Surgery

So my Sweet Girl had surgery. And lived... and I did too! Except for a few episodes of panic, on both of our parts, it went very smoothly. It began with an early morning, leaving the house at 7 am. I was as cool as a cucumber, thanks to God bestowing me His peace and grace for the day. I was not the least bit nervous - I knew were in good hands. The hospital is great, we liked the doctor, and I was confident that they were all in even better and bigger Hands.

It wasn't until we went to the recovery room that it felt hard. Walking into the only part we had seen that truly looked like a hospital, one of those big rooms with lots of beds and curtains (like the ones in the war movies and all the wounded soldiers)... walking into there and hearing my daughter's frantic wailing. I rushed over as fast as I could shoving my coat into Coach's arms. The nurse was holding her, but she would not be consoled. She was in a hospital gown (and not the cute one she was wearing on her way to surgery), wires were taped to various parts, monitoring her, IV in her hand... and she was sobbing. And for the first time that day, I wanted to cry. She did not stop crying when I held her. She only stopped when she dozed off as I rocked her and hummed. She was out of it. She had just "popped up" before we made it there. And she was aware enough to be scared, but not aware enough to know everything was now okay.

She woke up and cried, then dozed off again two more times. She finally drank something (which was a requirement to go home) and seemed more herself. But when we tried to put her sleeper on, she refused, cried again and went back to sleep with more rocking and singing. This time, she slept for an hour. Coach and I were playing Scrabble on the iPod, eating some Valentine's truffles. I was halfway through mine when Sweet Girl woke up, looked at the truffle in my free hand and nodded her head eagerly as to say, "Yes, I'll eat that!" Now she was herself again - thank God! I popped that truffle in my mouth and we promised her a banana after we got her sleeper on. She downed that thing - after all, it was the first thing she'd eaten all day.

Since then, she has been herself for the most part. However, she is much more resistant to taking her medicine, terrified of getting her temperature taken, and refuses to take a bath. Fortunately, I think we're pretty much done with the medicine and I think her fever has gone away (it was likely that she would have one). I guess we'll just have to see about the bath thing.

Last night I felt the most scared I did the whole time. Mia still had a fever, a rough cough and raspy breathing after waking up, and it was Friday night with Coach out of town. All day I debated when I should give her medicine, if I should call the doctor... whether I know what I'm doing at all. I felt totally inept at caring for her and terrified that I'll make a wrong decision - and fearful of something worse happening (oh, you know - anything!). Where did all my trust go? Where did my faith in those bigger Hands go? I was not prepared for all these little decisions to come up. I was expecting step-by-step, hour-by-hour instructions. There are none and am left feeling helpless. It's humbling that my faith is so shallow that I only trust when I'm prepared to trust. Rarely do we get warnings before something happens. We must always be trusting, every day, hour, moment. Oh how I beg to have trust in the mornings, and when things come up, but I am still weak and it is hard. I am sure I will have plenty of opportunities to strengthen my trust. I pray I can meet them bravely, and leave the experience stronger. I know this experience has given me growth, and I thank God for it, His guidance, and His strength.