I got the call at 10PM. He had acute appendicitis, she said, and was going into surgery immediately. I got into the car and drove.
It took me less than two hours, but I fought panic the entire way. It’ll be fine, I thought. It’s common. But the words didn’t comfort me.
I feigned calmness while they showed me to his recovery room.
He was sleeping, curled around his pooh bear, an IV running into the back of his little hand. With wet eyes, I looked down on my three year old son, and I’d never felt so helpless.