As a mother, we are expected to be brave for our children. We wipe away tears and kiss skinned knees while applying super hero band-aids so they can return to running and skipping. We chase away monsters under beds and show our children there is no need to be afraid of the dark. Because when it's dark the stars come out and wishes are made. We encourage our kids to swing high, take off those training wheels and maybe even ride big horses. Because having courage and being brave can lead to big rewards.
We smile and laugh and tell them the world is beautiful and everything will be okay because we want to be brave... we need to be brave, so they will be brave.
Sometimes, it's hard to be brave when you are a parent.
About four months ago, Handy Man and I found ourselves walking a tight rope of fear. Our bravery tested as words like cancer, autoimmune disease, and tumors were tossed around at will. All in reference to our beautiful Brown Eyed Girl.
We took for granted her complaints of tooth pain and what we assumed was just a pesky molar giving her a fit. About two months later, we noticed her face had swollen and her pain was severe. CT scans, blood work, referrals to specialists and a roller coaster of emotions. We found ourselves looking at the doctors and asking all the "right" medical questions when all I wanted to do was scream,
"NO! Not our child! Never! Please, please don't say such things and use her name in the same sentence."
I am usually the optimist in our family. Stop and smell the roses. Laugh and play. Life will all work itself out. Handy Man can be the pessimist. Nothing is free. Work hard and stay focused. Life doesn't just work itself out, you have to work to work it out. Yet faced with a parents worst fears... Handy Man held tight to the possibility - no, the absolute necessity - that it was just a pesky infection. Just the tooth. He refused to believe it could be anything else. Our Brown Eyed Girl was perfect and healthy and fine and anything other than that... is impossible.
When scared to death, denial is his bravery.
I poured myself over Google and WebMD and researched signs and symptoms and tried to pronounce very big words. I memorized statistics and treatment plans and prepared myself for the worst. I refused to have a diagnosis presented to me that would leave me in the fetal position on the floor, while my daughter watched. I needed to slap the scared right out of myself and attempt to make those scary words as familiar as comparing apples and oranges.
When scared to death, being a realist is my bravery.
Two rounds of different antibiotics, that didn't appear to work, brought our family to yesterday. Yesterday, we proceeded with a bone and tissue biopsy to get to the bottom of what was making our Brown Eyed Girl hurt. We kept the details of the procedure from her for as long as we could.
Lord just let her get through the school year and her kindergarten graduation. Let her be care free and innocent as long as possible.
Last week at her pre-op appointment our Brown Eyed Girl sat in the doctor's fancy chair, playing with the remote and acting like she was clueless to our coded conversations.
I would catch her look at me sharply from across the room, wheels turning in her eyes. She was listening and observing and taking notes. We got in the car and before I could back out of my parking space she said, "Mommy, what are they going to do to me?"
She is so smart. So observant.
So I told her. I told her she was going to have a surgery so we could make her better. She started to get upset. I told her she would be okay, that Mommy and Daddy would be there with her the whole time. She asked if it would hurt and I told her yes. But I told her that we would giver her special medicine to make her not hurt as bad and that she would get to eat a lot of popsicle and pudding.
She said, "All the popsicles and pudding I want? Like all day?"
"Yes! As much as you want."
She ginned in delight, "Wahoo! Yes! I get all the popsicles I want! Okay, I will have surgery."
If only we could all be six again when life's challenges were as easy as unlimited popsicles and pudding.
The entire ride home from the doctors and all that evening, Handy Man and I shared our surgery stories with our Brown Eyed Girl. Handy Man showed her the scars on his shoulder. I talked to her about the days they were born and my open heart surgery. We told her she would meet a new doctor who would give her a special medicine that would make her fall asleep and when she woke up, Mommy and Daddy would be right there with her. We told her that once she was awake enough, we would get to take her home.
She reminded us about the unlimited popsicles and pudding. We got the impression that they were possibly a major deal breaker. No popsicle, no surgery.
June 28th, bright and early, Handy Man, our Brown Eyed Girl and I walked into the operating room waiting room and we quietly sat until they called us back to the pre-op room. A few nurses came in and introduced themselves and asked us questions. Our Brown Eyed Girl sat on Handy Man's lap, enveloped in his arms. She was nervous. Normally a chatter box, she was a girl of few words that morning. She did managed to answer all of the yes and no questions with a nod of her head.
Dr Wagner, the anesthesiologists, came into the room and explained the process for making her take a little nap. He told us that Mommy could get dressed in a bunny suit and go back into the operating room until she went to sleep. He let our Brown Eyed Girl pick a flavor for her mask - a better scent for when they would give her the initial gas to make her sleepy. My Brown Eyed Girl chose watermelon over bubble gum and strawberry and Dr Wagoner swabbed the inside of her little oxygen mask.
He said he likes to make the going to sleep process as relaxed as possible but he warned us that sometimes kids get back into the operating room and start to panic. I was given instructions on how to assist him if that should happen.
I prayed she would be brave.
I got in my bunny suit.
Dr Robinson, her surgeon, arrived and we were almost ready to go. He asked me to initial the right side of her cheek to confirm that it was the side they would be operating on and our Brown Eyed Girl lost her composure. The impending surgery - fine. Writing on her face - not cool. A few tears welled up in her eyes and we were on the verge of a breakdown. I told her it would wash off and it would be okay. I made my small mark on her cheek but she was very angry with us.
