So, like I wrote, surgery was scheduled for December 20th. Dibs had many, many minuscule cysts that made up the lower left lobe of her lung. The surgeon planned on going in with a video feed and a scope, and the whole thing would take around 4 hours. Her recovery in the hospital could last anywhere from 2 days til a week.
We dropped the other three off with my mom and sister the night before surgery. We took Dibs home, I fed her and put her to bed, and we went to bed ourselves with our bags packed. I woke up early to nurse Dibs one last time, finished some last minute things, and we were off very early in the morning.
We arrived at the hospital and got checked in. We played with Dibs in her stroller as we watched other families and children get checked in as well. You'll have to forgive my memory here, we talked to a lot of people and went over the surgery more than once, just as we had many times before. The fear in my stomach wasn't actually as big as it could have been - I was more nervous about Dibs freaking out from not eating for so long.
We were escorted into a private room where anesthesiology came in and talked to us about pain management. At this point I kept thinking, "Take her already! Take her!" The talk leading up to it was almost too much to bear. It felt like we had been sitting in one room or another for days. I kept looking at the clock thinking about Boy Wonder heading off to school and starting his holiday concert soon.
Finally, the nurses allowed us to kiss her sweet, pudgy face one last time before they took her off. I won't lie, it was hard, but I was glad she was in good hands and this thing was finally about to start. This was something I was anticipating since I first found out she had a mass. Please, let's just get this thing out already.
The Hubs and I went to the waiting room, where we sat with all the other families waiting for their children. And man, there are a LOT. I chatted with friends checking in on me, and The Hubs paced around and finally took a nap. Here's one word of advice I remember very clearly. If you are a nursing mother - BRING YOUR PUMP PARTS. I remember being told the hospital had a lactation room with a pump, but totally forgot the part where I was supposed to bring my accessories. Several agonizing hours later, I was finally able to pump, but the damage was done. I had the clog of all clogs. I'll spare you details, but it was so severe nothing was coming out. NOTHING. The pressure building up behind it was horrible. I dealt with clogs for months afterwards. It was honestly horrible, and I have a high tolerance for pain.
We waited. And waited. Dibs' surgery took longer than four hours, but it turns out she was just sleeping off her medication longer than normal. We FINALLY were able to go back and see her. It's amazing when you're separated from your child for so long - they look so small when you finally see them again. She was in a large white crib, and she just looked tiny. The nurses all fawned over her and said she did amazingly. The surge of relief I felt was like nothing else. She was fine. She was recovering. All we had to do now was allow her to heal.
|Daddy relaxing with Dibs|
|My post for 3 days|
It sounds melodramatic, but that's how it felt. I'll never, ever forget those moments of wondering if my baby would live. It almost seemed anti-climatic how it ended. She had a major surgery that she recovered from WONDERFULLY. She has no lasting side-effects. She could become an Olympic athlete if that's in the stars for her. She has the teeniest, tiniest little scar, but other than that, the most troublesome thing at the moment is that she's teething. Just like any other baby.
Her follow-up appointments have been non-eventful as well. She's doing great! Nothing to report. Let's see her again in a year. Really? Really. This is the best outcome we could have hoped for.
I started writing about this because the only thing that kept me holding on in those first days were reading posts by moms out there talking about their experiences, and showing a picture of their child celebrating their 3rd birthday. It gave me so much hope that this wasn't a death sentence. In a place where everything is listed in probabilities, and there is no definitive category to place you in until it plays itself out, that meant everything.
"Your child could die, but it might not and here are the things we can do to help" is a weird place to be. Pain is a weird thing to experience. It can be extremely alienating. The only other person who knew what I was going through - my husband - didn't even experience it the same way I did. The days where I was feeling optimistic and upbeat, he was sick with worry. The days where he finally saw the light, I couldn't get out of my head and stop wondering if the baby was ok. I have little-to-no advice to give on any of this, and cannot make any promises that any other baby will have the same outcome our Dibs did, but I do have some hindsight on how to make it out sane.
There will be days when others will be complaining about their child teething, or having a cold. And you'll think to yourself "My child might be dying. Right now. INSIDE OF ME." It happens - you can't help it. There will undoubtedly be someone pregnant the same time as you - with a totally healthy and happy pregnancy. You'll absolutely get advice from people trying to help, and it won't help, at all. I spent many, many nights in the bathtub by myself. I won't bore you with the thoughts beating the inside of my skull, but if you've been there, you know. There is no other feeling in the world like wondering if your child is dying. It feels like nobody, even someone who has been there, can relate. You'd do anything to go back to the time when you were in a bad mood simply because you were in a bad mood, and nothing else.
One thing I am grateful for is the example of others who have weathered storms. Many friends and family I know have been through horrible, trying times. And I am in awe of the way they carry themselves, to this day. Their struggles were not in any way related to anyone else. They listened with understanding when someone was having a bad day, and offered happiness when someone else had a good day. In short, they were decent human beings. It can be tempting to hold it against others when you're in pain - but it's a very dangerous road to travel, and can be more alienating than the pain itself.
I'll admit it wasn't easy, but I tried my best to allow others to live outside of my world. I didn't void others' feelings simply because I was going through something extremely hard. And you know what? In doing that I saw other people, really saw them. I saw the pain they had been through. I felt their happiness. I could see when they themselves were having a hard time, and didn't automatically scoff simply because it wasn't as "bad" as what I was going through.
On a much more selfish note, this attitude goes pretty far in terms of self-preservation. Bitterness was held at bay. I had many, many moments of normalcy, simply because I allowed it in. I didn't fight it when the world went on and I wasn't ready. No, it isn't easy to be alone and in pain, but it's much worse to punish others for not being in the same boat as you.
And now, here were are. Surgery is such a distant memory that I can barely remember the details, and they almost don't matter. The world went on, and we went along with it. There are no grudges. It was an incredibly hard time, but it's over. I have no promises about how other stories will play out, but I have complete faith that no matter what happens - it will be ok.
I'm finally able to be upset about day-to-day crap that doesn't matter and enjoy my beautiful life - why in the world would I hold it against someone else for doing the same?
It's hard to imagine the place I was in last year… it wasn't an easy load to bear, but managing the way I carried the weight made all the difference in the world, both then and now. :)