A Sliver of Hope


As we walk across the bridge connecting the parking garage with the hospital, it is obvious that the building we are entering is its own little universe. Thankfully, we have only been here once before, but that was many years ago. We were visitors then; today, our purpose is quite different.

The exterior stained-glass windows are beautiful, artistic even. Their panes filter the sun entering the building, casting a warm glow. I observe beautiful children bravely smiling. They are surrounded by nurses and parents helping them walk while numerous tubes and IVs are attached to their frail bodies. The sound of children laughing, merely being children, fills a long corridor that ends with an arcade. Walking to our destination, I observe parents in the family suite, talking with doctors fresh out of surgery. It does not take much observation to notice their heads are heavy and their hearts are worn. I quietly pray their news is positive and that today brings them a ray of light and hope. After all, this is the place where parents bring their children when they are praying for the smallest sliver of hope - or when all hope has been exhausted.

A large display at the entrance proudly states Johns Hopkins Children's Hospital is ranked #5 in the country. I already know Hopkins has one of the best children's hospitals in the country, but I could not help but wonder what difference the top four hospitals would make in the lives of the children I observed.

Over the last few years, our medical journey has taken us places I never imagined. Today is no different. We are praying for more answers to explain the medical anomaly, which is our beautiful daughter. Today is a double-edged sword. If the doctors find what they suspect, it would answer many questions. However, if they find what they suspect, well, that discovery begins an entirely new journey.

Our baby girl's test is over. Now we wait for the answers that will inform us which fork in the road we will travel along. Waiting always seems to be the most arduous task. That is until I consider the many parents leaving this place tonight, without their children, while I walk out, hand in hand with my husband and my arm around my daughter.



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