The doctors left for a bit and we were able to get her smiles back.
It was finally time for surgery and she hopped on the rolling bed. I walked next to her as they wheeled her to the operating room, holding her hand tight. I helped her lay on the surgical table and Dr Wagoner placed her watermelon scented mask on her tiny little face. He started to tell her a story.
In an almost whisper of a calming voice, he asked her if she would rather hear a story about a motorcycle or a unicorn. She picked a unicorn. He asked her what color he unicorn would be if she had one - purple (of course). He talked about her beautiful purple unicorn and all the cool things it could do. He asked her if she liked to ride her unicorn at home or in the mountains - mountains. He told her that her unicorn was magical and it could fly! He said that in order for it to fly, it had to eat special hay that was strong with vitamins like rocket fuel and had a funny smell to it when she would feed her unicorn. He then flipped a switch and turned on the sleeping gas.
He asked her another question about her unicorn. However, my little girl just closed her beautiful brown eyes and drifted off to sleep. I kissed her cheek and left her in the very capable hands of her doctors and the nurses.
Handy Man and I sat in the waiting area about forty-five minutes when Dr Robinson came out and said she was all done. He said that she did great. He drew a little picture of her jaw and explained what he saw. Other than the bone, itself, being expanded or swollen, everything looked normal to the naked eye. He showed us where he took the bone samples from and told us we would have all the results back in the next week or so. We were relieved it was so quick and for now held on to the fact that everything looked
normal.
About a half hour later, we were brought back to our Brown Eyed Girl's recovery room. We had been warned that the little kids often wake up crying and scared. Sometimes they can take an hour or two until they are ready to go home. Often they have nausea and trouble managing their pain.
I talked to my brain and warned it that today was not the day to be weak and pass out.
Lord please don't let me pass out. I can get weak in the knees when those I love are really hurting - it's no lie.
Just ask Handy Man about his shoulder surgery.
Our Brown Eyed Girl was sawing little logs, still sleepy from the anesthesia. We talked to her and held her hand as she started to wake up slowly. There were no tears, no crying. She just slowly started looking around the room and at her IV. I covered her with her blanket and she squeezed my hand. The nurse asked her questions periodically about wanting a popsicle or if she had to go to the bathroom. She would just nod her head yes or no and hold my hand while she looked around the room.
Eventually, we sat her up and fashioned her with her "jaw bra" that held her icepack for her. Next thing the nurse was removing her IV and our Brown Eyed Girl said she needed to go to the bathroom. We came out of the bathroom and the nurse had a wheel chair all ready for her. We were going home in just shy of one hour post surgery. Still no tears or crying - just a request for apple juice.
She was a little goofy on the drive home. Chatting up a storm and excitedly pointing out all of the horses along the way. Still smiling and hanging in there.
We got her home and all set up in Mommy's bed. She requested a special milk shake from Daddy and said she was starving. She spent the rest of the day coloring and drawing in our bed. She took full advantage of the unlimited supply of yogurt, popsicles and pudding. Surgery definitely didn't curb her appetite.
Still no pain, no tears, just a cute little smile rapped up tight.
As if we didn't have enough on our plate that day, Mr Blue Eyes had his annual check up that late afternoon, of course this was his last big vaccination day until he turns 11. Handy Man and I just shook our heads and laughed. We feared the rodeo we were in for later that evening when the novocaine wore off and a grumpy little boy came home after three shots in his arm.
I took Mr Blue Eyes to the pediatricians and everything went smoothly until he saw the nurse return with the shot tray.
Here we go! I held onto his arms and prepared for battle. I told him to look at me and not at his arm. My stoic little boy looked me in the eye and said, "Mommy, I am going to be brave. Just like Sis was brave today." My heart exploded in my chest and it was everything I could do not to let the tears fall from my eyes.
He set his jaw tight and took all three shots with out a flinch, a whimper or a tear. Three Spider-Man band-aids and we were done. As we walked out to the car, he said, "I was brave like Sis wasn't I Mom." I knelt down before him and kissed him hard on the cheek and said, "Honey, you were so brave. You and Sis are so very brave. I love you so much."
He had ice cream for dinner.
All that evening, my beautiful brave children smiled and laughed. No tears just smiles.
Our Brown Eyed Girl only woke up one time that night and asked for more ice. Other than that, she slept. She slept with out waking from pain or discomfort. At 5:30 am her normal internal alarm clock went off and she was up requesting more ice and yogurt. I crawled back in bed and about 30 minutes later I hear her singing out in the living room. I got up to check on her and she was playing Legos, watching Scooby-doo and singing like a morning bird.
About an hour later, I found her in the kitchen up to no good... She had gotten into my nail polish and was happily painting Mr Blue Eyes' finger nails. All. By. Herself.
Apparently, she had surgery yesterday...
I will tell you, the greatest thing about having two incredibly brave kids is that they never cease to amazing me. They never cease to show me just how strong they are. How stoic they are. They humble me. I realize that we don't give our children enough credit. We don't have enough faith that they can understand the hard things. That they can be brave enough to take on the hard things. That they can be strong enough to move forward and endure the hard things and still find at least one smile each day.
