January 2008. So far in Owen’s young life, he has had three surgeries on his right eye. First, a tube was placed in it when he was 3 weeks old. A few days later, he had a quick surgery called a reformation of the anterior chamber. Then in November, just before Thanksgiving, the tube got a little clogged, and he needed to have surgery to unclog the sucker. That’s three surgeries on one eye before the kid was six months old.

We had made it through the holidays as a family, and we crept into the new year like timid children, wondering if—and when— Owen would need eye surgery again to correct his glaucoma.

In early January, we once again made the trip to Boston to see Dr. Walton in his little waiting room to have Owen’s eyes checked. Pressure had been holding steady in Owen’s right eye, the one that had all the surgery. But the pressure was slowly creeping up in his left eye, and the decision was made to perform surgery to correct it. Although a tube shunt was the preferred surgery for a child with newborn glaucoma, a simpler surgery was chosen by Dr. Walton. A goniotomy would be performed.

Mid-January, we packed up the stuff in the van and headed to Boston. It was a Monday, and Alecia would travel to Boston with her parents to prep for surgery. I stayed behind to work on Monday, and then I hit the road for Boston. Mass Pike. Road food. The whole bit.

We awoke early on Tuesday, January 15th, 2008 to sneak out of the hotel room with Owen. Alecia’s mom snuck into our hotel room to keep an eye on Josie as she slept, and we made our way down to the street.

The walk to the Mass Eye and Ear Infirmary was familiar. The bike racks, the Yawkey Pavilion, and the parking garage. Up to the eighth floor, pediatrics, to check in with the nursing staff who have come to know us and Owen.

We are led to a room where Owen dons the world’s tiniest hospital gown, still too big for him, and we wait to be led to surgery. Alecia brings him down, as she always had for the past three procedures. Dr. Walton takes the boy, and my wife returns to the hospital room to wait. The Charles River, the park, bikes, Cambridge. Waiting.

We head downstairs to get something to eat in the cafeteria and share quiet whisperings that only a husband and wife share when their beloved child is having his eyeball cut into. Coffee, tea, snacks. I spot a bulletin board with a flier touting the benefit of running the Boston Marathon to raise funds for the Mass Eye and Ear Infirmary. I take a brochure.

Alecia and I walk back to the room, and the pager beeps, indicating that Owen is done in surgery and ready to be picked up. Alecia heads down the elevator, and I wait. After an hour or so, she returns with the boy. The tiny gown is still on, and a small bandage on his tiny foot indicates where the IV went in. Taped to Owen’s left eye is the metal eye patch. We know the drill. Nurse a bit, get him changed and wait for the nurse to discharge the boy.

We get our walking papers, and we thank the nursing staff. We take the elevator back to the street, and we walk back to the hotel. Meals, rest, books, and sleep. The next day, we take Owen to Dr. Walton’s tiny office, and his eye gets checked. Go home for now, and return in a few days.

We return to Albany, hopeful that this is the first—and only—surgery for Owen’s left eye.

Hopeful.