Wednesday morning, Susan and I visited OU Children’s Hospital. There were three patients there that we knew: our niece Jessica’s newborn baby, our friend Sarah’s niece, and our son, Mason.
Mason was born with a very minor heart defect. It’s extremely slight and has never caused him any issues, but it’s something the doctor likes to monitor for changes. Over time, the tests have grown further apart. When he was young, he had the test annually. His last test was almost four years ago, and his doctor wanted to do one more test to confirm nothing had changed.
By 9 a.m., there were five of us in one small room: Susan, myself, Mason, the nurse performing the echocardiogram, and a trainee. As images of Mason’s beating heart appear on the computer screen, I found myself alternately wanting to soak in every detail and not being able to watch.
The longer the test went on, waves of guilt and sadness and helplessness passed over me. Even as the technician (and later the doctor) confirmed that nothing had changed and everything was fine with Mason’s heart, I had to fight to hold back tears. I thought of my niece Jessica, with her newborn in NICU, and our friend Sarah, with her niece upstairs recovering from an accident. I thought about all the other kids in that hospital, and all their parents.
If you’ve ever heard a parent saying they would trade places with their kid in a second, they probably mean it.
A few hours later, we were all done. The doctor confirmed that everything was fine — there’s been no change in Mason’s diagnosis, and they don’t expect one. Once we were done there, we went upstairs to visit Jessica and her baby. We were delighted to discover that Flynn, her baby, had been moved out of the NICU ward to a normal children’s room.
I am finishing this post late Thursday evening. Jessica’s son Flynn has been discharged from the hospital, as has our friend Sarah’s niece. The weight I felt while inside the hospital has been lifted.
Things are gonna be okay.