“‘She will be fine!’ How many times have you heard or even said this to someone undergoing surgery? ‘You will be fine!’ Surgeons perform this every day.

My aunt’s cousin has a friend whose daughter recently gave birth to a baby requiring surgery, but now she is doing well. She will be fine!

However, what if she is not? This thought has been lingering in the back of my mind for the past two years. Approximately every six weeks, Ariel’s life is extended by six weeks when her cardiologist examines her. Telling someone, or even myself, that she will be fine is like telling the universe, ‘Hey universe, this is how it’s going to be, okay?’. I believe mothers of special needs children do this often.”

Thanks to Kristal Hernandez

Ariel required correction for an atrial septal defect and a ventricular septal defect. All these heart defects are common in people with Down syndrome. The type of surgery she required was a technological advancement. She is one of the first to receive it in North America and the first on the West Coast. Therefore, ensuring that they perform these tasks daily is inapplicable.

The night before her surgery, we said goodbye to her twin sister Katalina. She planned to spend a week with her grandparents. The house was eerily quiet with only one baby, but Ariel enjoyed the extra attention. We settled in, and I craved as many hugs as possible. She fell asleep on my chest, and I memorized the sound and rhythm of her breathing. I meticulously counted the number of lashes on her almond-shaped eyes. She was so peacefully sleeping, but my mind was racing. Is this the best choice? How will I oversee her recovery? If her ribs are cut, can I ensure they heal properly? How will I deal with her brother? Will her scar define or humiliate her? Will Katalina cry for Ariel? The most crucial question is, will she survive?

Thanks to Kristal Hernández

The next day, at 5 in the morning, we arrived at the hospital. Clearly, Ariel was in good spirits, and I kept taking a photo of her out of fear that it might be the last one I had of her. If anything happened to her, I would take responsibility. We were admitted to the hospital, and I was anxious for this terrible experience to end. I felt as if our lives were on hold and that once the surgery was over, we could go back to normal. The clock seemed to have stopped, prolonging our anxiety. The next thing I knew, they were taking Ariel back to the operating room. I didn’t want to let go of her because that would have made the decision final. Her COVID test came back negative, and all blood work was done. All the X-rays looked great. I had to let her go.

Thanks to Kristal Hernandez

She voluntarily approached her new companions, and the nurses vied for who would hug her. Even as she undergoes heart surgery, Ariel maintains her charisma. I stood there in awe, watching her radiant face until she disappeared behind the doors. Her father and I had breakfast across the street before returning to a private waiting room. Due to COVID, we were the only ones allowed in, and we were grateful to be there together. I sat there with knots in my stomach. Periodically, the nurse would call my cell phone, and every time the phone rang, I felt paralyzing anxiety. The nursing staff was excellent at providing updates. Preparing her for surgery and settling her in the recovery room took longer than the operation itself. I sat in the waiting room with her crochet blanket provided by the hospital as she underwent her five-hour operation. Finally, the nurse announced that the surgery had been a success.

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