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Authors: Dan Bucatinsky
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back her demons and came out of hibernation to join us at the hospital. She was there along with many of our other close friends, by our side, all day and night. The procedure involved inserting a device called an Aplatzer Septal Occluder via catheter through a vein in her leg, as they do with stents. The operation was supposed to take only ninety minutes. But due to complications it took an unbearable four hours. To say nothing prepares you for parenthood is a cliché. But when you are watching your twenty-month-old baby girl on a gurney, clutching her stuffed kitten with one arm, the other plugged with an IV as she’s wheeled back into an operating room—that’s a feeling of powerlessness and sheer panic that would deter anyone from becoming a parent in the first place. It was in that moment I wondered if Julie hadn’t been right. It’s one thing to paint a nursery or shop for diaper bags to prepare for the arrival of your baby. But what about all the variables you could never predict? Having a kid had brought us to this free-falling moment for which there seemed to be no safety net. Our friends, and Julie in particular, showered us with reassuring optimism and confidence. And we had complete faith in our pediatric cardiologist. But the what-ifs really started to kick in at hour two. It was particularly hard on Don, who was panicked over the possibility the procedure might not work and we’d be faced with open-heart surgery. At that point, I managed to summon an inner strength Ihadn’t realized I had. I looked Don squarely in the eyes and reminded him our little girl was depending on us to be pillars of courage and reassurance.
Eliza’s procedure was a success. The next day, we took her home, and by the third day, surprisingly she had pretty much recovered. We were nervous, of course, but Eliza seemed to have an unexpected surge in energy almost immediately. She had blossomed into a different kid! Poor thing, her heart had been working overtime for nearly two years.
Something changed with Julie too and she was suddenly much more present in our lives. We had never really talked about the time before the surgery, but afterward she started coming around once a week to spend time with Eliza and later with Jonah too. It was awkward at first. She was uncharacteristically chipper and energetic and, let’s just say, had no concept of an “inside voice.” She’d whip Eliza around in the air and they’d both scream with laughter.
Though the doctors said it was fine, we weren’t so much into the roughhousing right after heart surgery. We liked smooth-housing or, better yet, no -housing, like: “Hey, Eliza? You know what would be fun? Let’s sit very still and try to listen for heartbeats. Your heartbeat, actually. Do you have a heartbeat, darling? Please say yes . . .”
But that wasn’t how Julie played it. Julie had a funsy, Bozo the Clown–type energy. We were sure it was too much for our delicate little flower. But Eliza loved it. Julie had a way with Eliza that was irresistible. She managed to be so magically intuitive, focused, and yes, fun! We had a real-life Barney playing with our daughter—and not just when she wore purple. They also developed delicious secrets, whichthe kids loved. Me? Not so much. I snuck in on them once watching TV and eating cookies out of a box. Julie was whispering, “We don’t have to tell Papi or Daddy about every cookie we eat, do we?”
Oh, yes you do! But when Eliza was with Julie, there were no rules, no bedtimes, no limits. Julie was her irresistibly wild-eyed, energetic, and fun-loving aunt. We affectionately called her Aunt Cuckoo.
Even a year after the operation, we were still Aunt Cuckoo’s bitches. Every morning as we’d drive Eliza to school, she’d start asking to call Julie as we backed down the driveway. I would dial her on speakerphone.
Ring. Ring . Eliza’s face would beam with anticipation. Ring. Ring . No answer. I’d start to panic.
“Pick up the
Eliza’s procedure was a success. The next day, we took her home, and by the third day, surprisingly she had pretty much recovered. We were nervous, of course, but Eliza seemed to have an unexpected surge in energy almost immediately. She had blossomed into a different kid! Poor thing, her heart had been working overtime for nearly two years.
Something changed with Julie too and she was suddenly much more present in our lives. We had never really talked about the time before the surgery, but afterward she started coming around once a week to spend time with Eliza and later with Jonah too. It was awkward at first. She was uncharacteristically chipper and energetic and, let’s just say, had no concept of an “inside voice.” She’d whip Eliza around in the air and they’d both scream with laughter.
Though the doctors said it was fine, we weren’t so much into the roughhousing right after heart surgery. We liked smooth-housing or, better yet, no -housing, like: “Hey, Eliza? You know what would be fun? Let’s sit very still and try to listen for heartbeats. Your heartbeat, actually. Do you have a heartbeat, darling? Please say yes . . .”
But that wasn’t how Julie played it. Julie had a funsy, Bozo the Clown–type energy. We were sure it was too much for our delicate little flower. But Eliza loved it. Julie had a way with Eliza that was irresistible. She managed to be so magically intuitive, focused, and yes, fun! We had a real-life Barney playing with our daughter—and not just when she wore purple. They also developed delicious secrets, whichthe kids loved. Me? Not so much. I snuck in on them once watching TV and eating cookies out of a box. Julie was whispering, “We don’t have to tell Papi or Daddy about every cookie we eat, do we?”
Oh, yes you do! But when Eliza was with Julie, there were no rules, no bedtimes, no limits. Julie was her irresistibly wild-eyed, energetic, and fun-loving aunt. We affectionately called her Aunt Cuckoo.
Even a year after the operation, we were still Aunt Cuckoo’s bitches. Every morning as we’d drive Eliza to school, she’d start asking to call Julie as we backed down the driveway. I would dial her on speakerphone.
Ring. Ring . Eliza’s face would beam with anticipation. Ring. Ring . No answer. I’d start to panic.
“Pick up the
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