As I glance at the calendar for the month of January, I can鈥檛 help but notice there will be a Friday the 13th. Typically, I鈥檓 not a superstitious person, but whenever that unlucky day rolls around, I鈥檓 always a bit uneasy because of what happened 11 years ago.
I had come home from work that particular Friday and my wife, Deb, greeted me with a look of concern, saying she had some news for me. It involved our seven-year-old son, Jesse, who was having a play date with one of his good friends. The friend鈥檚 dad had just called Deb to let her know there had been an accident. Evidently, the boys had been swinging golf clubs and Jesse got smacked near his eye, cutting him. The father didn鈥檛 think it was too serious, but he was driving him to our home.
Immediately, I stood vigil at the living room window overlooking the street. When the car pulled up, I scooted out the front door. Jesse stoically climbed out of the back seat holding a towel over his eye. After I took one look at the deep gash on his eyelid, I knew this was serious. Taking his hand, trying to stay calm, I walked him up the porch steps where he then jumped into his mom鈥檚 arms.
鈥淚 can鈥檛 see!鈥� he cried.
Moments later we were on the way to the emergency room of Children鈥檚 Hospital. I think most parents would agree that there is no worse feeling than having a young son or daughter in distress. Deb and I tried our best to reassure Jesse that he would be fine, even as we dealt with our own devastating feelings of helplessness.
When the doctor examined Jesse, he could barely open his eye. It took all my strength to keep from passing out. But I knew I had to be strong for my son. After waiting for an hour or so, Jesse could finally open his eye well enough to be examined. He had a scratched cornea and a small amount of blood in the eye, which is a condition called hyphema. The doctor told us that if there were no complications the blood would disappear, and his vision should return to normal. After the doctor put seven stitches in Jesse鈥檚 eyelid, we headed home鈥攁nxious but hopeful. During the next week, Jesse stayed in bed, doctor鈥檚 orders, except for visits to the ophthalmologist every other day. By the 20th, one week after the accident, the blood and swelling were gone, and Jesse鈥檚 vision had returned to normal. Tragedy averted. Parents indescribably relieved. Today, 11 years later, the only reminder of that fateful Friday the 13th is a razor thin scar on the top of his eyelid that, essentially, is visible only to his mom and dad.
No doubt Jonathan Rothberg, the subject of this issue鈥檚 cover story, 鈥淛ust Did It,鈥� could relate to what that week 11 years ago was like for Deb and me. He, too, had to sit in a hospital waiting room and deal with that helpless feeling, which, in his case, involved his newborn son fighting for his life. Rothberg, somehow, channeled that helplessness into action. And it鈥檚 that action that may one day change health care forever.聽聽聽聽
鈥�Robert Mendelson
聽聽聽 Executive Editor
