When my fourth son, Jason, was born with a severe congenital heart defect, I learned very quickly that medicine is not only about skill or intention, it is about time. Not days or hours, but minutes and seconds. I didn't understand then how deeply the systems around doctors shape those moments. I only knew that our lives now revolved around a children's hospital and a clock we could not slow.
In the early 1980s, my family's world pivoted on the urgent needs of our newborn. Jason was diagnosed with a serious congenital heart defect known as Tetralogy of Fallot. For eight months, we were immersed in Children's Hospital San Diego's pediatric cardiology unit, preparing for what was then considered cutting-edge open-heart surgery. The operation itself corrected Jason's heart structurally, but the aftermath, specifically the volume and complexity of blood transfusions, proved fatal. Before the age of one, Jason died from what should have been a life-saving procedure.
