At the Top of the Funnel

"We just don't know."

The pediatrician leaned forward, arms on her knees, shaking her head. I had asked for her assessment of Aaron's delays. I didn't need a longer, more elaborate answer. Nor did she offer one.

"We just don't know."

The pediatrician compared the situation to a funnel. We're at the top, the widest end, with myriad possible causes for his delays. We need to work our way down to the narrowest end, where the possibilities are fewer, more distinct. Then perhaps we'll have an answer or, at the very least, will have ruled out the worst possible outcomes.

We took Aaron this week to Children's Hospital for an MRI. We cried a little as the nurses sedated him. He lay on his back, fighting the sleep, staring at the nurses in confusion.

Later, in the waiting room, a young boy of 8 or 9 sauntered in with his grandmother, seemingly carefree minutes from his next MRI. Nonchalant, as though it were just another chore to take care of. And perhaps for him and his family, it was.

I shudder that we would ever get to the point at which MRIs are routine, at which the intense medical testing into which we have just stepped is as ingrained in our lives as toast and diapers.

We may be there yet, at the bottom of the funnel.

For now, though, we just don't know.