I woke up this morning more calm than I’ve been all month. It was like all my worrying had already peaked and I was left to deal with my more standard and rational self (shut up. It’s my blog and I’ll call myself rational if I want to). It was a damn good thing because last night as I gave my daughter a pep talk reminding her that she had to be a strong baby girl and kick this surgery’s ass I broke down. And I mean I BROKE THE FUCK DOWN.

But today, with some Valium on board, I was nearly calm on the way to the hospital (I am as surprised as you undoubtedly are). Stupid, yes, as neither The Daver or I could remember which was the psychologist with the bells and the dog (answer: Pavlov), but pretty calm. I was calm as we walked my shrieking, starving daughter up to the surgery wing and checked in.

Hell, I was even calm as we were marched back to the surgical prep area. I signed the consents using my real name, I allowed my nervous husband to cuddle and pace with his daughter rather than keep her firmly ensconced in my arms, and I only broke down marginally when she was taken from us back to surgery.

Breakfast and the company of both my father–who contemplated throwing on some scrubs and heading back to the surgical suite to direct the surgery (he has a degree, he claims, from the Internet that he got two weeks ago. He’s an Internet Doctor now! We’re so proud)–and Nathan–who promised a jaunt with me to the gift shop killed the half an hour before surgery began. We’d been strongly instructed to NOT leave the waiting area, The Daver and I together, as the doctor didn’t approve of it so any stuff gathering or pacing had to be done without one another.

In our frazzled state, however annoying that sounded on paper, perhaps being separated was a plus.

After eggs were firmly tucked into my belly and an additional Valium swallowed, Nathan and I took off for a cup of coffee. While down at the coffee shop, I decided to make this More Of An Adventure and explore the gift shop as well. Do I know how to live on the edge or what?

A half an hour passed before we headed back up to wait in the uncomfortable waiting room chairs for the next four to six hours. I knew I had some Super EZ crossword puzzles to muddle through and figured I should probably get started on it.

The elevator banks opened to my husband whizzing by in the company of another dude.

“OHMYGODTHEREYOUARE.” He panted in my direction.

Without having a moment to react, he nearly shouted “SHE’S DONE! SURGERY IS DONE!”

Turns out that by four to six hours, the doctor meant 45 minutes. My daughter, it seems, was an easy case. This was an even better outcome than I could have imagined. Turns out that The Thing on the back of her head, jutting out of her posterior fontanel was not a cephalocele (SPOILER ALERT. IT WAS EVEN WORSE THAN THAT. IT WAS AN ENCEPHALOCELE). It’s sitting down in Pathology now waiting to be determined what The Thing is.

Could be fat, could be not fat, could be that third eyeball my brother and father seem convinced it is (my father is, after all, an Internet Doctor now).

(Here’s hoping it’s benign)

But now we’re happily ensconced here in the PICU where I’ve blown an insane amount of money buying out the gift shop of pink balloons and fluffy things. It’s like I’m finally able to celebrate it. I’m finally able to breathe again for the first time since my OB informed me while I hung in the air like a contortionist that my daughter had “something” on her head.

My daughter, my cherished, dreamed of daughter, the daughter I never thought I’d be lucky enough to have. She’s here. Welcome to the world, Baby Amelia, my only cinnamon girl. I couldn’t be more proud to be your mother if I tried.

Comments

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96 thoughts on “Cyster Christian

  1. I knew she was a pistol! I knew it!

    Oh, babe, I am so freaking happy for you right now that I am literally sobbing with delight and relief and a hundred little happy tremors.

    Hooray, wee Cinnamon Girl!

  2. Hooray – even though this is my first time commenting, I have been following along. I have been thinking of your sweet girl and praying for her. Continued prayers that The Thing is benign and your little girlie recovers quickly and well.

  3. See, I told you she was going to give you a run for your money. You all worried and stressed and settling in for 4-6 hoursl, HA! FOOLED YA! 45 minutes, you asses! Already has your tude, Becky… you are so screwed.

