Minor Miracles

Somewhere in the bowels of Childrens Hospital Los Angeles, a minor (though not to me) miracle is under way. And I'm not there to see it. Because I'm a working mother, and I miss everything. (Sob, sob, sob.)

N is at CHLA with Baroy to have his previously-descended-but-now-way-up-inside-his-abdomen left testicle looked at. The waiting room, apparently, is a zoo, kids everywhere. In the middle, Baroy says, there's a dollhouse behind plexiglass; N had wandered over to look at it, and another 4-year-old boy did the same, and began trying to engage N. And here's the thing: N responded. The two of them are now running around together, looking out the windows at landing helicopters. At one point N called him over: "Matt, come here. There's another helicopter!" At another point, they were crawling under the bench seats, and asked Baroy if he had a flashlight, so they could go exploring. And at another point, Matt was apparently pulling on N's ears, for what reason, I don't know. But Baroy took a picture of it with his mobile phone, because, as he said, "N wasn't pulling away. He was standing there, smiling at Matt."

In fact, when Baroy just called me from the waiting room, it seemed almost like he had tears in his voice. "You're going to want to hear about this," he said, ending with, "I didn't realize until now that I've never seen him do this before. It's a real breakthrough." This from the man who didn't really think there was a problem. That, too, is a breakthrough.

But in any case, he's right: This is big. I have shivers right now. My boy just made friends with a random stranger in a waiting room. Just like a regular kid. Who knew it could be so gratifying?