Yesterday was a very long day. Actually, it feels very much like I’m still
experiencing the same day without interruption.
They’ve made some real strides with those hospital fold-out chairs over
the years, but there’s little one can do to block out the lights and sounds of
a hospital recovery wing, while still keeping one’s ear finely attuned to the
sounds of your child.
Dad was proud to serve as the first line of nausea
defense. Vomitus is normally my
kryptonite, but as I said yesterday, I had my “game face” on and I was on point. Only had to change my shirt once, which was
good as I only had one extra.
I won’t spend much time getting into the medical
details except to say that she did phenomenally during surgery and was a
trooper all day. Sleep was difficult for
us both, and as I write this she’s asleep in her new fancy room upstairs, the
recovery center now behind us.
The wife and I were together when her surgeon came out
and told us that she was in recovery and that it went “pretty straightforward
and she did great.” I didn’t, as I thought
I might, lose it. I did however feel an
immediate relief upon exhale, and it felt like I’d been holding my breath just
a little for the past two months. I felt
an immense sense of gratitude.
I felt thankful for her doctors and nurses and all the
staff here at the hospital that have cared for out family in a variety of ways
for years. I thought “Thank God” pretty
much right away and I meant just that. I
felt grateful to our friends and family who’ve supported us all and my firstborn
in particular of late. Honestly, I was just
so grateful that the surgery part was done and we could then focus on the “taking
care of her” part. The recovery, which
won’t likely be a cakewalk began in earnest yesterday, and that, at least, is
something we can be a part of. We can
hold her hand. We can remind her of how
loved she is. We can help her stand up
and walk down the hall and feed her ice chips and stroke her hair and show her
Hamilton clips when they need to draw blood again. We can be understanding and patient and all
of that stuff. But she had to get clear
of the surgery first. I felt such a
sense of relief when the doctor came out and told us she was ok. It was like I’d been wearing ankle weights for
two months and then, upon taking them off discovered that while I still can’t
dunk, I can hit the backboard. It was a huge
relief.
Overnight was a challenge. It’s bright and noisy and it was too warm in
our shared room. There were moments
overnight where it felt like morning would never come. They had to reposition her body every two
hours, so between that and dealing with the nausea, there was very little time
to sleep without interruption, if one could fall asleep at all.
We’ve had two mottos over the last few days that we
really tapped into last night. The first
one is a line I’ve known for years, and it really fit. It’s attributed to like 5 different sources,
so who knows where it came from, except that I’m certain it came from someone
who went through some stuff.
“The only way out is through.”
The only way to get her spine situated is through the
surgery. The only way to the nice room
upstairs is through the recovery room.
The only way home is through the PT and recovery. The only way back to activity and school is through
healing up and learning to move again. She
seemed to connect to this one a lot, especially late last night when all she
wanted to do was something other than lay there and try to sleep. We made it though the night and she’s
sleeping much more comfortably now that we are through the recovery wing.
The other one was given to me by a good friend earlier
this week as we were talking about the impending surgery. She mentioned something that had been told to
her before she’d faced her own surgery.
She said, “Let her know that while it will hurt, it will only hurt for a
little while. And you can do anything
when you know it’s only for a little while.”
I told this to my daughter on the eve of her operation, and it really
seemed to help. We’ve repeated it
several times since then. It’s really helped.
She’s been a trooper about her pain and a rock star with the nurses, who
have the unfortunate responsibility of making her uncomfortable on purpose at
times.
Anytime I’m in the hospital, I reflect back on my own
visits there over my life. My own back
surgery in 2001, the birth of the kids, the wife’s surgeries. Inevitably, I come back to the time I spent
in the hospital with my father during the end of his life. I think of the years my eldest sister spent
in the hospital. She died when I was a
newborn, so I never got to know her, and I can only imagine what that was like
for her and my parents and sister. I
always think of these things when I’m in the hospital. I wonder if I’m the only one who does
that.
I thought of them last night in particular when things
got a little extra challenging. I
thought of my dad and my sister and thought, if they can get through their
challenges with grace and dignity, which they did, I can aspire to the
same. I’m not even the patient this time.
The only way out is through. And this is only for a little while. And my kid is a rock star.
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