Today was a difficult day. My little girl had to have emergency surgery. Well, the doctor's called it that. I didn't see how they thought it was much of an emergency seeing as how it took almost 42 hours from the moment the doctor said it had to happen that it did, but emergency none-the-less. Now, that said, and for those who know me, I was going crazy. Me, the natural fixer of all things; the person that always needs to help someone find the answer or direct their path, etc, etc. I couldn't "fix" what was the matter, per se. There I was the person she needed the most to help her and I had to let her go. Allow me to start at the beginning.
This past weekend baby girl got sick, really sick. Due to this "cold" (for lack of better terms) her tonsils and adenoids swelled up to such a large size (they were on a bigger size to begin with - but not causing her any issues with eating, sleeping, breathing, well functioning in general) that she couldn't breath. In fact every breath she took through her mouth, because she couldn't breath through her nose, caused her whole body to lurch and she gasped. Think about how a 50 year, 3-pack a day, veteran smoker tries to breath after walking up a flight of stairs, yes it was that bad. Therefore, I took her to the family doctor first thing Monday morning at which time he sent me straight to the ENT specialist. The ENT took one look in her throat and said they needed to come out. So he scheduled her for Wednesday morning, today.
So there I was looking at my little girl, who was struggling to do what we are all fortunate enough to do and I couldn't make her better. That is a parent's worst nightmare you know, not being able to take care of your child. He assured me that this was routine and that I needn't worry. I think he failed to realize taht which is routine for him is in no way routine for me; whereas he may go through several sets of adenoids and tonsils a day, I most certainly do not!
So there we were 730 this morning changing our baby girl into her teddy bear hospital gown (which got me wondering why adults don't get fun prints) and I was mentally running through each horrible thing that could happen. I knew they were unfounded, but needless to say the thoughts were there. After we got her dressed we went to the staging area (for lack of better words) and she had to go through the gamut of questions and pre-op tests. I was strong for her here, but the minute the scrub nurse came to take her back to surgery and my little girl got up from her daddy's lap and walked hand-in-hand with the nurse, my insides fell apart. Then I remembered that even though I had no control over the situation, my Jesus had complete control and He loves her more than I ever could and since I love her with my whole heart, that is saying a lot.
Post-op recovery was awash with emotions, but the doctor didn't steer me wrong. Her routine procedure, which yielded as the doctor quoted "trophy sized tonsils that the nurses were climbing over each other to see" went well and she is now safely home with us. The moral of this story? Simply put, God is always bigger than what's the matter; it's the remembering of that that takes some working on!