On July 22, 2011 at Addenbrooke’s hospital in Cambridge, England: Despite arriving very early, it was afternoon when Aiden finally went in for his MRI. He was sedated, head first in the MRI machine, with Tim and I standing on either side of his legs. The terror was like electricity passing between us when we made eye contact. The loud clicks and bangs of the machine were muffled by our ear plugs, but made appropriate background noise to the thoughts and feelings we were experiencing.
At one point I turned away from Aiden and the burning fear in Tim’s eyes and looked at the men behind the widow running the test. They were laughing heartily. Huge smiles were smeared across their faces and their lively chatter was a heavy contrast to our dark mood.
“If this turns out badly,” I thought “I will remember how joyfully these men ran the test that diagnosed my son, and I will hate them.”
It turns out I don’t hate them but I can never forget them.