Sore Eyes
We were sitting in the recovery room at the Phoenix Children's Hospital after Ellie's second laser surgery on her hemangioma arm. We heard her crying as we were led into the room. This time it was more painful for her, and we could definitely tell. As Abbie comforted the tiny sore body, I sat next to them and allowed my eyes to wander to the other corners of the room.

The recovery room was one big square, quartered, with one bed in each corner. With each bed were the solemn faces of the anxious parents whispering to each other and staring at their babies. Their babies on this occasion ranged in age anywhere from Ellie at 2 months to about 12 years old.

Unaware of the reasons that brought all of us into the same room, I could only assume we were the least tragic scenario. Cosmetic laser surgery versus congenital heart disease doesn't seem as critical as it did when we first walked into the building early that morning. Sure, our baby is only 2 months old, which makes it more of a sob story to some, but when you hear parents telling the recovery staff that they have had numerous surgeries and that they are completely aware how all of the anesthesia works, that is when reality quickly sets.

Keeping a cool composure is good for your spouse and I feel for all of the other pressured adults in the room. So I read a book in the silence, occasionally looking up from the pages to respond to a nurse or to view any new activity across the area.

I then noticed the little boy across from us. He was about 9 or 10 years old. It was his parents that told the nurses they knew the regiment and for them to cut to the chase. They sat patiently at bedside. Then they noticed the boy beginning to move. They leaped forward. Dad had a stuffed Gonzo muppet doll. Mom reached out to rub her son's arm. The pitch in their voices raised, even though they were soft-spoken. Words of encouragement and praise were given tenderly.

Suddenly, my parents appeared before me; superimposed over the two standing bodies in front of the bed. Dad hung the muppet off of his ear to try to make the young patient smile. The boy drifted back into unconsciousness. Zach's eyes were swallowed by the heavy eyelids as the boy metamorphasized into my brother. The walls surrounding us all transformed into my sibling's living room.

Although they were hundreds of miles away, although they were different in age and in stature, although we were in a hospital and my family in a home, they were the exact same people. These three individuals before me were the same balls of loving, frightened energy secretly screaming uncontrollably inside.

I immediately dropped my head and wept.