February 2018 — By now, Adi was five months old, and our world revolved around him. Every little moment, every tiny milestone, became the centre of our lives. His sleep, his giggles, his little fists grasping our fingers—everything felt precious. We cherished every moment.
For my daughter, having a baby brother was a dream come true. She adored him, spent hours by his side, memorizing his every little quirk. Every new expression, every small change was a reason to celebrate. We were happy. Life felt whole. My heart felt full. I kept thanking the Universe, the Almighty for this beautiful world of mine, for all these blessings.
Just when we thought we were past the hard times, life threw us another test.
One afternoon, I saw Adi staring blankly at the ceiling. I called his name. No response. I touched him. No movement. A sickening fear crawled through me—I thought I had lost him.
We rushed him to the hospital. The doctor gave him an injection, and moments later, he let out a cry—his tiny voice breaking the unbearable silence.
The doctor suggested a blood test, warning us that if it happened again, an MRI would be necessary. When the test results came back normal, we clung to hope. Maybe it was just a one-time thing. Maybe it was nothing.
But a few days later, it happened again.
This time, my husband wasn’t with us—he had just moved to Singapore for work. Alone and terrified, I rushed Adi back to the hospital. The doctor ordered an MRI. Because Adi was so active, he needed general anesthesia. The thought of my tiny boy being put under made my stomach twist, but there was no other choice. The procedure was done.
What I didn’t know then was that this was the first of many MRI’s and tests of his life.
And then came the hardest part—the wait. The long, unbearable wait for answers..