Hope.
Hope
Hope.
Praying.
Strength.
Those are some of the things you need when confronted with something that is out of your control. Like your little boy’s future.
I sit at the bedside, looking at him. The doctors are standing behind us. My eyes run over his small, once energetic body. The little body which was once a whirlwind is now immobile. The paleness of his face and the light violet shadows under his eyes make his face look even more gaunt and lifeless.
I lift my eyes and look at the figure across the bed. He’s doing the exact same thing as me. Looking at him. Cherishing him. Preserving him in his memories. His face is contorted in anguish and pain. His dark eyes are searching the face that is so similar to his own, looking for life. Waiting for him to jump up and giggle. The same hair, the same small nose. He looks at our son, staring hard. It’s as if he’s trying to will him back to life again. To become our little boy. The same boy who filled our days with joy, even when he was naughty. The same boy who despite changed in physical appearance still remained our son.
We are both holding his small limp hands, as if we can both generate more life into him. If it was possible, I would be lying there in his place and I know his father would do the same thing. He’s so strong though. When the doctors would come around during their rounds with the injections, he just turns to me and stares. The tears would fill his eyes, but he’d be determined to be a brave little boy.
A little flash brings me out of the continuous trance that I have been in since seeing Jack. My engagement ring. The wedding was supposed to take place in August. We cancelled it in July after we found out Jack’s condition. He was so excited, bless him. It was as if he was getting married. He looked adorable in the suit that had been bought for him. So important and happy. He was so happy about staying with both sets of his grandparents for two weeks. He got to stay up and eat sweets without us knowing about it.
Why him? Why my Jack? What did he deserve to be cursed with this? I suddenly think, questioning the fates. He didn’t do anything. If it was anyone who deserved pain and heartbreak, then that would be me. A small sob distracts me from the inner turmoil that's currently destroying me and I see Michael wipe away something from cheeks. Instantly I know that he’s thinking the same thing. The same grief that’s going through my insides, that’s slowly destroying me, is destroying him too.
Please come back to me, Jack. I plead. Please, I need my little boy. He is a part of me in every way. If he goes, then I’m going with him.
His chest suddenly pushes upwards. He breaths in deeply. The machines start beeping. We both lift our heads and look, hesitantly as if one sudden move will end the one shine of hope that we’re beginning to see.
“We are going to need you to leave the room please,” the nurse says politely but firmly. There are now numerous doctors and nurses rushing into the room. The same room where just minutes ago, they pronounced my little boy dead.
I turn to Michael with tears in my eyes. It’s too good to be true, if he does survive. I don’t think I can’t take it if they pronounce him dead again.
We stand outside his room. Our hands are clasped tightly and our bodies are holding each other. The rest of our family join us. An impromptu praying sessions starts as some stare up at the ceiling and start praying. Their lips start moving furiously, scared that if they don‘t get this prayer done fast enough something much more disastrous will happen.
I do the same thing inside my head as I turn to face the glass window outside his room. The doctors are crowding around his bed with various machines.
If he survives, I’ll start praying regularly and give to the poor, I think desperately. I’ll stop swearing. I’ll stay at home with Jack and spend more time with him. I’ll buy that bubble mixture that he likes so much. I’ll do anything, just to keep him with me, just to hold him again in my arms.
I feel Michael wrap his arms around me from behind, putting his head in the crook of my neck. We stand there for ages, with Michael occasionally resurfacing for air, just looking in through the window at Jack.
“What are we going to do if he doesn’t make it again?” I whisper to Michael. I’m scared. I’m scared that if he doesn’t make it again that I’m going to do something, specifically to the doctors, who pronounced him dead before.
“We’ll cope somehow,” Michael whispers back.
A doctor comes back outside from Jack’s hospital room along with a nurse and walks towards us. He asks for us to talk to him in his office. We quietly agree and start to follow him. I tear my eyes away from the scene in front of me and slowly walk toward the doctors office. My limbs feel heavy. We walk into the office and sit down in the leather chairs in front of the desk. The doctors walks around to his desk and sits down, looking at us both calmly.
“It seems that we have witnessed a small miracle,” he says, launching into an explanation.
The doctor explained what had gone wrong, about the wrong diagnosis and saying that Jack had died. At first we both expressed anger over the wrong diagnosis but that quickly turned into happiness and joy. We couldn't dwell on the negative things, despite the fact that they gave us grief for those long five minutes. Our little boy will be with us for a little longer, though he would have to remain in hospital. The treatments that had been ongoing would still be continued.
“Can we see him?” I asked.
“Yes, of course, in about five minutes.” the doctor replied standing up.
We both exited the room and went out to rejoin our families, telling them the news and possible future that Jack could have.
“You can both go in now,” says the nurse.
We quietly walked in and saw Jack sleeping gently, his chest rising up and down.
“Hi, Jack. Mummy and Daddy are here now,” Michael whispers.
His eyes opened and focused on us. He gave a small smile and he closed his eyes, falling into a deep sleep.
He’s six years old right now, and I have a feeling that he’ll still be with us when he’s sixteen. We just need to pray and hope for the best.
Because... the hope that we all had in our hearts did really pay off
Praying.
