Read PART ONE FIRST...this is Part II!
BEFORE YOU READ THIS, GO BACK AND READ PART ONE!
Two weeks pass, and we head back to the doctor. The news is split – good news that the ear infection is gone; bad news that she still hears the heart murmur and now she’s suggesting we take Paul to a heart specialist. I suppose I had built up toughness to this issue over the last 14 days, b/c much to my own surprise, I did not cry. I accepted the referral for the pediatric cardiologist, thanked and hugged the doctor (this will probably be my last visit to her office b/c of our move), and promised to call her and let her know how Paul is doing.
Fast forward to this past Wednesday…our appt w/the cardiologist is in the morning. I was planning to take Paul on my own, since Jeff works during the day. However, when he came down to the kitchen to fill his coffee cup, he informs me [casually] that he will be coming with Paul and me to the appt. Since we were trying hard not to obsess over this appt or this issue, this little gesture by itself clues me into just how worried Daddy is about his boy. Just knowing this makes my stress level jump, even though having Jeff w/us is a huge relief to me.
We get to office early and fill out the paperwork. Paul is usual jovial self, walking about the waiting room and exploring the toys available. As Jeff follows him around and play w/him, I am pre-occupied by the cards, letters and pictures that adorn the walls of the reception area. “Dear Doctor X, Thank you for mending my broken heart.” I try to look away, but you know how that goes, right??
The doctor calls us in. Immediately, he’s drawn to Paul, commenting on how handsome he is and so quiet and such a good boy. The doctor notes that Paul is twice the size of his own granddaughter, who just turned one year old as well. I can’t help but smile at this, since Paul’s pediatrician was previously so concerned about his size and weight. We talk a little bit about what has brought us to his office and about 2 minutes after he listens to Paul’s heart, he confirms that he too, hears the noise in Paul’s heart that the pediatrician has heard. I’m not sure whether to be comforted or more worried. Again, I try to read his reaction, but I guess he’s got a poker face for a reason.
Nowadays, they perform cardiograms in the office using a sonogram machine, just like the ones you see during your pregnancy. Let me assure you however, that this is not as happy of an experience. It takes both Jeff and I to hold Paul still on the table, as the technician takes pictures of Paul’s heart. I am holding my breath, while trying to smile at my son. A thousand things go through your mind, as you stare at the tech and try to read HER reactions to what she sees. Another poker face.
She finishes and sends us back to the waiting room, so the doctor has time to read the pics and prepare his results. Thank GOD we do not have to wait days to find out what’s going on. Minutes later, he’s calling us back to his consult room, and I am bracing myself for his diagnosis. Again, things running through your mind…the belief that Jeff and I created a perfect baby and the hope that he is still perfect (with the exception of the very slight bump on his head, sustained from a run-in with a toy just that same morning). I try not to let my mind wonder too much, b/c I don’t have the strength to think of how Paul’s life might be changed or limited by a heart problem or worse, possibility of heart surgeries to repair something that we never knew was there. There are no books that you can read and no one prepares you for moments like these.
Here’s the great part –Paul is FINE. Better yet, PERFECT. This angelic doctor (whom I now wanted to hug) has confirmed for us that the murmur is what he and other heart specialists routinely call, “innocent.” He says that Paul will likely outgrow this before he’s a teenager and that we, unlike some other parents, have the good fortune of knowing that our son’s heart is fine and healthy and we can go home and forget about this whole thing. Oddly, I have to convince myself to smile. It takes a few minutes for it to sink in, I guess. I catch Jeff’s eye and then it’s impossible not to smile. We get into the car and turn to each other. I took a deep breath and burst into tears, sobbing. Paul’s probably wondering, “What’s wrong with Mommy?” Jeff knows. His eyes fill up too. A month’s worth of fear, stress and worry finally relieved! Being a parent can really test you at times. We made it through Paul’s first year in very good shape and we are so incredibly grateful. We are praying to be just as fortunate during year number two.
Two weeks pass, and we head back to the doctor. The news is split – good news that the ear infection is gone; bad news that she still hears the heart murmur and now she’s suggesting we take Paul to a heart specialist. I suppose I had built up toughness to this issue over the last 14 days, b/c much to my own surprise, I did not cry. I accepted the referral for the pediatric cardiologist, thanked and hugged the doctor (this will probably be my last visit to her office b/c of our move), and promised to call her and let her know how Paul is doing.
Fast forward to this past Wednesday…our appt w/the cardiologist is in the morning. I was planning to take Paul on my own, since Jeff works during the day. However, when he came down to the kitchen to fill his coffee cup, he informs me [casually] that he will be coming with Paul and me to the appt. Since we were trying hard not to obsess over this appt or this issue, this little gesture by itself clues me into just how worried Daddy is about his boy. Just knowing this makes my stress level jump, even though having Jeff w/us is a huge relief to me.
We get to office early and fill out the paperwork. Paul is usual jovial self, walking about the waiting room and exploring the toys available. As Jeff follows him around and play w/him, I am pre-occupied by the cards, letters and pictures that adorn the walls of the reception area. “Dear Doctor X, Thank you for mending my broken heart.” I try to look away, but you know how that goes, right??
The doctor calls us in. Immediately, he’s drawn to Paul, commenting on how handsome he is and so quiet and such a good boy. The doctor notes that Paul is twice the size of his own granddaughter, who just turned one year old as well. I can’t help but smile at this, since Paul’s pediatrician was previously so concerned about his size and weight. We talk a little bit about what has brought us to his office and about 2 minutes after he listens to Paul’s heart, he confirms that he too, hears the noise in Paul’s heart that the pediatrician has heard. I’m not sure whether to be comforted or more worried. Again, I try to read his reaction, but I guess he’s got a poker face for a reason.
Nowadays, they perform cardiograms in the office using a sonogram machine, just like the ones you see during your pregnancy. Let me assure you however, that this is not as happy of an experience. It takes both Jeff and I to hold Paul still on the table, as the technician takes pictures of Paul’s heart. I am holding my breath, while trying to smile at my son. A thousand things go through your mind, as you stare at the tech and try to read HER reactions to what she sees. Another poker face.
She finishes and sends us back to the waiting room, so the doctor has time to read the pics and prepare his results. Thank GOD we do not have to wait days to find out what’s going on. Minutes later, he’s calling us back to his consult room, and I am bracing myself for his diagnosis. Again, things running through your mind…the belief that Jeff and I created a perfect baby and the hope that he is still perfect (with the exception of the very slight bump on his head, sustained from a run-in with a toy just that same morning). I try not to let my mind wonder too much, b/c I don’t have the strength to think of how Paul’s life might be changed or limited by a heart problem or worse, possibility of heart surgeries to repair something that we never knew was there. There are no books that you can read and no one prepares you for moments like these.
Here’s the great part –Paul is FINE. Better yet, PERFECT. This angelic doctor (whom I now wanted to hug) has confirmed for us that the murmur is what he and other heart specialists routinely call, “innocent.” He says that Paul will likely outgrow this before he’s a teenager and that we, unlike some other parents, have the good fortune of knowing that our son’s heart is fine and healthy and we can go home and forget about this whole thing. Oddly, I have to convince myself to smile. It takes a few minutes for it to sink in, I guess. I catch Jeff’s eye and then it’s impossible not to smile. We get into the car and turn to each other. I took a deep breath and burst into tears, sobbing. Paul’s probably wondering, “What’s wrong with Mommy?” Jeff knows. His eyes fill up too. A month’s worth of fear, stress and worry finally relieved! Being a parent can really test you at times. We made it through Paul’s first year in very good shape and we are so incredibly grateful. We are praying to be just as fortunate during year number two.
