Letters to My Kids

So your mom had surgery…

So you’re probably wondering how the surgery went that your mom talked about. Normally she writes all sorts of blog posts about nearly everything. When I think of something worth writing about, I usually log in to find out she wrote about it two days earlier. Well in this case, she’s going to be unconscious for most of the proceedings, so I think I might finally beat her to a post.

***Editor’s note*** I did not beat her to the post.

Also, there are a lot of people who love and support your mom and I. She told me tonight (Monday night) after I got back from band practice that I should keep people updated during the day tomorrow, so I’m opening a file now to remind me to document the process throughout the day tomorrow.

PS – that band concert? It’s going to have awesome music from great movies like Captain America, Superman, Star Wars, and others. Going to band practice is actually pretty awesome. You should play an instrument, it’s way more fun than singing in a choir like your mom does… **ahem**

So here I am the night before, trying to remember how things have been going.

September 29

9:25 – dismissed from band practice, heading out to the car

9:27 – wondering if the woman in front of me realizes that her skirt may match the color of her top, but that does not make it a good outfit.

9:31 – out at the car

9:44 – heading in from the garage, only to hear your mom sounding really happy to have me home

9:45 – finding her downstairs buried under a ton of blankets with Glee paused on the PS4.

9:46 – Admiring just how “fabulous” some of the costumes on Glee are

9:53 – Deciding I need a snack, we head upstairs

9:54 – I remember we have Mexican Sunrise Bread (my mom makes it…it’s awesome. It’s like a taco baked into a loaf of bread, and it’s glorious)

9:55 – I find the last piece of cheesecake in the fridge that Donna made for us last Friday.

9:56 – I accuse your mom of “hiding the cheesecake by omission” since she’s had two pieces since I last saw it.

9:57 – we agree to stop discussing the idea of “hiding by omission”

10:01 – I eat delicious cheesecake while my toast is making your mom jealous.

10:05 – we clean up dishes and I head downstairs to start typing this out

10:20 – I head to bed, hoping tomorrow goes well

10:21 – I tell your mom about this minute-by-minute idea, and she seems skeptical

10:25 – we fall asleep.

September 30

5:00 – Alarm goes off on both cell phones, we turn them off. Mom hits snooze.

5:05 – Alarm goes off again.

5:10 – Alarm goes off again.

5:15 – Alarm goes off again, Mom heads to do devotions, I hit the shower.

5:40 – We trade, and I go to drink cider (apple cider is the best!), make coffee, and get ready to leave.

6:09 – The coffee is delicious, but I forgot your mom can’t have any. Oops.

6:12 – We grab last minute things, and pack up.

6:20 – We arrive at the outpatient surgery place, and we’re the only ones in the parking lot…

6:22 – Relieved to see more than a few nurses in the waiting room, apparently they park out back

6:30 – Check-in completed, nurses chatted with, and they take Mel back for prep

6:50 – I get called back, your mom is in a **styling** hair net and hospital gown (seriously she makes it look good), and we get to talk together while we wait for the doctor to arrive.

6:55 (ish) – we warn the doctors that Mel is a “lightweight” when it comes to anesthesia…

7:05 – We notice that the nurses and doctors running around are having a “normal” workday. What’s big and a bit scary for us is what they do every day. It’s comforting to know that they’ve done this a hundred times (or more!)

7:10 – the doctor arrives a bit early to say hi before they take her back for surgery. A few basic questions later and she’s ready to go!

7:15 – I’m back in the waiting room typing this out, admiring the 80 Mbit/sec download speeds, and waiting to see your mom again.

7:16 – I check the clock

7:17 – I check my watch

7:18 – I check the clock

…you get the idea.

While I was waiting, I think God was teaching me something. As I waited for the Dr. to come tell me how the surgery went, I knew exactly what I’d say to me if I were worried. It is a “minor” surgery. The incisions will be small. There was almost zero chance something would go seriously wrong. God was in control. I had just told her 20 minutes earlier that she’d be fine. I believed that.

I was still nervous. I still couldn’t shake the feeling of “what if something goes wrong?”

I think God taught me that having Faith isn’t the same thing as having no worries…it’s trusting God even when you’re worried and scared.

What felt like a small eternity later (but was really about an hour and a half), the doctor came and took me back into another room. Even though I’d just realized that I could trust God, and that everything could be ok, just about every scary thing raced through my head in the eight seconds it took me to walk twenty feet to that little conference room. When I sat down, the Dr. was smiling.

At this point I had a Charlie Brown moment. If you’ve ever seen the old Peanuts comics, the adults always mumble and drone on. That’s exactly what happened to me when the Dr. started talking. “When we saw the *mufflemuffle* then we did *mufflemuffle* but I’m very optimistic. I think this will really help you.”

In that moment I finally heard her. She was not only saying that Mel was ok, she was also saying that it went well, and she was optimistic. That was a word I had learned to not associate with fertility or pregnancy. I’d learned that we would try and try, and nothing much was going to change. But this doctor was now saying she was optimistic.

I don’t know exactly how this is going to turn out. Your mom is recovering right now (last week…). She’s doing pretty well, although it still hurts her if she forgets to be careful and not poke herself in the stomach.

But we have new hope. I hope to meet you soon.


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