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This dude got the official all clear from his latest post op check last week. Seven months ago my son had heart surgery. I honestly don’t think I’ve unpacked that at all and dealt with all the emotional baggage. I spent that week feeling utterly torn as a mother: having to decide between being with my oldest or my youngest, making terrifying medical decisions over the phone with Liam, managing the confusion of little minds who couldn’t understand it all. Then he got discharged from the hospital on a Thursday and the whole country shut down on Friday and quarantine started. There wasn’t time to sift through any of those feelings, and so I just pushed them to the back for a later date unknown.
Well that later date came a few days ago as Liam and I were watching American Ninja Warrior and heard one of the competitors talk about his history with WPW: his symptoms, his risks, his surgery. All of the sudden I realized tears were streaming down my face and it hit like a tidal wave. We so easily could have lost him. Most times they wait until adolescence to do the corrective surgery. But since Ty was already having episodes they recommended not waiting. WPW is an extra electrical pathway. It’s only detected by EKG but that only confirms the condition. It doesn’t tell them anything about the severity of it. They don’t even know where it is until they go in and find it during surgery. After surgery the doctor was telling Liam how relieved he was we didn’t wait bc Ty’s had been a very high risk pathway that fell into the .5% of cases likely to experience cardiac arrest. My six year old could have had a heart attack simply from showing us how fast he can run.
I can’t dwell on that. It’s a pit of anxiety and fear and what if’s and could haves and should haves that I’d never crawl out of. By the actual grace of God he is here. He is healthy. He is strong. He is free to run and play and be the ninja of his dreams. He is free to be a seven year old boy without limit…and I am free to have him wear a fit bit with a heart rate monitor to help keep me from panicking that it’s going to come back. I think that’s appropriate coping…or just neurotic mothering.
