect Hannah Montana goodies and a lot of love from those who thought she'd celebrated her last Christmas.First trouble signs The first sign anything was wrong came in 2001, when 10-month-old Stephanie's eyes began rolling back and forth. An MRI showed a benign brain tumor on her optic chiasm, where the optic nerves crisscross.She received weekly chemotherapy treatments for 18 months. But two months later, she developed horrible headaches. The tumor had grown. Nine more months of chemo followed.Still, the tumor grew.Doctors opted for surgery but could only remove 30 percent of the tumor because it's wrapped around a main artery. Within three weeks, the 30 percent had returned.Stephanie had one more debilitating dose of chemo, then a month of radiation. It seemed to do the trick.That was March 2004, and suddenly the ordeal was over.The other shoe Brian Carr held his breath for nearly three years.He watched as Stephanie blossomed in special education at Heritage Lakes School in Carol Stream, where she recently began Braille lessons, since the tumor has impaired her vision.She became her dad's shopping buddy at the grocery store and loved to chitchat in the car.The family got used to a "new normal," one without medical procedures and hospital trips.But Brian, who works in building maintenance, never felt at ease. When doctors said Stephanie needed MRIs every six months, he pleaded to have the test done every three months."I just kept waiting for the other shoe to drop," he said.It did last September. The horrible headaches began again.The tumor was producing dangerous levels of protein, causing her shunt, which drains fluid out of the brain, to malfunction. She had a second brain surgery to remove half the tumor.But things only worsened. Her walking became unsteady. Her head drooped. She wasn't eating and stayed awake for 72-hour stretches. Doctors blamed the steroids she'd been prescribed and began weaning her off."One night she just didn't look right," Denise said. "I gave her an MM, her favorite, and she began drooling the chocolate."She took Stephanie to Children's Memorial Hospital. Her temperature was 90 degrees."If you've ever seen an episode of 'ER,' that's exactly how it was," Denise said. "Everyone was rushing in there with heating blankets and heating lamps."Doctors stabilized Stephanie and saw some improvement. But on Nov. 18, her heart rate and oxygen levels plummeted."Doctors said to take the breathing tube out, that she was already gone," Brian said. "It took two hours for them to talk me into it. She's my little girl."Family and friends rushed to her bedside. The tube, IVs and heating blankets were removed. A priest performed last rites."That's something no parent should ever have to watch," Brian said, choking up. "I think I said goodbye to her three times."But the hours passed, and Stephanie kept hanging on.'I'm awake'Though doctors were convinced she'd pass at any minute, her parents arranged for hospice care. They took Stephanie home two days before Thanksgiving.The day after, Brian made her funeral arrangements.He stood helplessly as his 4-year-old son, Kevin, kissed Stephanie on the nose and call her "princess.""To think he may not remember his sister was intolerable," Brian said.They also took Stephanie off of her morphine and seizure medication, which kept her practically comatose. Brian wondered how that might affect her condition.Sure enough, over the next couple days, Stephanie woke up and squeezed her parents' hands. A priest visited and, this time, they chose to do a healing prayer.Then, as they watched "Hannah Montana," Denise says a miracle happened."Stephanie said, 'Mommy, I'm awake,' " Denise recalled. "I raced to call Brian and she said it again: 'I'm, awake,' "Her verbal communication stopped, but Stephanie continued to respond by squeezing hands. The family took her back to Children's Memorial to show her doctors, who worried it was just an involuntary reflex. But as they asked her a series of questions, they realized Stephanie knew what she was doing.The doctor "stood there and just kind of looked at her speechless," Brian recalls. "He went and got another doctor. They said she's starting to get better."The last time the Carrs left the hospital, it was to bring their daughter home to die. Now they walked out with a new feeling: hope.Long struggle aheadThis past week, Stephanie settled into her room at Marianjoy, where she gets physical, speech and occupational therapy daily. She's being fitted for braces for her legs and for a wheelchair that will help straighten her neck.It's slow, but there's progress.As Stephanie works with speech therapist Rima Birutis, the exhausted 7-year-old manages to mutter, "Where's Daddy?"They're angelic words to Denise and Brian, who've been desperate to hear their daughter's voice."I can't wait until she starts being my little chatterbox again," Denise says.They pray she'll be strong enough in January to start a new, though highly toxic, form of chemotherapy.Meanwhile, the Carrs are grateful for Bloomingdale business Signs By Tomorrow, which donated gift cards and even arranged for Santa to bring Kevin a bag of gifts.Their financial burden is about to get heavier as Brian's health insurance plan has changed. But money doesn't matter. They're ready for what life brings next, as long as Stephanie's there for the journey."We don't think for one moment that it's not going to be a long struggle for her to get back and function on her own," Denise says. "But we can give her kisses, and that's all that matters."