Stephen Yeargin

This afternoon I was standing in a Publix, shuffling through the selection of balloons to find one for a patient at Vanderbilt Children’s Hospital. The two and a half year-old boy had just undergone his third (and hopefully final) heart surgery to correct a birth defect. I have to comment that there were few balloons tailored for such a patient, as the majority were for birthdays. Their small selection of “Get Well Soon” items were not nearly as exciting as the others. I finally settled on a guitar-shaped balloon that played Deep Purple’s “Smoke on the Water” when you tapped on it. My wife inspected my choice, and was firmly convinced that I was about to lose all kinds of cool points with his mother.

Every parent that I have ever talked to loathes the toys that play songs or make any other kind of noise. Batteries will mysteriously go missing from the toy fire truck, much like the slime goes missing before it ends up on the carpet. Moments of peace and quiet are sacred for parents, and woe unto the fool that disturbs them with the noise-making toy. I am apparently that fool.

We made our way up to the pediatric critical care unit, balloon in tow. We hung out with his mother at the bedside, glad to see that he was alert, if not a little sluggish. They were ready to move him out of the the critical care unit, but a bed had not opened up yet for him. Holding down food, strawberries as we would learn shortly, had been a bit of a challenge. The toughest part of the visit was not so much the nurse coming in to change the dressing on his chest that had soaked through his shirt, the strawberry redux, or the airway cleansing by way of his nasal passages. Instead, it was hard just seeing somebody who would much rather be chasing chickens around his yard laid up in a hospital bed with a long incision on his chest. This is not how a toddler should be spending a Sunday afternoon.

I am often humbled by the many blessings I have in life, and I try my best not to overlook them. Not everyone in that critical care unit was on the road to recovery like our young friend. We were made aware of at least one case where a young man was waiting on a heart transplant. Our Sunday morning church services often begin with a prayer request or two for those that are ill or have some other kind of need. I sit here this evening in good health and blessed to have a wonderful wife and (no matter how much I whine at times) a job to go to in a few short hours. It is good to keep everything in perspective.

Across town, there is a couple resting in a hospital room with their son. With a giant guitar-shaped balloon that plays “Smoke on the Water.”