Can I give him mine?

They called me from the Pediatrics Eye Center. Ugh, I thought. I hate it when they prescribe glasses to small children.

Outside my assigned examination room, the doctor, nurse, and social worker were gathered- a little unusual for an ophthalmology appointment. As soon as I arrived, they broke: “She is here, lets do this.” We went inside the room. I saw mom walking back and forth with her 3 month-old baby in arms, dad was sitting on a bench against the wall. The doctor, social worker and myself stood across both of them.

The family was there for an evaluation of baby Joni’s vision. His pediatrician had some concerns that the baby’s eyes were not responding to light and this appointment was to check if that was true, and see what type of surgery would be necessary. A concerning, but overall positive and hopeful visit.

Immediately after walking in, I noticed that Mom looked worried. She spoke some English and was able to gather that something wasn’t right during the examination, when there was no interpreter. She suspected there was bad news, but remained quiet, hanging tight to her baby in prayer. Dad had no idea.

“You have a very healthy, strong boy.” The doctor began. “Unfortunately, the concerns about his vision were correct – he is unable to see. At this point in time, there is nothing we can do about his condition. Your baby is permanently blind.”

I took a deep breath before I started talking, to keep my voice from cracking. As I repeated the doctor’s words in Spanish, mom and dad’s eyes are fixed on me, begging for relief. Painfully, I looked straight back at them with the most compassionate expression I could put together after hearing such shocking news for the first time. As I finished interpreting, mom burst into tears and held even more tightly onto her baby. Dad turned red and looked down, holding back. Baby Joni was awake, his eyes wide-open, looking as happy as any child his age.

The doctor kept on talking, trying to convey some hope and explain that this was not the end, that the baby was otherwise healthy and would be able to develop normally; that he would “see” the world in different ways.

But the family was not listening. They were dazed, not knowing what to do, what to think, what to expect.

At some point, the doctor asked: “do you have any questions for me, about your baby’s eyes?”

Dad, a robust man who had been quiet the entire time, suffering in silence, burst:

“Can I give him mine?!”

Tears finally started rushing down, tears everyone in the room had been able to control until this point. There was a brief moment of silence as the doctor tried to find the least painful way to answer his question. I took another deep breath:

“No, you can’t…”