Control and chaos.

Finally it's time. It is our turn to step in to the paediatrician who had the honour to do the round at the mother & baby unit. She examines and pinches him, just as it should be. She looks and listens. But she kind of gets stuck a bit with the stethoscope on Abbes chest, looking thoughtful and concerned. She listens and moves it forward and back.

At the same time I can see the nurse who made the screening test, eager to hand over the envelope with its so far secret results to the doctor. "Hmm, I hear some murmur from the heart," said the doctor. "But it doesn't need to be anything to worry about," she hastened to add. The nurse with the envelope cannot stay longer, but hands over the information. Abbe had an oxygen saturation of 48% in his blood when the test was made. Normal is 100%.

"We have to ask the neonatal intensive care unit to examine him closer," said paediatrician. I – who did not understand the seriousness yet - thinking that they are probably going to tell us when the time comes. But suddenly I find myself half running after a nurse through the corridors of Borås hospital with my newborn son in my arms. A nurse is pushing my wife, who can barely stand because of the pain from the operation, in a wheelchair. Everything happens so incredibly fast.