We started the day like any other, my sweet baby and I ready to head out and enjoy the long awaited spring weather. Yet I couldn’t shake a nagging at me, a little gnawing that something wasn’t just right with my son. As a first time mama, I sought advice from the people I trusted, called my sister, and with the unknown still hanging, I made an appointment with his pediatrician.
Within hours it became one of those days that are from then on known as the day everything changed.
We arrived at the ER from the doctor’s office. I was unprepared for spending the day at the hospital with my curious ten-month-old. I listed all of the things I would have brought to help occupy him, feed him, as my mind spun. My efforts to calm my fears were a front for my little boy. He needed an advocate, we needed answers, it would be up to me to push for details — press them, hold yourself together, keep him entertained, and wait. I didn’t want to wait, for the doctors, for the train my husband had to take out from the city to us. I wanted to know. I doubted myself, but held onto the words from his doctor — don’t leave without an ultrasound and make sure you talk with a doctor on call there. He was a colleague of hers. What she couldn’t have known, was how I clung to those words as a lifeline, action I could take, something I could do. The ER doctor attempted to dismiss me, playing into my fears that I was overreacting. The doubt came in waves, but shaking, I stood firm. I don’t know if I would have pressed in for myself in this way, but I didn’t even think about it for him. It’s what we do.