Less than twenty –four hours from now, I will hand over my baby to a doctor and some nurses and they will take her to a room from which I am banned and they will cut out a part of her body.
Now, logically, I know that Olivia is not a baby.
I also know that having tonsils removed is a fairly common procedure and it’s going to be SO worth it when she’s healed and healthy again.
But right this second, I’m scared. I’m nervous. I’m worried about my baby.
When she was nine months old, we took her in for an MRI because, well, she was quite obviously delayed and we had no idea why. We were still more than a year away from having a diagnosis for her and we were looking for anything that would explain her global delays.
She was supposed to go to sleep for this procedure. She fought the anesthesia like crazy. She was all of 15 pounds at that point and she resisted falling asleep like a character from A Nightmare on Elm Street. Obviously, she did finally succumb to the anesthesia and we started the MRI. About halfway through the scan, the little stinker woke up!
So…I’m worried about anesthesia. I’m worried that because she doesn’t talk, she won’t tell them if she’s awake. I’m worried about pain.
I’m worried about recovery.
Sure, Alyssa bounced back but even she seemed to take a while and Olivia has always been more sickly, more likely to be sick forever with something that Lyss kicked in a few days.
And let’s remember that even though Miss O is nine years old, she’s still my youngest, my last child, my baybeeee! She’s also not quite at the same emotionally mature level as your typical nine year old. So there’s that too.
Obviously we’ll push on through the first days of pain and recovery and in a few weeks I’ll wonder why I was so worried. But we’re not there and so for today, I’m wallowing in my self-inflected misery as I stare down the clock waiting for it to be time to hand her over.