Oh, how I wish . . . Thoughts before surgery
I don't know why, but today was tough for some reason. I worked late - didn't get home until almost 10 pm. My husband, Ken, had the kids. They completely wore him out and he shortly went to bed. And I find myself left alone with my thoughts tonight. Thoughts that won't let me sleep. I walked into Kyle's room and softly kissed Jacqui's baby brother goodnight. He had scooted himself down to the end of the crib and had his face buried in the corner as if he were attempting to dig an escape tunnel. I scooted him back up to where he should be and tucked him back in. Then I stepped into Jacqui's room and it hit me all at once.
Maybe it had something to do with the long day. Maybe it was partly because Kyle is teething and hasn't let me have 2 hours of consecutive sleep in over a week. That endless mental "to-do" list needing attention before we leave for New York which has been fraying the edges of my sanity may be partly to blame. Mostly though, it was just the sight of her. She looked so peaceful and she stirred suddenly and let out an adorable little sigh. I can't explain it, but I suddenly hated myself. I think because I know what's coming.
In less than two weeks our little girl will not be snuggled in her pink fairy princess bed, curls tousled from her last sprightly hop into bed, chocolate smudges on cheeks and fingers that tell me her daddy let her eat way too much Halloween candy today. I know that in what will seem like the blink of an eye the scene will not be so peaceful. It will be white, sterile, beeping and bustling with medical efficiency. Instead of what I see now, I will see a pale little face marked with nerve-mapping ink ringed by wires, tubes, and IV's. I know that when I bend down to kiss her the scent of iodine and antiseptic will have scrubbed away the scent of lavender and bubble bath - something that always makes me feel a little hollow inside. I know that below her rosy little cheek will be a long purple line of bruises laced with black stitches and suture tape. I know it will be my signature that put them there. I know that while I sit watching and praying, all of the sudden those beautiful brown eyes will flutter open and lock with mine filled with hurt, fear and confusion. They will plead with me to make it all go away - and I won't be able to.
I leaned down and kissed her and she mumbled something softly as her fingers curled tightly around mine. I wish more than anything that this could be different, that I could take her place. I wish there was something, anything I could do so that she could just stay here dreaming happy dreams amidst a menagerie of stuffed animals. She's just a baby. Babies shouldn't have to have so much hurt in their lives.
I know we're doing the right thing. I know it will make her life better - it already has. I know she will recover and be her bouncy frolicky little self in no time, but what I know just isn't connecting with what I feel tonight. I feel sick. I feel like a traitor. I feel so very, very tired. I just want it to be next month today.
Sorry to babble, but I knew most of you would understand. My heart just aches. Thank you so much in advance for your prayers. I know that God will be faithful in spite of what I feel right now. It's such a comfort to know that He never changes no matter how fiercely our emotions storm.
Michelle (Jacqui's Mom)