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The 3 Words My Son Said as He Squeezed My Hand in the Hospital

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Isaiah is almost 2 years old and has already been poked by at least 50 needles, had tubes pushed up his nose, had two surgeries and broke more than 20 bones. He has a severe form of Osteogenesis Imperfecta (OI) and a moderate case of hydrocephalus.

Hydrocephalus is what brought us to an MRI table at the hospital, our second home. He had surgery only a month before to place a shunt in his head to relieve the built-up spinal fluid, so an MRI was needed to check if things were improving.

Thanks to Isaiah’s OI, I’m always nervous when he undergoes new procedures because of his risk of fractures. His last MRI was done under sedation; this time, he was going to be awake. But I was also going in the MRI scanner with him in this case. This is standard procedure at this hospital for kids his age. Normally, I’m on the sidelines during Isaiah’s procedures. This time, we got to face things together.

I placed Isaiah on the MRI table and was directed on how to lie next to him. My son is the size of a typical 6-month-old, so there was a lot of room on the table for me. Isaiah had a cage-looking device placed around his head, and I hopped up on the table at his feet with my head hovering right above his belly. We put in our earplugs, and the table lifted and moved into the MRI scanner.

The scanner started booming and clicking and sounded a bit like a very loud vacuum cleaner. Isaiah was startled, so I gently grabbed his hands and started singing. After a run through of “Wheels on the Bus,” “Boom, Boom, Ain’t It Great to Be Crazy?” and “Old MacDonald Had a Farm,” the technician came over the speaker and told us it’d be just another two minutes.

I was so glad I was there with him, but it made me face the reality of what Isaiah is going through. It’s scary and he’s not exactly at an age where I can explain what’s going on.

More loud booms.

Just when I thought Isaiah would jump and start crying, he did something I never expected.

We locked eyes. He squeezed my hands and said three little words that I often say to him: “I’ve got you.”

Of course, it sounded more like “I gah ew,” since he’s still learning to talk. But there he was, surrounded by a loud machine, going through more testing, with every reason to be afraid, assuring me that we were going to be OK.

“I’ve got you” is what Isaiah’s daddy and I say to him when we pick him while we’re on an elevator or someplace new. We always say, “I’ve got you. You’re going to be OK.” As soon as he hears us utter those words, you can see the relief in his eyes.

“You’ve got me? That’s right, Isaiah. You’ve got me. I’ve got you too.” Those are the words I spoke back to him while blinking away the tears in my eyes. That moment in the MRI scanner confirmed so much about Isaiah in my heart.

He is brave. He is loving. He is selfless.

I’m so glad we’ve got each other.

Follow Isaiah’s journey on OI Believe in Isaiah.

The Mighty is asking the following: What’s one unexpected source of comfort when it comes to your (or a loved one’s) disability and/or disease? If you’d like to participate, please send a blog post to Please include a photo for the piece, a photo of yourself and 1-2 sentence bio. Check out our “Share Your Story” page for more about our submission guidelines.

Originally published: June 8, 2015
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