extraordinary

We were just going in for a simple check-up.  My little boy had just turned three, and had endured nothing more than an occasional cold or scraped knee over the past year.  We drove to his pediatrician and I rejoiced that God had blessed Caleb with such wonderful health.

He charmed the nurses and hardly fussed at all when they pricked his finger to checked his iron.  He even thanked them for it.  We were sent to an exam room to wait for the pediatrician.  "Tangled" was playing on the TV in the corner of the room, which Caleb was excited about.  The doctor came in, declaring how much Caleb had grown over the past year and how he had the iron levels of a teenager.

Then he listened to Caleb's chest.

I didn't even notice at the time how long the pediatrician lingered doing this particular part of the exam.  I guess I just figured he was being thorough.  So I was caught off guard when he commented that he heard a murmur.

A murmur?!  Where did that come from?  And why now?

Looking back I'm impressed with how calm I stayed even with this startling piece of news.  The pediatrician assured me that murmurs were quite common in children, that most of them are benign, and sometimes they even go away by adulthood.  But since he hadn't heard this murmur with Caleb before (even with all the times we went to him when Caleb was a baby), he wanted to get us in at the hospital for an echocardiogram as soon as possible.

He finished the exam, and we even joked about how slow boys were with toilet training and how they laugh at their own body noises.  It was only when he left to call over to the hospital when I let everything sink in.  I called my parents, who were in town and waiting at the Starbucks next door, and calmly told them why we'd be a little later meeting them.  After what seemed like an eternity, a nurse came in with a piece of paper.  It had our appointment time on there (2:30 that very afternoon); I noted that the doctor had secured the "good" tech with over thirty years experience.

We left the office and went across the parking lot to Starbucks.  Poor Caleb was starving by then, so my mom bought us a blueberry scone to share.  As we sat and drank our coffee, my dad comforted me by reminding me that he too had a murmur when he was a child, but by the time he was examined by the draft board, they couldn't detect it anymore.  We wondered if these kind of things were hereditary or just a coincidence.

I had already called Randall about the news, so he informed his boss that he wanted to meet the two of us at the hospital later on.  Caleb and I got there a little early, so I let him check out the fountain by the main entrance; the kid loves anything having to do with splashing water.  As I sat there watching him, I thought about the last time we took him to that hospital.  He was just under two weeks old and was so lethargic the doctor was worried he had gotten some kind of infection.  I remembered how helpless I felt seeing my baby hooked up to so many machines and asking God what in the world He was doing.  Thankfully everything turned out okay, and a few months later, we were blessed with good health for Caleb from then on.

Until now, seemingly.

Once Randall got there, the three of us went in to check Caleb in and get the test done.  He was remarkably still and calm during the test (which is basically just an ultrasound of the heart and surrounding areas), and once again, thanked the tech when she was done.  Guess we've really beat saying "thank you" into his head!  Caleb and I then drove back home and waited.

I honestly didn't expect to hear anything back since it was a Friday afternoon.  But the pediatrician had written "STAT" on the referral, and I heard back from him that very evening.

He opened by saying Caleb's case was "interesting."  Not quite the word you want to hear when you're talking about your kid's heart.  He followed up quickly, saying that he was using the word "interesting" because what Caleb has, they don't see all that often.  In fact, they hadn't seen those findings around here in at least ten years.  A lesser experienced tech may have even missed it.

Turns out Caleb has a "fistula" on one of his coronary arteries.  The pediatrician explained to me what it looks like, but honestly, I didn't quite get it.  I'm a visual person so unless I can see some kind of illustration, it's lost on me.  My husband looked it up later (as an attorney he's used to reviewing medical information), and tried to describe it to me.  Basically it's an "abnormal connection" between a coronary artery and the heart.  Kind of an extension of the artery that's not supposed to be there.

The pediatrician assured me that in Caleb's case, it's not a cause for major concern.  The tech hadn't seen any weakening of the arterial wall or an aneurysm, so likely it wouldn't cause him any problems.  He had arranged for his echo to be sent to a pediatric cardiologist to confirm the tech's findings, and we'd go from there.  It took almost a week to hear back, but the news was good.  Yes, he does have a fistula, but it's not doing any damage to his heart.  The cardiologist recommended we get Caleb in to see him or another pediatric cardiologist at some point, but it wasn't a major emergency.  And likely, this is something we'll have to get checked every year for awhile as Caleb grows, to make sure nothing changes.  In the meantime, there are no physical limitations placed on Caleb, and the possibility of any surgery or other procedures seems remote.

I have to say, this whole thing has just been crazy.  The day after Caleb's checkup and getting the initial report back, we had his birthday party.  Seeing him run around with his friends and blowing out the "3" candle on his cake made me so thankful for all the time we've had with him and all the good years that are to come.  Seeing the pure joy on his face reminded me of what a joyful little boy he actually is.  He really has no idea about his heart and why it's different; he only knows he loves to run around and play, and that birthday parties are the most exciting times ever!

The other night my husband I were watching "The Voyage of the Dawn Treader."  At one point in the movie, the spoiled cousin Eustace transforms into a dragon.  He is unable to speak, and though his cousins and the crew of the ship stay by him, it's unclear to everyone if he will ever change back into a human.  That first evening, Reepicheep the mouse sees that Eustace is crying, clearly upset about his fate.  He reassures him, saying that extraordinary things happen to extraordinary people, and based on what has happened to him, he must have a great destiny ahead of him.  May be cheesy, but it made me think of Caleb.  This fistula thing, it's rare.  And while it seems so random, God wasn't surprised by it like we were.  Rare and random can also mean extraordinary.  Caleb's heart is different, but it's also big and full of love.  That's extraordinary enough for me.  I can't wait to see what kind of great destiny God has planned for him, and I'm excited that I get to be a part of it.