Long day, yesterday
When can I go? I'm ready to go. I'm ready for this.
Then, when the aide came to wheel her to the surgery center, she burst into tears.
And I remembered that feeling.
When I was so, so ready to meet Zoe and then it was time, c-section time, and I burst into tears. What if?
When I was so ready to have the f***ing cyst cut from my wrist and then ten minutes before it was time the anesthesiologist said, "Oh, I've decided to do a general instead of a local block" and I panicked and burst into tears and asked for something to help and he said okay and threw me into the general right then. What if?
Fear of the unknown. The terrifying thought of, "What's going to happen to me?"
The "Oh, my God, this thing is really, really going to happen. Now." realization.
I grabbed her hand and, with tears of empathy in my own eyes, offered some humor to ease the way. Told her I could do it myself, as I was pretty darn handy with a steak knife. She smiled. And the tears abated and we started rolling down the maze of hallways from the fourth floor of one wing to the second floor of another wing, the aide calling out all the soft bumps along the way like the soothing voice in the elevator that says, "First...floor." When I had to go, I held her hand again, leaned over, and said, "I'll see you tomorrow, and we'll bring Zoe back to see you, and, well...give 'em hell in there!" And she laughed.
There were emergencies throughout the day so they took her late. I had to leave to get Zoe from school, and they took her in shortly after we got back to the hospital. Children under 14 aren't allowed in pre-op, so we stayed in the waiting area and read "The Happy Hedgehog." M stayed by her side until they were ready. He's a good man, M. We ate in the cafeteria again, where Zo is making fast friends with the jolly cashier, and then we went home for bath and bed while M waited some more.
After I got her down, I collapsed on the couch. No homework. No photography. No blogging. No TV. Nothing. Completely tapped. M came home, dazed with exhaustion. He woke me up and pushed me into bed and then fell asleep on the couch watching his beloved Cardinals lose.
The surgery went well. Coupla screws in the hip. She'll go to rehab in a few days.
We never know what's going to happen to us, do we? From one day to the next. Things change so quickly and sometimes it feels like you have complete control over your destiny, and others it feels like you're just swirling along on the current of life, hoping not to get stuck in an eddy.
It's how you manage the transition, I think. How you get yourself through the rapids and the state you're in when you come out on the other side, in the clear, still, deep water. It's holding on tightly to what's important and letting all the garbage, the crap, the junk, float away.
I'm ready for this.
Then, when the aide came to wheel her to the surgery center, she burst into tears.
And I remembered that feeling.
When I was so, so ready to meet Zoe and then it was time, c-section time, and I burst into tears. What if?
When I was so ready to have the f***ing cyst cut from my wrist and then ten minutes before it was time the anesthesiologist said, "Oh, I've decided to do a general instead of a local block" and I panicked and burst into tears and asked for something to help and he said okay and threw me into the general right then. What if?
Fear of the unknown. The terrifying thought of, "What's going to happen to me?"
The "Oh, my God, this thing is really, really going to happen. Now." realization.
I grabbed her hand and, with tears of empathy in my own eyes, offered some humor to ease the way. Told her I could do it myself, as I was pretty darn handy with a steak knife. She smiled. And the tears abated and we started rolling down the maze of hallways from the fourth floor of one wing to the second floor of another wing, the aide calling out all the soft bumps along the way like the soothing voice in the elevator that says, "First...floor." When I had to go, I held her hand again, leaned over, and said, "I'll see you tomorrow, and we'll bring Zoe back to see you, and, well...give 'em hell in there!" And she laughed.
There were emergencies throughout the day so they took her late. I had to leave to get Zoe from school, and they took her in shortly after we got back to the hospital. Children under 14 aren't allowed in pre-op, so we stayed in the waiting area and read "The Happy Hedgehog." M stayed by her side until they were ready. He's a good man, M. We ate in the cafeteria again, where Zo is making fast friends with the jolly cashier, and then we went home for bath and bed while M waited some more.
After I got her down, I collapsed on the couch. No homework. No photography. No blogging. No TV. Nothing. Completely tapped. M came home, dazed with exhaustion. He woke me up and pushed me into bed and then fell asleep on the couch watching his beloved Cardinals lose.
The surgery went well. Coupla screws in the hip. She'll go to rehab in a few days.
We never know what's going to happen to us, do we? From one day to the next. Things change so quickly and sometimes it feels like you have complete control over your destiny, and others it feels like you're just swirling along on the current of life, hoping not to get stuck in an eddy.
It's how you manage the transition, I think. How you get yourself through the rapids and the state you're in when you come out on the other side, in the clear, still, deep water. It's holding on tightly to what's important and letting all the garbage, the crap, the junk, float away.
I'm ready for this.
posted by Amy at 9:20 AM
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