(He was almost two years old when I wrote this, he’s now ten.) 

It’s early, early morning.

When they pull up, he’s all cuddled in his baby quilt, securely fastened in his car seat and sound asleep. 

I can feel his mama’s worry when I open the car door and slip in.

I keep her talking with my questions.

She’s scared.

She has a hard time trying to tell me what’s wrong. 

It makes me realize it hasn’t ever been adequately explained to her so that she can really understand.

She tells me this will be his 9th MRI and he isn’t quite two years old.

She says three days before each appointment, she becomes depressed.

Traffic is light and we’re downtown Sacramento in 20 minutes.

She missed the parking garage, drove right past it.

She’s not thinking straight.  

She makes a few wrong turns.

She isn’t hearing me telling her she can’t turn right on the one way street.

She drives aimlessly for a few minutes and then finally we make it into the parking garage.

She’s not sure of where the building is.

She doesn’t read the sign to use the walkway and crosses in the middle of the street with her little bundle in her arms.

I can see she’s functioning without thinking.

We find the right address and go inside the building.

She doesn’t know the suite number.

I suggest we go into the nearest office and ask.

We do and we find that luckily we’ve wandered into the right office.

We sit.

She fills out forms.

Zeke is awake now and watching Toy Story on the office TV.

The nurse comes out to him and rubs anesthetic cream on his 2 little hands and feet. 

He’s such a good boy.

We wait.

Finally the nurse comes to escort them back. 

I ask if I can go with them.

She says no.

I argue.

I win.

The nurse takes his vitals.

He’s so good.

The doc comes in. 

I ask for a diagnosis.

I’m told Neoplasm Of Uncertain Behavior Of Brain And Spinal Cord.

The doc says, it’s a working diagnosis because they really don’t know for sure what’s going on so, they’re just keeping a close watch on it.

The nurse starts an IV on the back of his right hand. 

He whimpers, just a teeny bit.

Mama is in tears now and stress is written all over her face.

She holds him while the nurse administers the Propofol through his IV.

He falls into sleep immediately and they wheel him away.

We wait.

They’re finished in just a few short minutes and returned to mama’s arms.

He drinks the juice they give him and we’re done.

We talk about it on the way home.

She hates putting him through it.

She’s not sure she believes it’s necessary.

I suggest she pray her own kind of prayers and ask for some answers.

Later that week, I give her a set of CD’s to listen to and think about.

She contacts me a short time later and thanks me for the CD’s says they’ve changed her life. 

I hear something in her voice, a new kind of confidence.

She’s gonna be OK.

So is Zeke.