I want so very badly to come here and type out just how happy I am to have my daughter home. I want to tell you all about how her biggest brother is also her biggest fan and how her middle brother, although he won’t touch her, screams “BABY!” joyfully whenever he sees her. I wish I could wax poetically on how much easier having her come home has been than I’d previously worried.
But I can’t.
I’m stuck in this limbo, waiting for surgery on her brain and the subsequent recovery which I imagine will take place over many more hospital days. I’m afraid to get too excited about her knowing that I’m going to have to give her back to the hospital again, and knowing how well I won’t handle this. I cannot picture me NOT flipping out the entire time that she’s gone, pacing the corridors of the hospital with snot dripping down my face and tears blinding my eyes, because it’s what happened before.
If it’s something primal my reaction would make more sense, and maybe that’s what this is all about: maybe I can’t help my reaction and I can’t CALM DOWN like I should be able to while my baby goes in for surgery. I’m picturing a highly tranquillized day that day. Otherwise I physically do not know how I’m going to get through it. I don’t appear to be made of strong enough stock to handle this.
Our appointment to discuss the MRI results, which, of course, don’t show a miracle, is tomorrow with the doctor who doesn’t take our insurance, and from then on we should have some sort of plan. I imagine that although the plan isn’t going to help as much as hearing something like “OOPS! We totally made a mistake. Your daughter is fine!” knowing what the next steps are may help somewhat.
Or maybe they won’t. Maybe I won’t feel better until this is all over. And maybe I won’t be able to come here and share all of the good things in my life right now because I’m too afraid of losing it all.
Can you please say a prayer tomorrow for us?