“Something’s wrong,” he said immediately. “She won’t stop crying, and she feels hot.”
I touched her forehead, and my blood went cold. “Get the diaper bag. We’re going to the ER. Now.”
The emergency room was a blur of lights and urgent voices. Lila’s fever had spiked to 103. They ran tests: blood work, chest X-rays, and an echocardiogram.
Josh refused to leave her side. He stood by the incubator, one hand pressed against the glass, tears streaming down his face.
“Please be okay,” he kept whispering.
At two in the morning, a cardiologist came to find us.
“We’ve found something. Lila has a congenital heart defect… a ventricular septal defect with pulmonary hypertension. It’s serious, and she needs surgery as soon as possible.”
Josh’s legs gave out. He sank into the nearest chair, his whole body shaking.
“How serious?” I managed to ask.
“Life-threatening if left untreated. The good news is that it’s operational. But the surgery is complex and expensive.”
I thought about the modest savings account I’d been building for Josh’s college education. Five years of tips and extra shifts at the diner where I worked as a cashier.
“How much?” I asked.
When she told me the number, my heart sank. It would take almost everything.
Josh looked up at me, devastated. “Mom, I can’t ask you to… but…”
“You’re not asking,” I interrupted. “We’re doing this.”
The surgery was scheduled for the following week. In the meantime, we brought Lila home with strict instructions about medications and monitoring.
Josh barely slept. He’d set alarms every hour to check on her. I’d find him at dawn, sitting on the floor beside the crib, just watching her chest rise and fall.
“What if something goes wrong?” he asked me one morning.
“Then we deal with it,” I said. “Together.”
On the day of the surgery, we arrived at the hospital before sunrise. Josh carried Lila, wrapped in a yellow blanket he’d bought specifically for her, while I cradled Mason.
The surgical team came to take her at 7:30 a.m. Josh kissed her forehead and whispered something I couldn’t hear before handing her over.
Then we waited.
Six hours. Six hours of pacing hospital corridors, of Josh sitting perfectly still with his head in his hands.
At one point, a nurse came by with coffee. She looked at Josh and said quietly, “That little girl is lucky to have a brother like you.”
