I didn't know about my child's heart condition at the time, but I was feeling nervous, consumed by what appeared to be unjustifiable anxiety. I felt a little guilty for not wholeheartedly trusting in God's plan, but I couldn't shake the notion that something wasn't quite right about my daughter's seemingly innocuous situation. In spite of numerous reassurances from doctors and family alike, the nagging sensation that something was wrong with my baby kept pestering my mind, digging at my every thought and robbing me of the joys that accompany each small, progressive success of the premature infant. My fiancee accused me of being paranoid, and my parents encouraged me with a constant stream of support, but deep down, I knew the sky would come crashing down upon the fragile optimism I was carefully beginning to adopt. I just didn't know why.
When the diagnosis came, it shattered the tentative sense of security I had finally managed to coax from my guarded and apprehensive mind. I was frozen, because the last thing I suspected was a heart defect. I was horrified, but not entirely surprised, because my instincts are usually quite accurate.
"So it begins...", I thought, with a degree of cynicism that would surprise even those who know me well. The doctors called my fiancee at work. When he came to the hospital later that evening, he was infuriatingly positive and enviably confident.
"It will be okay, you know", he quipped.
"God would not have allowed us to come this far only to rob our daughter of the life He has graciously entrusted us with"
"Yeah...sure" I thought angrily, unable to meet his eyes.
"I guess that must why He lets innocent children die everyday without allowing them to experience the fullness of life, right?? Why should our baby be excluded from this possibility? Why should her fate be any different??"
