Sharing our own Happy Heart story
I have written about tragedy for years.
Writers slowly become immune to the heartache, blood-shed, tears and fears that fill newspapers and television broadcasts every day. We also write about successes and triumphs that are inspired by people who’ve overcome those very same battles.
My son, Carson, now 6, is a battler (not just because he thinks he’s a superhero). At 4, during a routine physical to begin playing soccer, his doctor paused with her stethoscope over his heart. Her face went pale as she looked back with concern. She wouldn’t say much, but divulged enough to make any parent worry. It was the beginning of an amazing journey that tested our faith, connected our family and blossomed a love unmatched – the love shared by parents and their children.
Saving a child one Happy Heart at a time
A cardiologist, two EKGs, and two ultrasounds confirmed what Carson’s doctor heard through just a stethoscope. He was born with a hole in his heart. He ran, played, swam and laughed without symptom. He picked on his baby sister and jumped off the bed without hesitation. He was the perfect, rambunctious little boy. But the 1-inch hole that gaped his heart wasn’t even the biggest concern. His aortic valve had taken an unusual path to its connecting spot and was buried in the walls of his heart. It’s a defect many only find after a death on the football field.
His heart was pumping blood the wrong way. His heart had enlarged so much it pushed his ribs and stretched his skin.
We were blessed to find out before the worst. But, the fear was real. Our son, then 4, needed open-heart surgery.
The cardiologist, Dr. Valeriano Simbre broke the news. We sat, staring into space, as he said, “this is a big deal. Do you understand?”
What else could we say, “yes.”
On Nov. 10, 2014, before the sun had broken the Sierras, we sat with Carson on a hospital bed at Valley Children’s Hospital. We knew we would have to let go of his hand soon, but that didn’t stop his mom and me from soaking up every nervous laugh and each little question he had. He’s a brilliantly-smart boy who knew the situation but was surrounded by so much love, he was nearly unfazed.
When nurses wheeled him back, our stomachs dropped. Our hearts skipped a beat. Goosebumps mapped our arms and necks and faith took over.
For the next several hours, our son would be without our protection. He was in the hand’s of cardiothoracic surgeron Dr. Edwin Petrossian and his team of doctors, nurses and staff. After what seemed like a lifetime, the wait was over. More than six hours later, Carson emerged on a gurney surrounded by the surgeon and medical staff. He was asleep, tubes everywhere, machines on and his little belly rising up and down.
The tears flowed. There were group hugs, laughs and prayers.
As we turned the corner into the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit, we found Carson’s room. It wasn’t any room, though. A bright silver star, etched in blue read, “This Room Made Possible by The Skip Nugent Family.”
That may not mean much for the dozens of children who’ve recovered in that room since Carson’s weeklong stay, but for us, we knew the story of Heather Nugent and the fatal crash that made this room possible. Our family members went to school with Heather. We recall the newspaper headlines and stories that followed.
We were blessed first with our son, second by his doctor’s keen ear, his surgeon’s steady hand and now, after hours of praying and waiting, a room that would provide everything he needed and a medical staff that put Carson first.
For that, we are eternally grateful.
Carson has joined the zipper club. He proudly shows off his scar (sometimes lifting his shirt at the most awkward of times). He has memories of the hardest moments of his young life – and ours for sure.
But that little boy who went in with a big, broken heart, came out with a Happy Heart filled with love, generosity and compassion.
And, he still picks on his little sister. But she gives it right back.