“Doesn’t her dad usually bring her?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said. “He does. But he’s out of town today.”

I thought it was sweet that she remembered Ray, since it’s been a whole year since Sophie’s last cardiologist appointment. A YEAR. That’s big in our world. We’ve never gone a whole year. 

When I realized that the appointment was yesterday — a day Ray couldn’t take her — I thought about changing it. But it’s hard to get in, it would have been another whole month. Neither Ray nor I thought it was a good idea to wait. So I went.  

I take the girls to most of their doctor appointments, but Ray’s been the pointman on the heart, since the very beginning. He took the first call, the one where we learned that although the pediatrician (the one who insisted she didn’t have Down syndrome) was positive there was nothing wrong with Sophie’s heart, there was. She needed open heart surgery when she was four months old. 

Ray’s the one who learned all the terminology, the one who watched them put the bag of ice on our infant’s face to shock her back when her heart went nuts, in the aftermath of surgery. And after the doctors promised the first fix was a good one, it was Ray who called me from the cardiologist’s office when Sophie was four, to break the news that she needed surgery again. That appointment was the one that was supposed to be the last six month check up; after that, it would be every year. But it wouldn’t. We were back at square one.

Now we’re finally at the annual exam mark. A whole year without a cardiologist listening to Sophie’s heart. A year without an EKG. Or an echocardiogram. I was nervous this morning, so nervous I didn’t even notice that I dressed Sophie in hearts — dress, tights, even her Converse have little hearts Sharpie-d on. So nervous I forgot we were past Empty until we were pulling out of the driveway, already late for the appointment across town.

I watched that damn echocardiogram machine, and thought of the first echo, when Sophie was four days old; the tech was stoic, didn’t say a word, kept his gaze from ours. I knew better today than to ask what the red flashes meant. Or the blue ones. I waited for the doctor.

He was all smiles. Sophie is just fine. She has a little leakage, but no more today than she did after the second surgery, he told me. Her repair is “artful,” he said.

I texted Ray, and left the doctor’s office with a big smile — my biggest challenge now to find Sophie an EKG machine for Christmas. (Note to self: Don’t suggest writing letter to Santa while waiting in a doctor’s office with tempting medical machinery around.)

And gas. Damn, we needed gas. I’m quite sure we floated up to the gas pump on fumes; there’s no way I’d had enough gas to make it. A Hanukkah miracle, I giggled to myself, as I stuck my debit card in the machine.

Two miracles.

I know Ray was not looking forward to Sophie’s cardiologist appointment today.

About two and a half years ago, he brought her in for her six month appointment. The doctor pronounced her healthy, and put us down for annual visits — a big milestone. Then the doctor read the results of the eccocardiogram they’d done at that appointment.

Whoops.

Sophie’s heart had sprung a leak. She had her second open heart surgery a couple months later.

At her last appointment six months ago it was deja vu all over again, as the cardiologist promised that after the next appointment, we’d go to annual visits. Again.

That was today’s appointment. Ray snapped a photo of the EKG process and  we held our breath as a family (except Sophie, who was clearly care free) til the doctor announced that yes, Sophie’s doing well. Some minor leakage, but that’s okay. Her heart is okay.

He’ll see her back in a year. And the doctor said this after reading her ecco results. I made Ray repeat that fact several times.

This is all good to know, since Sophie’s heart will be beating awfully fast on Christmas morning.

Tomorrow is the second anniversary of Sophie’s second open-heart surgery.

This afternoon Ray and Annabelle left on a Brownie camping trip (earning my husband the Dad of the Year award, since he didn’t renege when he learned he was the only father going!) so it will be just the two of us this weekend.

Sophie and I will be busy celebrating tomorrow, so I wanted to share this now. It’s our newest refrigerator art — it came home in her backpack a few days ago, drawn by a friend in her class.

Yeah, I thought, when I looked at the sweet drawing. I’ve been thinking about Sophie’s heart a lot lately, too.

Taking a step back from the week’s tumultuous events, I have to admit that  it’s a nice luxury, being able to worry about hurt feelings and slights from bullies, rather than leaking valves and oxygen deprivation.

Thank you again, Dr. Michael Teodori, for fixing Sophie’s heart. Not so long ago, a kid with that heart defect wouldn’t have been around for first grade.

