If only you believe in miracles, baby (like I do)
We’d get by
– Miracles, Jefferson Starship (1975)
I was concerned about traffic (traffic in downtown Charleston, South Carolina can be a nightmare; almost every street is One Way) so I intentionally planned to arrive at the Palmetto Hearts Pediatric Cardiology Reunion early. A little too early, as I was the first CHDer on the scene… oops! But the wait wasn’t long, and before I knew it the entire museum was full of Cardiac Kids and Heart Parents. The oldest CHDer I met was a 16-year-old with HLHS (I never got your Facebook Friend request, Johnathan! Try it again, please!) but most of them were under 10 years old.
When you are that young, your heart is roughly the size of your fist. Imagine operating on an organ no bigger than an infant’s fist, cutting it open to find and repair a hole that isn’t supposed to be there. Imagine finding two blood vessels that are measured in millimeters – these blood vessels are connected to the tiny heart but they are in the wrong place, and it is your job to cut them, switch them, and sew them into the tiny hole where the other vessel was.
Imagine looking into the chest of an infant with part of his heart missing. It’s supposed to be the size of a walnut, but part of it is missing, so there isn’t even that much. As my grandma used to say, “There’s not enough space in there to change your mind.” No, there isn’t enough space to change your mind – but there is plenty of room to screw up, to shatter an already broken heart, to ruin a life and a family forever.
I didn’t talk to many of the children – If you were a child, which would you rather do: talk to the adult you don’t know or play with all the cool stuff in a Children’s Museum – but I did talk to a lot of their parents. I heard tales of living in the waiting room.
Staying by the bedside.
Waiting for a miracle.
That’s what I saw at the Pediatric Cardiology Reunion I attended Saturday night… miracles. A lot of them. Walking, talking, miracles.