An insightful Milton doctor saved my son’s life 18 months ago, and that, in turn, made a Bolivian toddler part of my life.
It started in October 2012 as a precautionary follow-up appointment for a heart murmur my son’s doctor noticed during his one year checkup. She referred us to a cardiologist in Pensacola, which turned into a flurry of CT scans, second opinions, and—just four weeks later—heart surgery in Atlanta to repair an aortic coarctation (where the aorta is pinched and blood flow is obstructed).
A year later our blue-eyed toddler is totally fine. I started to wonder how we could help other families facing a child’s heart surgery.
I contacted Samaritan’s Purse’s Children’s Heart Project (CHP), which coordinates surgeries for kids with heart defects in third world counties. Without surgery, the children will die, but their home countries lack resources to perform complicated procedures. They asked me to apply as a volunteer transporter. Transporters facilitate transit between countries and make sure the children and their parents are accompanied at all times as required by their visas.
I was so thankful we were blessed with access to the surgery our son needed, and my heart broke for moms without this option. I applied immediately to CHP and was accepted this spring, the same day one-year-old Santi arrived in Canada. Santi is a child I was intended to help. I started praying for him and continued to pray as his surgery was delayed by complications. This June, with his surgery finally complete, I flew to Canada to meet him. Santi—under 20 pounds at 14 months old—wasn’t shy at all. The tip of a scar peeking above his tiny t-shirt was the only indication he’d just had surgery. He snuggled in my lap for part of the long flight and we discussed barnyard animals in the in-flight magazine: Cluck! Moo! Quack! For this we didn’t need a translator. A welcome party of church friends and extended family waited alongside the rutted dirt road in Santa Cruz.
“He is three times bigger!” someone cooed.
“Gloria a Dios!” said the church pastor, “Glory to God!”
Santi’s mom confessed she was afraid to go to North America and risk returning home with empty arms. Her pastor told her to go because Santi had no other hope for survival, and to trust God.
Was I hearing my own anxiety verbalized? I, too, was haunted by thoughts of an empty car seat, a silent drive home to Pace. We have a different language, continent and hemisphere, but the exact same fear, trust and God. Santi’s mom returned with her arms three times as full. We celebrated with traditional patasca, a Santa Cruzan soup of maize, beef and pork.
I flew home the next day, thankful for the discerning Milton doctor who saved my son’s life, and led me to Bolivia to pass on the love and support we so recently received. A community caring for each other has far-reaching impact, and I am in awe of the people in this beautiful area we call home.
This article originally appeared on Santa Rosa Press Gazette: Local woman helps Samaritan’s Purse Children’s Heart Project