Mommy Proof #30: It's okay to cry.

My oldest child had emergency surgery last week. Emergency is a word that is scary enough. Surgery is enough to make your heart stall. They have to put her under anesthesia. They have to cut her little body. She will forever be altered. How much pain will she be in? How will she cope? How will I cope? Who will watch my other children? Who will keep them during the surgery? What do I tell them? Then, your mind starts to run the gamut of  "What ifs?" What if the surgeon isn't the best? What if there is a complication? What if she doesn't wake up? What if...

There are no correct answers. In the hospital room before she was wheeled out of surgery, I paced back and forth with my mind racing. We went from a low grade fever and tummy ache to being admitted into the hospital. My baby was about to be cut open for the surgeon to remove her appendix, yet there she lay laughing and joking with us. So, I had to be brave. I couldn't show that I was scared. I couldn't cry. The problem is......I love to cry. I absolutely love to cry. It is great. It is a way to purge all of my emotions. It may be my favorite past time, but it isn't always productive. If I had shown her my tears, she would have known that I was scared. Then, she would have been scared.

Bob the Bear accompanied my daughter into the operating room. They removed his appendix, too.

Instead, I smiled and made lame jokes. Horribly, lame jokes. I didn't expect her to laugh and she didn't. It did break the ice though. It did allow her to say she didn't expect this to happen. It did help her to put her emotions into words. It made me realize that this was moving much too fast for her, too. It is probably what helped us to cope. From stomach ache to surgery, we didn't have time to be afraid. We had to face this head on and it made the hard decisions easy to make.

Life has a funny way of repeating itself. Nine and a half years before, it was just us in a hospital room facing the unknown. We didn't know what to expect, but we knew the next step had to be made. As her bed was rolled out of her room, I followed while silently praying. I prayed for her well being. I prayed she would be fine. I prayed everything would go well. I prayed that the surgeon would take care of her as I would. I prayed that this would all be over. I prayed that this would go away. I laughed as she joked with the anesthesiologist. I chuckled at her attempt to make jokes even though you could see her fear. My heart swelled with joy when I saw her face as her father walked in to embrace her small body. Then, she was wheeled away from us through those doors where I had no control. We held hands and walked down the corridor. Finally, I took a deep breath and sobs replaced it. Short, strong sobs that did not help, but allowed myself to feel what my mind thought.

An hour later, the surgeon walked down the hall with a smile on his face. Her infected appendix was gone. She was in recovery. She was going to be just fine and I cried again. It is okay to cry. I cried when I saw her in recovery. I cried when she was determined to get out of bed and walk. I shed a couple tears when I saw the determination etched on her face as she would attempt to sit up by herself. As I said earlier, life has a funny way of repeating itself. Once again, it was just us in a hospital room. Amen.