Hold on to Hope

It didn’t matter that she was there. Didn’t matter that he was hooked up to a ton of wires and monitors, an oxygen tube in his nose and taped on his face to keep it in place.

I rushed for him.

Didn’t say a word to the doctor when I picked him up and held him. Needing to feel him chest to chest. Heart to heart.

Overwrought with the need to feel the life running through his veins.

His little fingers dug into my shirt and I thought maybe he was relieved, too.

I breathed out, hugging him closer before I finally felt confident enough to turn my attention to the physician.

She sent me a careful smile. “You must be Evan Bryant.”

“I am.” I shook her hand when she extended hers.

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Dr. Lucero. I’m the pediatric cardiologist who was supposed to see Everett in my office next week, but it looks like he was impatient to see me.”

She attempted to inject some humor into the mood.

I wasn’t exactly feeling it.

Hugging Everett tight, I glanced around. Mom was there, anxious, tears staining her face, pacing in her worry.

But it was Frankie who was huddled in the very back corner that sent a riot of worry stampeding through me, the girl appearing so small. Like she’d been cracked wide open and she no longer knew how to hold herself together.

She refused to look at me.

But I felt her.

God. I felt her.

Hugging herself as tight as I was hugging Everett.

I wanted to go to her. Call to her. Promise her it was okay. Tell her how thankful I was that she was with him when this happened. Or maybe just bury my face in her hair and sob my guts out, so goddamn thankful that Everett was okay when I’d been certain that a day that had started out pure and perfect was going to end in tragedy.

Instead, I focused on the physician, trying to keep the trembling out of my hand when I shook hers. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Encouragement filled her smile. “I spoke with your father at length about your disabilities as well as the concern for Everett. I took him for an emergency echocardiogram, and I see no abnormalities. I want to order an MRI in order to be certain, but I’m confident this test will be negative as well.”

I wanted to drop to my knees with the sheer magnitude of the relief.

My nose went to Everett’s cheek, inhaling his sweet scent.

The innocence and vulnerability.

Overwhelmed by the miracle.

Overcome by the grace.

It was all mixed up with the flickers of grief and shame and guilt that had crowded in, crawling out from where I’d had them chained, threatening to take me over.

Thinking I’d condemned my son.

After everything, I didn’t think there was a chance I would have been able to stand under the misery of that.

“God.” My eyes pressed closed, relishing in the deliverance. I blew out a heavy breath.

Dr. Lucero continued to explain, “The emergency room physician will be in to speak with you. He is the one who treated the allergic reaction with anaphylactic shock. There will need to be further testing with that, but all symptoms point to a severe food allergy. He responded quickly to the epinephrine dosage. But in light of his emergency room visit, I’ve made a call to expedite the rest of his genetic testing so we can clear him before he is discharged. I hope to have a definitive answer for you this evening, even though I would still like him to keep his appointment with me next Wednesday so we can go over the results in detail.”

I nodded understanding. “Okay. Yes. Good.”

So maybe I wanted to shout.

To sing.

To chant with this joy.

She turned her gaze to Everett with a sympathetic smile. “It’s a huge relief, I know. He is such a sweet boy.”

She cast a slight nod to everyone in the room. “Someone will be in momentarily to take him for the MRI. I’ll be back in to speak with you as soon as I have the outcome of that test.”

My dad spoke at my side, “Thank you, Dr. Lucero.”

“It’s my pleasure. I’ll talk with you soon.”

She glanced around at everyone in the room, offering a soft, reassuring smile as she exited.

The door shut behind her.

The aura in the room shivered.

Rays of relief and streaks of sorrow.

Mom sniffled, swiped at her tears. “Evan. Thank God.”

She threw herself at me. Hugged us hard. Letting go of the fear she’d been holding.

Maybe it was the first time I got a real glimpse into what she must have felt when I was a child.

When I’d been clinging to life.

Skating the edge of death.

I was certain it was only her faith that had kept me here.

She leaned back, her cheeks wet, her gaze soft. She set her hand on my cheek. “Thank God.”