The Pre-Surgery Freak Out

Max's surgery is bright and early Tuesday morning.  (In theory of course.  Last time, we were assured that our surgery would be first thing in the morning: 7:30 am. It get rescheduled to 12:30 pm at 8 pm the night before.)  We won't know the exact time until tomorrow afternoon sometime.   W're headed to the hospital tomorrow afternoon for bloodwork and pre-op labs, then we're picking Tom's mom up at the airport.  Then Tom and the girls are dropping Max and me off at a hotel downtown (I am so not leaving Heber at 5 am for a 6 am check-in time at the hospital.  Nope, not happening.  The day is going to be bad enough without having to get up at 4 am.)  Then Tom will take his mom and the girls back home, and meet me in the hotel room sometime tomorrow night. 

You know, I have made a valiant effort to deal.  I've blogged about how I met my husband, we've had what feels like 842 violin events, (which translates into 842 trips to Salt Lake and back...) we planned and carried out two photo shoots, drove to weekly doctor appointments, and generally tried to ignore the fact that we were facing another surgery and hospital stay.

Problem is, when the surgery is 36 hours away, I can't be in denial anymore.  And it sucks. 

Here's the part where I sound like a whiney three year old.  I'm apologizing in advance.

This whole thing sucks.  Big time sucks.  It's so not fair that my cute little boy has to endure so much at the tender age of sixteen months.  It's bad enough that we had to do this once.  But it's way worse that we have to do it again, less than a year after the first operation.   The first surgery experience was terrible.  Being in the PICU for five days was a nightmare in and of itself.  There's no feeling so helpless as having all the expert doctors at one of the top children's hospitals in the country tell you that they have no idea why your son is getting better.  Or having multiple surgeons tell you that Max had complications they had never seen before, and that because it happened once, it could very well happen again.

It just seems so unfair.  He's still such a baby!

He's so active.

He's busy all the time.  I don't know how he's going to handle being in pain, not being able to see because his eyes are swollen shut, and being restricted with IV's, drains, and various other tubes, wires and heaven knows what else.

I feel guilty.  Like I'm the terrible parent.  He trusts me!  He doesn't have the slightest clue about what is going to happen to him.  It kills me that we'll take him to the hospital on Tuesday morning and he'll be happy and carefree, and then he'll wake up uncomfortable, confused, scared, and in pain, and not have any idea what the hell just happened to him.  Logic tells me that I'm being the good parent because I'm watching out for him, and what he needs, and that this surgery will help him lead a normal, fulfilling life.  Try telling that to my emotional side.

He's such a happy, joyful kid.  He has the cutest smiles, and the best facial expressions.  He makes us all laugh everyday.  I wish so much that it was me going through this instead of him.  I have no words to express the heartache that comes from seeing my baby in pain and not being able to do anything about it.

I know it will be okay.  My husband gave Max a blessing tonight that promised that he would be fine and suffer no ill-effects from the surgery.  I'm taking a lot of comfort in that.

I'm also comforted thinking that if all goes well, next week at this time, we'll be back home and be able to start (hopefully) putting all this behind us once and for all.

And it might take me a long time to get over the fact that they're going to have to shave all his cute curly hair off, leaving him as bald as a cue ball again.  *sigh*

I know we'll get through this.  I know that he is strong, and that I am strong.  We did it once before, and we can do it again.

Problem is, I just don't want to!

PS:  Photography by Amanda Weilenmann.  Aren't they great?