  4. First of many gray hair inducing events that your daughter will give you, because this is what girls do. Thank God everything is cool, so she can torment you completely later.

  5. Yes. You can finally let your heart accept the fact that you have this beautiful baby girl, fully and without holding any part of yourself back from fear.
    I am so glad for you all.
    Bless your precious hearts.

  6. When she’s a mother, she’ll be able to lay claim to some third eye in the back of my head action on her kids.

    Or ya’ll may be able to call her Fat Head. What a great nick to earn and then easily have removed!

  7. Well motherfuck. I have a lot of those ugly fat cysts all over my arms but HEY! AMELIA! WAITED UNTIL HIGH SCHOOL TO HAVE THEM REMOVED! AHEM! and the rest I’m living with cuz, eh.

    Hoping it’s nothing, and phew, and whew, and I’m all worn out. Buy her another fluffy something from me, and put some chocolate on the tab for you. The boozy filled kind.

  8. Boy, that’s the best possible turnout, isn’t it? Surgery went faster than imagined and everything sounds like it turned out way better than they (or you) had hoped to dream. I love the third eye theory (and congrats to your Internet MD dad!).

    So take a nice deep breath, close your eyes, and think: She’s wonderful, she’s beautiful, she smells like a new baby, and… you get to keep her. Congratulations!

  9. So glad it wasn’t what they originally thought and now praying it’s just something benign and life can get happy for you again. It’s been a long stretch of worry, but I’m lighting another candle for that precious baby girl.

  10. I’m sitting here with tears in my eyes. Praise G-d!!
    I know he was listening. I kept asking him to have the surgery be successful, and no complications or after effects.
    ((((HUGS)))) to everyone!

  11. Oh I’m so happy to here it’s a fat nothing. Literally. I’m hoping it is anyway. I I’m going for an eyeball. I’d love to be there when she’s about 10 and says to a friend she was born with a third eye;) I’m so happy she made it through and so glad you had a team with you to pull you through it as well. Cheers to Valium and have a good rest tonight with Missy;) Sleep well and congrats again.

  12. I have been thinking about you all day. I’m so thrilled that it all went well, better than expected, from the way it sounds.
    Yay for baby Amelia!!!
    (and for the Notorious BEX too)

  13. long time lurker … had to come out and say how happy I was to read this post … I have a new baby of my own (5 months old) and just keep reading this post over and over … what a relief! good job baby girl!!

  14. YAY and YAY!!! So many yays!!! Celebrates as much as you want! Buy a bottle of champagne and celebrate with the PICU nurses, bet they’d LOVE to join in. Way to go Amelia! You rock, little girl!

  15. What if it’s ABC Gum from some lazy tart of a candy striper from the nursery when she was born???!!

    Here’s hoping it’s equally nothing.

    Glad to hear it was quick and that she’s recovering…and so are you.

  16. You made it! Well done! Congratulations ๐Ÿ˜€ Now I’ll have to finish my new baby cards ๐Ÿ™‚
    You must feel giddy with joy!

  17. So happy that your little girl showed surgery what’s up. She’s obviously quite advanced, having condensed a proposed 4 hour surgery into a 45 jaunt. She’s got lots to do, and she wants to get started on it. Glad to read that you finally have the chance to help her truly get started in this crazy thing called life. Good luck to you all!

  18. oh my…what a fantastically clever post, from the Pavlov reference (I was a psych major) to your Dad’S online doctorate, I am reminded why I am madly inlove with this blog! U so deserved an easy day. U bring so much joy to so many people….glad we could all offer some support to u!

    Keeping casa de la sausage in my prayers:)

  19. OMG, I was practically nervous pacing around the room (okay in my head, at least) while I read that!! I’m so glad that your sweet little girl is done with her surgery and that it went so well! Now let’s get you guys home so you can really enjoy her, huh? ๐Ÿ™‚

  20. Here from LFCA to say that I am so thrilled to hear that she came through like a champ. I can’t imagine what that wait was like for you and the Daver.

