Now it's all up to the doctors. It's all about trust. He's passed out of our hands and into theirs. And God oh God, please keep him safe. I carried him into the OR. It was bright and warm, with cheerful balloons and landscapes paintd on the wall that helped distract from all the scary machines, monitors, and of course, featured in the middle, the table itself. I always forget how small and narrow the actual table is. A thin resting place where the battle between life and death is fought. They put him to sleep in my arms, and he was scared. Then he stilled, leaving me with the expression in his eyes burnt on to the inside of my eyelids. No parent should have to do this. And yet so many do. Trust. Trust. Trust. I make it the mantra of my racing heart.