We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures.
~Thornton Wilder
"The kid was only eighteen. He dropped on the basketball court. SADS. It's what a lot of those young athletes die of."
"Yeah, what's SADS?"
"Sudden Arrhythmia Death Syndrome."
As I listened to the actor's words on NCIS, I popped up on the couch, dumping TheNew York Times crossword onto the floor. Extricating myself from the heavy paws of our Lab-mix, Yoshi, I moved to the computer and typed in "SADS."
I wove through research about this syndrome, which is characterized by a cardiac electrical glitch. It was probably what had snuffed out our teenaged son's life seventeen years earlier. Maybe if Josh had been born later, he could have been saved. SADS no longer had to result in sudden death, but it was genetic, so close relatives should be examined.
Jeff and I have always been grateful that our third child, Maliq, born eighteen years after our first, has had solid ground under his feet. Life has tossed this kid very few lemons.
Young life was different for our middle child, Miles. Losing his big brother when he was only eight cast a shadow across his childhood. Miles had held hands with mortality too early. Now at twenty-seven, he was a father himself.
I called him to talk about getting checked for SADS.
"Mom, I had an EKG a few months ago because I had those bruised ribs. They didn't find a problem. Are you worried? Should I be? For Mikah?"
Miles hadn't planned on children. He brought his dad and me the ultrasound picture as a way to tell us that he was going to be a father. He was happy. And terrified.
"Mom, all that can go wrong..."
"Yeah, but all that can go right. Look at you; look at Maliq." There's a lot Jeff and I, as parents, don't get worked up about since Josh died; fender-benders, money problems, adolescent piercings, and pretty much anything that isn't a death threat stays in perspective.
***
Now we were having Maliq checked for SADS. The doctor and nurse swept into the small exam room that was packed full of our family. The doc took one look at Maliq, who even when seated, dwarfed him, and began firing questions: History of eye problems, scoliosis, heart murmurs? I knew where he was going because I had already been there during one of my many Internet searches. Marfan's Syndrome.
"Listen Doctor, I understand I'm not a cardiologist, but I've researched Marfan's thoroughly. Maliq doesn't fit the criteria." I knew even as the sentences flew anxiously out of my mouth that this doctor wasn't taking me seriously.
"How tall are you, anyway?" Just fifteen, Maliq already measured in at 6'3". The cardiologist put stethoscope to chest. His face changed. He listened for a long time, then had his nurse listen.
Damn, I knew that expression. I had seen it enough times with Josh. I looked over at Jeff. His face seemed to lose muscle, sagged as he too recognized the shift.
The doc listened again. "There's definitely a murmur."