    I’m sending thoughts and prayers your way that it turns out to be nothing to worry about.

  21. I am so glad everything went well. Give her kisses from all your internets.

    (Now, Nathan… is this “Nat” who you write about from time to time, or is this someone else?)

  22. More than awesome. I don’t know the word, but whatever it is, that is the word I am looking for!

    So glad everything is going perfect. Amazing little girl, she definitely takes after her momma! Fiestiness and all!

    Here’s hoping the next couple of days in the PICU go by quickly, so you can get that baby girl back home where she belongs!

  23. Holy, holy, holy sheet,

    I’ve been thinking ’bout you guys nonstop so I’m very relieved. And excited that life can get back to normal. And don’t worry, I can help you replenish your valium stash.

    Give your Cinnamon Girl a kiss from me.

  24. omg THANK GOD. thank god it’s over and you’re through that particular horrible parenting shit. on to the normal regular parenting shit, huh? jesus!

    and…now on to the trying to lose the baby weight part…BLEH!!

  25. Ooooo, I got chills there near the end. What a happy ending. You can be you again instead of the quivering mass of nerves you became. You can enjoy Amelia the way you should. Yeah, for you. I’m going to have a drink tonight in your honor.

    I can’t wait to find out what “the thing” is. I heard on tv a couple of weeks back about a baby boy that had a tumor remove from his brain and it had a perfectly formed little foot in it. How weird is that? BTW, the boy is perfectly fine. The foot didn’t make it.

  26. Isn’t it grand when life does thing like this to us? Weeks of worry and panic and meltdowns and valium, and suddenly, it’s 45 minutes and something as simple as a 3rd eyeball. What a relief! And how much more you will appreciate having that sweet little girl in your life, knowing you could have lost her. That is in itself, quite a blessing. Love multiplied.

  27. I’m so relieved. (BTW – I didn’t think it would take 4 to 6 hours to remove fluid that didn’t contain blood or brain matter and a little skin, but damn, Becky, I’m afraid of you – I wasn’t going to give you my opinion on that before it happened.)
    Hopefully she’ll be released from the hospital ahead of schedule, too.

  28. @SciFi Dad: I’m the Nathan that Bex was referring to – and no, I am not the Nat she normally refers to. I hope I never reach the ass-hatted-ness as Nat.

    Becky’s narrative of the morning is no exaggeration. We literally were returning from a bum’s rush on the coffee shop and nearby gift shop when we decided to explore the elevator we’d wandered past earlier, hoping it was nearer to the waiting room than the other elevator half a campus walk away (it was very much closer). We stepped out of the elevator and almost physically ran into Dave. He was muttering nearly incomprehensibly, but we managed to comprehend that Amelia was out of surgery. In the confusion, I think I muttered something along the lines of “what’re you looking at me for?! GO!” And off the two of them trotted to she their beautiful girl, and I was left the procured goods to be delivered later.

    Having prepared ourselves for the better part of a day, all of us that were there were very happy and relieved to have her out so soon (it certainly meant the worst we were expecting had not happened). That being said, but the time I’d trudged home through the rain and thunderstorms at a mere 6:30 pm, I was drained, emotionally and physically. Dave, Becky, and all of the kids mean a lot to me – they’ve been a surrogate family at times. And, as Becky has said, it feels now for the first time that we can finally truly celebrate Amelia’s arrival!

    And for those of you out in inter’web land, I know your support and kind thoughts & prayers have meant a lot to Becky. Your support has definitely helped her. And for that, inter’web, I thank you.

    -Nathan

  29. Yay! So glad to hear that surgery went well. She is a little trooper! Now, more waiting for the next step. You’re all still in my prayers.

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