When Max walks in to his audiology appointment on Monday, he’ll be wearing a mask and an eye patch and glasses. He’ll be loaded up with two different heart medications and a shot of growth hormone. Poor little guy, more machine than man, dragged from specialist to specialist. But he’ll also be wearing suspenders and a bow tie because it’s a big day and he’s a kid who likes to look sharp. He’ll be carrying his new first grader’s magazine, and he’ll pore over it with all the joy of a brand-new reader. He’ll be humming something complicated from Wohlfahrt’s 60 Violin Etüden because that’s what Frida’s practicing right now, and he sits outside her room when she practices and sings along with her playing, even if it’s scales. He’ll have ideas for places to go afterwards, for treats to eat, for things to notice and questions to ask and jokes to make.
Society’s investment in Max is absolutely absurd and absolutely wonderful. Thank you, thank you, thank you.