A little perspective on a hard day

5/24/12

This morning at 6am, I walked into my daughter's room and woke her from a deep peaceful sleep.  She was sleeping on her back, and her little arm was draped over her forehead... so innocent, and so unaware of the morning that lay ahead of her.  My heart filled when I saw her and then sank, as I dreaded waking her from this sweet place of peace and safety.

Today my daughter had a minor, routine surgery to open a blocked tear duct that has been that way since birth.

Beginning around 11 months of age, she has been very afraid of doctors' offices... I often wonder if she remembers getting shots at previous appointments, and associates visiting that place with experiencing pain. (Do these shots ever end?!?)  It has been difficult - the last several months visiting the doctor, and now the ophthalmologist, as she begins to get anxious and cries as soon as we walk into one of the small patient rooms.  It's like she just KNOWS that something bad is about to happen.  The anxiety comes in waves, as anxiety generally does.  And there is not much we can do to calm her down at this age, which is hard.

Today we went through surgery prep, dressed in gowns, and walked Hazel into the operating room.  She was afraid and upset, and when we walked into the OR Hazel looked at all the strange people in scrubs, funny hats, and masks...and she lost whatever temporary composure she had mustered.  We then had to put her on the operating table and hold her down while the anesthesiologist fought to hold the mask over her sweet little red screaming face.  Ugh.  Mike and I sang a familiar song into her ear and told her how well she was doing, and both struggled to keep it together as we watched our sweet girl fight in fear.  And after a few seconds that felt like years, her tense little body began to relax as the medicine began to do its thing.  Soon, she was resting peacefully, and Mike and I left the room so the doctor could do his work and we could fall apart for a few moments in our own private waiting room.

A short time later, the surgery was finished and Hazel was sleeping peacefully once again, just like she was when  she started the morning.  When she woke, she was disoriented but recovered well.  And we were all grateful that the whole thing was over.

How fortunate we are, that it could be over. 

I know many parents have been through a similar experience, and I know some have been through way way worse...

...who have tragic stories of suffering and pain and trauma and loss.

God be with them.

God be with those parents who have/had chronically ill children or children with serious medical conditions... children who log procedure after procedure, and doctor visits that become part of their regular routine. 

God be with those children, who feel sick and scared... who have to experience pain or discomfort on a regular basis and the disruption of continued medical treatment.

God be with those doctors and nurses, who dedicate their lives to helping children who are sick and scared and/or in pain.  Who I can only imagine must be affected each and every day with the weight of the important work they do... and thank God that they do it.

 I hate it so much that children (or anyone, for that matter) EVER have to be sick, or scared or in pain.

  
All things considered, it wasn't an easy day for us, and we are relieved and grateful that our daughter was restored to a place of peace after her minor surgical procedure was over.  And what we went through was SO VERY MINOR in comparison to what others have faced/will face.

My heart is heavy when I think of those parents, those children, and those doctors/nurses who live in a perpetual world of procedures, scrubs and operating rooms. What amazing strength and courage they display, over and over again, in the midst of the scary realities they often face.  I hope and I pray, that they find moments of quiet during their difficult times.  That they each might have their own sanctuary, whatever that might be... a place to visit when they need a break and a safe space to live in for a while.   And most of all, I wish for them, that they will never lose hope in the possibility of peace.