Strength.
Those are some of the things you need when confronted with something that is out of your control. Like your little boy’s future.
I sit at the bedside, looking at him. The doctors are standing behind us. My eyes run over his small, once energetic body. The little body which was once a whirlwind is now immobile. The paleness of his face and the light violet shadows under his eyes make his face look even more gaunt and lifeless.
I lift my eyes and look at the figure across the bed. He’s doing the exact same thing as me. Looking at him. Cherishing him. Preserving him in his memories. His face is contorted in anguish and pain. His dark eyes are searching the face that is so similar to his own, looking for life. Waiting for him to jump up and giggle. The same hair, the same small nose. He looks at our son, staring hard. It’s as if he’s trying to will him back to life again. To become our little boy. The same boy who filled our days with joy, even when he was naughty. The same boy who despite changed in physical appearance still remained our son.
We are both holding his small limp hands, as if we can both generate more life into him. If it was possible, I would be lying there in his place and I know his father would do the same thing. He’s so strong though. When the doctors would come around during their rounds with the injections, he just turns to me and stares. The tears would fill his eyes, but he’d be determined to be a brave little boy.
A little flash brings me out of the continuous trance that I have been in since seeing Jack. My engagement ring. The wedding was supposed to take place in August. We cancelled it in July after we found out Jack’s condition. He was so excited, bless him. It was as if he was getting married. He looked adorable in the suit that had been bought for him. So important and happy. He was so happy about staying with both sets of his grandparents for two weeks. He got to stay up and eat sweets without us knowing about it.
Why him? Why my Jack? What did he deserve to be cursed with this? I suddenly think, questioning the fates. He didn’t do anything. If it was anyone who deserved pain and heartbreak, then that would be me. A small sob distracts me from the inner turmoil that's currently destroying me and I see Michael wipe away something from cheeks. Instantly I know that he’s thinking the same thing. The same grief that’s going through my insides, that’s slowly destroying me, is destroying him too.
Please come back to me, Jack. I plead. Please, I need my little boy. He is a part of me in every way. If he goes, then I’m going with him.
His chest suddenly pushes upwards. He breaths in deeply. The machines start beeping. We both lift our heads and look, hesitantly as if one sudden move will end the one shine of hope that we’re beginning to see.
“We are going to need you to leave the room please,” the nurse says politely but firmly. There are now numerous doctors and nurses rushing into the room. The same room where just minutes ago, they pronounced my little boy dead.
I turn to Michael with tears in my eyes. It’s too good to be true, if he does survive. I don’t think I can’t take it if they pronounce him dead again.
We stand outside his room. Our hands are clasped tightly and our bodies are holding each other. The rest of our family join us. An impromptu praying sessions starts as some stare up at the ceiling and start praying. Their lips start moving furiously, scared that if they don‘t get this prayer done fast enough something much more disastrous will happen.
I do the same thing inside my head as I turn to face the glass window outside his room. The doctors are crowding around his bed with various machines.
If he survives, I’ll start praying regularly and give to the poor, I think desperately. I’ll stop swearing. I’ll stay at home with Jack and spend more time with him. I’ll buy that bubble mixture that he likes so much. I’ll do anything, just to keep him with me, just to hold him again in my arms.
I feel Michael wrap his arms around me from behind, putting his head in the crook of my neck. We stand there for ages, with Michael occasionally resurfacing for air, just looking in through the window at Jack.
“What are we going to do if he doesn’t make it again?” I whisper to Michael. I’m scared. I’m scared that if he doesn’t make it again that I’m going to do something, specifically to the doctors, who pronounced him dead before.
“We’ll cope somehow,” Michael whispers back.
A doctor comes back outside from Jack’s hospital room along with a nurse and walks towards us. He asks for us to talk to him in his office. We quietly agree and start to follow him. I tear my eyes away from the scene in front of me and slowly walk toward the doctors office. My limbs feel heavy. We walk into the office and sit down in the leather chairs in front of the desk. The doctors walks around to his desk and sits down, looking at us both calmly.
“It seems that we have witnessed a small miracle,” he says, launching into an explanation.
The doctor explained what had gone wrong, about the wrong diagnosis and saying that Jack had died. At first we both expressed anger over the wrong diagnosis but that quickly turned into happiness and joy. We couldn't dwell on the negative things, despite the fact that they gave us grief for those long five minutes. Our little boy will be with us for a little longer, though he would have to remain in hospital. The treatments that had been ongoing would still be continued.
“Can we see him?” I asked.
“Yes, of course, in about five minutes.” the doctor replied standing up.
We both exited the room and went out to rejoin our families, telling them the news and possible future that Jack could have.
“You can both go in now,” says the nurse.
We quietly walked in and saw Jack sleeping gently, his chest rising up and down.
“Hi, Jack. Mummy and Daddy are here now,” Michael whispers.
His eyes opened and focused on us. He gave a small smile and he closed his eyes, falling into a deep sleep.
He’s six years old right now, and I have a feeling that he’ll still be with us when he’s sixteen. We just need to pray and hope for the best.
Because... the hope that we all had in our hearts did really pay off