And now, you’ll have to excuse me. I have a dinner date with the cutest six year old around.

Yesterday morning, Sophie demanded choices, as she always does, so I yanked two tee shirts out of her very disorganized drawer.

Funny — one was a tie dye with a heart in the middle. The other, her “Sweet Heart” tee. She chose the Sweet Heart. I love that shirt, too. It’s got a fairly realistic looking heart on it, covered in sprinkles, designed by a way-cool local artist named Roy Wasson Vale. (He got his start painting signs at Trader Joe’s! You can find his stuff at MADE: www.madephx.com)

Sprinkles and hearts, two of my favorite things. I don’t usually like to think about anything medical (Grey’s Anatomy aside), anything that points toward our mortality, but as a mom I have been forced to look at – and appreciate — the heart. Sophie had open heart surgery at 4 months and 4 years, and yeah, I’ll admit it, I have a bit of a heart motif going. I figure your kid goes through that, you can get away with being a little sappy.

Sophie’s heart is strong. (I hate even typing that — hold on while I knock wood. OK, I’m back.) Ray took her to the cardiologist on Tuesday for a 6-month check up; so it’s funny that those heart shirts emerged the next day. Sophie doesn’t talk much about her heart surgery, though sometimes she likes to recall the dramatic moment when she came out of the anesthesia and croaked, “apple juice, apple juice.” (Not my own favorite moment to recall. That sucked.)

Sometimes we do talk about her heart. Tuesday evening, I took the girls over to an end of the year open house at the school, then we grabbed a bite with Ms. X. As I tried to take Sophie out of her car seat at the restaurant, she announced, “I don’t love you! I love Ms. X.”

I know Sophie loves me. She was tired and cranky (full moon hangover?) and just trying to play me.

But I try not to encourage such behavior (I hate the game my girlfriends I used to play called “Pick Between” — use your imagination — when applied to an almost 6 year old’s loved ones) so I tried something new.

“Hey Sophie,” I said. “Stop and ask your heart if there’s room to love BOTH Ms. X and me.”

Sophie pulled the neck of her dress wide (darn, that’s a cute hand me down), stuck her head inside, and did just that. She emerged with a grin.

“My heart says love both you and Ms. X!” she announced triumphantly. And we went inside to get our El Pollo Loco.

It’s been weeks since Sophie’s check up, at least a month since the cardiologist took her off the medication designed to keep her blood presure low. No one ever said it, but the reason’s obvious: It was meant to keep the pressure off her newly mended valve.

When he wrote the prescription, the cardiologist said they really didn’t know if this would help or not, but he figured it wouldn’t hurt, so why not? And so for months, twice a day (even on vacations — and required refrigerationa) we gave Sophie her medicine. Luckily she loved it, insisted on pushing the syringe herself.

It’s expensive stuff. The co-pay is $50 and the prescription had to be refilled at a specialty apothecary, about every month. It’ll be weird to go through medical receipts to add up that flex-ben money I’ve got to grab before year’s end. 

And now, poof, she doesn’t need it anymore. I guess. It’s not like it would be good, it’s probably expired already. But something won’t let me toss it.

Ray, either.

“Who’s going to be the one to throw the Enalapril out?” he asked a while ago.

I shrugged and changed the subject, thinking inside, “Not me.”

It probably wasn’t doing anything, but it was nice to have an effort to make. Without formal religion in the house, now it’s just a wishing game. I cuddle with Sophie and cup my hand over the big bump on her chest and feel her heart pounding, and wonder.

This is the money shot appointment, the one that comes with an eccocardiogram. I sent Ray off with a list of questions for the cardiologist, and the admonition that he let us know this time, if something’s wrong. The last ecco Sophie had at a routine appointment was in June 2007, and the doctor didn’t bother to tell us about the leak for another two months.

Not that it made a difference with regard to her health — these doctors are very good, the best in town, they knew she could go on for a while with no fix – but I can’t deal with what that did to my head, not knowing all summer that Sophie’s heart had gone bad again.

I put some Cheeto’s in her lunch as a treat. “My fingers get all cheesy!” Sophie announced, grinning, when I told her. I gave her an extra long hug, cupping my hand over the bump on her chest.

I just got an email from Ray entitled, “Hi Mommy,” with a picture snapped in the exam room. Now I just have to wait for his call.